Wicked Love | √

Seventeen

RAIN washes up against the window in soft splatters. It's soothing as I snuggle under my fuzzy blanket as my eyes trail from line to line of the current book I'm reading. It was recommended by one of my political science professors.

The apartment is quiet as the candles I have lit around my room flicker softly next to me. Annabelle and Elizabeth went to dinner in the city tonight with Elizabeth's parents and of course they invited me along, but I decided to have a night in by myself.

I love my friends but growing up how I did I spent a lot of time all alone. I'm so appreciative to have them in my life now. They expand my horizons and push me well outside of my comfort zone. But sometimes going back to my roots is the most comforting thing. Especially on cozy nights like this.

I flip the page when a loud knock sounds against the front door of my apartement. I halt my movements because my friends left a few hours ago, but they are staying the night at Elizabeth's family brownstone which means they should still be in Manhattan right now.

Nervous hesitation floods my veins as another knock sounds. My pulse begins to race as I slowly set my book aside and rise from my bed.

I grab my phone to see if my roommate maybe decided to head back for the night. Annabelle leaves her keys hanging on the hook by the front door all the time when she heads out. But there is no text. Nothing. I click to check her and her Elizabeth's location and it still shows them in the West Village.

It's not them at the door. But if not them, then who?

Unwanted fear spikes my bloodstream as I think back to the smoking match being left outside my door, and the prank phone call, and the burned piece of note my brother dropped.

They all meant nothing. Accidents. Coincidences. Right?

I wouldn't want to be in the crossfire when it all goes down. So I would stay far, far away from Preston.

My head shakes those stupid words away even though they've haunted me ever since the bonfire a couple nights ago.

I walk tentatively towards the door and lean forward to peek through the peephole.

Annoyance with a secret dash of exhilaration douses all other emotions, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

I unlock the door and swing it open to reveal Preston Rothwell. He's standing before me in a pair of dark jeans and a solid black hoodie with the university's crest embossed in the upper left corner.

It's the most laid back I've ever seen him and something about that makes him even more attractive to me. His wet hair is darker from the rain and a few drops linger near the scar on his cheek catching my attention.

I take a step back wanting to keep my space. Carey's words from the other night are still echoing in the back of my head. I don't want to let the conversation with her determine my choices because my parents words or lack thereof have determined the majority of my life and I don't want that anymore.

But I cannot lie, they are hard to ignore.

But then again so is Preston in the flesh in front of me. He takes up so much space, and it's not just his height. It's him. It's the way he speaks. The way he watches me. The confidence and power that drips off of him seamlessly.

It's intoxicating to be around.

My feet keep leading me backwards until Preston walks fully into my apartment and closes the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking makes me jump and a heat settles between my legs that causes an embarrassing flush to crawl up my cheeks.

I ignore the way my bottom lip trembles and I keep my spine steel straight. "Why are you here?" I ask continuing to keep a wide breadth of space between us just as he continues to follow me. Track me. Never let his eyes leave me.