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Warmth licked at my skin, but it felt more like Drake’s gaze rather than the sun’s golden rays.
A shiver slid through me, goose bumps erupting over my arms.
“So where do you live?” he asked rather than poking at my emotions he probably expected I wouldn’t share. He’d be right.
But answering that question might open a can of worms.
“B-Boston,” I whispered.
“The fuck, Preston?” He sounded startled—annoyed even—and I rushed to explain.
“You didn’t ask last time we saw each other, and w-with how you l-left…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want him aware of how badly he’d hurt me, how his leaving me behind in every way the past five years had almost destroyed me.
“I’m an asshole,” he muttered, shifting in my periphery.
“Mmm,” I hummed my agreement. Rubbing my palms down my shins from where I sat with my knees to my chest, I opened my mouth to fill the silence, but he beat me to it.
“What have you been up to?”
I guessed we weren’t going to discuss the why or fallout of our losing touch with each other.
It was for the best that he didn’t know how desperate I’d been for him and still was.
“Working,” I croaked out, fighting against the draw to scoot closer to him. Climb on his lap. Lick up his neck. Rip open his shirt and run my hands over his thick chest and eight-pack of abs Elite’s shirtless profile picture had shown off.
Jealousy sneaked through my gut yet again.
“What do you do?”
I fought off a frown. “Private contracting.” I went with the easiest explanation of all the odd jobs I took on to keep busy.
Hell knew I didn’t need steady income to survive. The inheritance Grandfather had left for me fifteen years earlier even after giving half of it away would easily see me through to my death.
“What sort of contracting?”
“Computer programming. Cybersecurity. Hacking.”
“Hacking?” Drake’s voice rose a couple octaves.
My forehead smoothed out, but I kept my eyes closed since it was easier to dismiss our situation and talk to him without reality all up in my face.
“Get the fuck out.” Drake laughed.
“Wish I could get out of this death trap, but nope.”
“Like government shit or civilian?” he asked rather than joking about our predicament as I’d attempted to do.
“If I answered that question, I would have to kill you.” A bullshit reply, but I enjoyed hearing Drake’s lighthearted chuckle in response.
“Strait-laced Preston Casswell. You naughty boy, you.”
Fuck. If he only knew.
He also obviously wasn’t aware I’d secretly changed my last name in attempts to somehow distance myself emotionally from Jacqueline. She herself still hadn’t found out and hopefully never would.
“I’m just kidding,” I admitted with an uneasy chuckle, making myself lift my head. I still couldn’t look Drake’s way though. It was tough enough having the warmth of him along my left side and his long legs, muscular enough to fill out his black dress pants, in my periphery.
Every button on the elevator’s panel was lit up like he’d said and blinking. At least it was silent. There was no phone on the wall, no evidence of cameras either.
