Life Before Damaged, Vol. 1 by H.M. Ward

Author:H.M. Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New Adult Romance
Publisher: H.M. Ward Press
Published: 2014-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

RIDING A SEX GOD (I MEAN, RIDING NEXT TO A SEX GOD)

1:49 am

It must have been the way I said it, because he looks around, puts his hand on my back, and nods, convinced. With a more hurried stride, he leads me to the far end of the lot on the opposite side of the street. The parking spaces next to the building still hold a few cars trapped between the fire trucks and the building. The cost of the fire damage is going to be astronomical.

In the back of my mind I say a prayer, begging God that everyone made it out alive. I’ve talked to God more tonight than in the past five years total. At the end, it seemed like the only thing that mattered. I thought I was toast, but this lunatic next to me ran through fire to pull me out.

Who does that? Is Pete an adrenaline junkie? I stop myself. I shouldn’t judge. But the thought lingers in my mind, as my eyes trail up his trim frame. I should thank him, and stop acting like he has ulterior motives. The guy isn’t a criminal, and he risked his life to save mine.

Pete’s skin is covered in black soot and dotted with burns. He has a cut above his eyebrow and blood smeared all the way to his temple. His hair and clothes are damp. The fabric of his t-shirt clings to his body, moving with him as he walks, clinging to each muscle.

We stop at a sleek, black, two-seater vintage convertible, and he pulls a set of keys from his pocket. Pete opens up the passenger door, “Watch your head.”

I see what he means. I duck to avoid the leather roof, and ease myself into the low, sporty convertible. My hands are so torn up from clawing the floor and the door of the storage room, putting on my seat belt is a challenge. I begin to think about being trapped in the storage room, and chills run up my spine. Pete yanks open his door and slips into the seat next to me, startling me out of the memory.

Inside and out, Pete’s car looks like an early 1960's vintage sports car, but it has lots of new technology, too. I stare at the custom stereo, a thumb drive sticking out of one corner, and I wonder what kind of music he listens to. It says something about a person, but I don’t ask. The clock flashes info at us, until Pete tells the car to stop talking to him.

The engine purrs to life, and, in a matter of moments, streetlights whip by. I stare out the window, resting my head against the cool glass. Although it leaves a sooty faceprint, it helps to alleviate the constant throbbing behind my skull. Better a faceprint, than an assprint. I giggle to myself, and wonder where that thought came from.

As Pete bobs and weaves through traffic, heading back onto Long Island, we sit in comfortable silence.

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