Page 39 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“Brock?” I squeeze his hand back in gratitude. “I’d totally bury a body with you too.”
CHAPTER 17
BROCK
As we drive from Teterboro Airport to the bookstore, I stare out the window at the flashes of red and green Christmas lights and decorations along the street, anything but thinking too much about the warmth of Presley’s head resting on my shoulder and how it shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is. Things have been back and forth with us since I picked her up, moments like this where it’s like our friendship never changed and then other times when we’re overthinking everything we do. When she told me about her aunt and the ring, it was natural to reach out for her. It wasn’t until after, when our conversation slowed—probably sleepiness on my part—that I thought about it more closely and wondered if I had given her mixed signals about my real feelings. She’d definitely be confused if she knew that I liked the way she was leaning into me, almost like she’s letting me take care of her. To be fair, Presley did start out with her head leaned back against the head rest when she first fell asleep and slowly her head shifted until it rested against my shoulder.
Our five-hour flight was uneventful, and the private jet Eli arranged for us was nice. But neither of us really slept. Presley claimed the caffeine was keeping her awake. I’m sure thoughts about what to do with the ring kept her up as well. Webrainstormed some things, but Presley’s mostly thought of everything, and it always circles back to how to get it to the police or the Westcotts without anyone knowing it was ever in Presley’s or her aunt’s possession. I suggested her mailing it, but she’s sure that fingerprints or something will lead them back to her. We’re both stumped.
So when that conversation died, Presley took out book fifteen, which she’s already halfway done with. I have no idea how she got through the last four books in such a short amount of time. I listened to two on audiobooks at ridiculously fast speeds and still only got through book thirteen before I grabbed a couple hours of sleep last night. The last few in the series are crazy long. I’m eager to see how long book sixteen will be. Thornridge has a lot of plotlines to wrap up, and if Lyra is revealed as the Obsidian Queen, he’ll need to do a lot of explaining. The press releases have given away nothing, not the blurb or even the cover. Everything will be a surprise to fans when they show up today, and the internet is freaking out over it. The release even made headlines on some of the bigger news sites the last couple days. It’s the most hype TOK has ever gotten, and I’m sure the publicists behind it all planned everything in hopes this would play out exactly like it is.
Presley gives a little sigh, reminding me that her cheek is squished against my arm. I want to snap a picture of how cute she looks with her lips pushed out a little bit, but I’d have to move to get my phone from my pocket and that would wake her up.
She’d be so much more comfortable if I could put my arm around her and pull her against me, but selfish as it is to be Presley’s friend, I can’t go further and do things like that to toy with her. Taking her hand this morning was too far. I mean these actions innocently, and she’d understand that, but it wouldn’t help our situation.
The thing is, despite Presley not being my typical type, she is beautiful. Her thick brown hair is braided over her shoulder, andher long lashes rest against her cheeks. The fact that we’re just friends isn’t because she’s not attractive to me—she is.
It’s that I would know, right? There would besomething.
I stare down at her, paying close attention to everything I feel. I can admit that Lincoln’s not wrong that, when seen from the outside, Presley and I make sense romantically. We talk a lot, text, and share the details of our lives. We’re comfortable with each other, and our close friendship makes the hand holding and hugs and her sleeping on my shoulder natural. Plus I love spending time with her. I’m grateful to be here with her, and I’m glad she pushed for us to do this together and made it happen. I’m also grateful to have found someone who shares the books that were so important to me growing up along with loving the sport that I love. Plus, she was amazing when everything went down with the Devils. She was understanding and thoughtful, and even though I could tell she was concerned and wanted more information from me, she never pushed.
There’s warmth in my chest as I think about how kind she is to me, but it’s not that spark of fire I’d expect if I wanted more of a relationship. Not the zing that should be here. Would I like kissing her?
I picture it—as an experiment. Me, pushing that stray hair that’s fallen from her braid away from her cheek. Her eyes expectant, like they were the night she told me she liked me, as she tilts her chin up toward me. I would lean in closer, touch my lips to hers while she smiles with anticipation?—
The Escalade stops at the curb in front of the bookstore, The Sorcery Shop, ending the imaginary moment abruptly. I straighten when I realize I’ve leaned toward Presley. See, that proves it. No butterflies or anything.
Not that I actually pictured kissing her, but I got close. I would have felt something.
The bookstore is tiny, and according to the internet, the owner is one of the biggest TOK fans out there. She started most of the Reddit threads, and she’s a regular contributor to theFacebook fan page and the website forum. The door is on the right side of the shop, and a big window is on the left. There’s a sign announcing the release ofVeil of the Queenand the exclusive sale here at this store until Christmas. There are window drawings of Christmas trees surrounded by impressive TOK character depictions, all of them wearing Santa hats and elf shoes as they hang lights and decorate the trees.
I nudge Presley softly. “We’re here.”
“Mmmm,” she murmurs, blinking a few times and then opening her eyes. Then they get wider, probably as she realizes she’s leaning against me. She quickly straightens, still blinking sleep away. “Sorry about that,” she says, gesturing toward my shoulder.
I wave her off, hoping that by acting normal, she’ll feel normal too. “Like you said, I am taking up most of this seat. You didn’t have a choice.”
One side of her lips ticks up in a sleepy smile, and something swoops through my stomach.
What was that?
I quickly catalog what I ate this morning—a big breakfast burrito I made for myself last night to bring on the plane. (One for Presley too, of course.) All stuff I normally eat. Not that I really think that swoop had something to do with what I ate.
It’s nerves for today, right?
Yeah.
She looks over at the bookstore, and her eyebrows jump. “Are you even going to fit in there?”
I chuckle. “Better chance at us being in the top twenty-five if no one else can fit in.”
She pushes open her door, grabs her bag from the floor in front of her, and gets out. By the time I unfold myself from the vehicle, she’s on the sidewalk in front of the store, stretching out and studying the storefront, her smile growing with every piece of the window art she takes in.
The crisp December air has a bite to it that’s a little surprisingsince we came from California. But the day is sunny and looks like it will be beautiful. Plus I like the chill. It reminds me of home and the mountains around Little River. The air here definitely doesn’t smell as clean, although there’s a bakery down the street, and the scent of fresh bread drifts in the air. It’s going to be a good day. I can feel it.
Presley gives a quiet squeal and claps her hands. “This is really happening!” Then she grabs my arm and tugs me toward the store. As she reaches the door, her cheeks go pink, and she drops my arm. Before she can say sorry again, I lean past her and open the door for her.
Both of our mouths drop at the noise level inside. There are at least fifty people in the store and it’s over an hour before the sale officially begins.
