The Worst Kind of Promise (Riverside Reapers #2)

by Celeste Briars

I look up at the ominous storm clouds as they inch across the desolate sky, draping the night in everlasting darkness. The promise of rain is poised on the horizon, waiting to fall in tandem with my tears. The streetlamp beside me flickers precariously, a large beacon that shines down on me like I’m a moth caught in a filth-covered flame. Cold air spills over my naked arms and legs, raising goose bumps on flesh, and the cement patch I’ve claimed as home for the time being has made my core temperature drop.

Oh boy…that’s a lot of descriptors.

I wince like he’d just physically burned me. Honestly, that would probably be less painful than whatever heart-squeezing sensation is erupting behind the cage of my ribs.

Cage. Of. My. Ribs. I mean, come on. Is ribcage really not enough?

It’s like a vacation, but in a more disgusting part of California that has zero beaches and an influx of heroin addicts.”

Accurate description of Riverside

“You sound mad.” Three words you should never say to a woman. Ever.

When he finally manages to somehow contort his body to look like mine, we hold the pose for two minutes, staring into each other’s eyes, hands on forearms.

That is a crazy long time for a yoga pose lol

He’s thriving, while I’m dying inside.

that's because you've been holding a yoga pose for 2 minutes

The sky is bruised with a plum gloam, tiny clusters of stars twinkling through an overhanging nebulous.

Seriously