The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,144

again!”

Four times.

In a row.

And Trez had been the one insisting.

As their little cart of horrors came back to the platform once again, he was prepared to keep the torture up.

Selena was ecstatic and that made it all worth it—even the intestinal loops in the middle of the roller-coaster ride.

Which turned his own guts into a fizzy mess.

“Let’s do it one more time,” he said, trying to fly the flag. Even though at this point someone was going to have to surgically remove his hands from the bar.

“No, I think we’ve had enough.”

“Are you kidding? I love this shit—”

“We’re finished,” she called out to the attendant.

“I got your pictures,” the human male said as he pulled a crank down and an engine that was out of sight came to a rambling halt. “They’re just printing.”

Okaaaay, time to get out. Yup.

“Trez?”

Prying his grip off the bar, he watched his metal savior rise up and clink into place overhead. “Yup. I’m coming.” Right now. “Here I go.”

As Selena got to her feet and balanced herself on the roll bar, he was ready to follow her out. Walk her over to the attendant. Get those pictures he’d been unaware that someone had been taking of them.

Instead, he just sat there breathing in a shallow pump. Come on, though, he wasn’t a pussy. Forcing himself to try to stand up, he found that his legs were numb from mid-thigh down—but on a messy stumble, he somehow managed to get out of the cart and onto the platform without completely embarrassing himself.

Although the fact that Selena had to steady him was not exactly a vote of confidence in his verticality.

“Oh, thank you,” he heard her say to the attendant. Then she glanced at him. “Here, let’s walk over to that bench and look at the pictures.”

Before he knew it, he was sitting on a stretch of wrought-iron hard-and-cold, and staring at photographs of Selena having a party and him looking like someone had his nuts in a vise. Meanwhile, her hand was stroking his back, riding over the leather of his jacket in a slow circle.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

“Thank you so much.” She held something out to him. “Why don’t you take a quick drink?”

He was too wrung-out to throw out a “S’all good.” He just took whatever it was, put it to his mouth, and did what he was told.

“Oh, that’s good,” he breathed when he finally lowered the soda bottle.

“Ginger ale. I learned about it from Doc Jane.”

About ten minutes later, he was able to properly focus on what he was supposedly looking at. “You are so beautiful,” he said as he stared at the image of the two of them together.

“I’m not sure about that, but I’ll tell you one thing—that is the time of my life right there. How you feeling?”

He rubbed his thumb over the picture of her face. “You are so alive. Look at you, your eyes are amazing.”

One by one, he studied each of the photographs. They’d been taken during the big drop after the second ascent, where you went all but weightless and the wind roared and you were not entirely convinced shit was going to end well when you got to the bottom.

He could practically feel the thrill coursing through Selena’s body, the excitement, the pleasure, the vibrating force of life transforming her into a contained lightning bolt of joy.

On his side? He’d never seen himself looking pale before, his dark skin pasty as shit—which was evidently possible.

Who knew.

“We should make a calendar of these,” he announced. “One half of them, at any rate.”

“You look so much better now. Less green. You were kind of green.”

“I would go on that motherfucker a million times more if that’s what you wanted.”

She leaned in, turned his face toward her, and kissed him. “You know what you just proved?”

“What? That even real males need airsick bags sometimes?”

“No.” She kissed him again. “That somebody can say ‘I love you’ without speaking.”

His chest puffed up. He couldn’t help it. “Check me out. A Casanova—who’da thought.”

Finishing the ginger ale, he tossed the empty into the trash bin five feet away, and put the pictures in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Getting to his feet, he offered her his arm. “How would you like a nutritionally deficient, but totally satisfying meal? We’re talking real chemicals and complete over-processing. The kind of stuff humans traditionally enjoy in this setting and later get home and have to take TUMS for?”

“Sounds delightful.” She took hold of what