Page 137 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
When I finally collected myself, I should have thanked him. Instead, I continued my speed walk. “You must wear shoes that don’t fit.”
“That’s not a saying either.” He dug two hands into his dress slacks. We waited for the sign to turn white. “For the record, I’m not following you. I volunteer at that soup kitchen. Better—I basically fund it.”
“We both know the soup kitchen is closed. It’s—” I grabbed Nash’s hand to glance at his watch, but the wild rhythm of his pulse against my fingertips distracted me. Definitely didn’t think that one through. “Umm…”
“Ten forty-six.”
Catching sight of his amusement might very well kill me, so I glared at the sky. We waited for the crosslight to turn green.
I gave you secrets.
You gave me Nash.
What the fuck, dude?
“Right.” I lowered my head. “It’s ten forty-six.”
“If you know the soup kitchen is closed, why are you still headed there?”
“Hope, young grasshopper.” I rounded the corner adjacent to the soup kitchen, recalling his note about asking Betty to find his hope. Had he ever found it? “That shit gets me full.”
“Like magic words?”
I stopped and gave in, studying his face with the vigor of a straight-A student. He seemed pleased with himself. Too confiden
t that he’d found a pressure point of mine. The real pressure points were the questions that threatened to spill past my lips.
The most important one being—why do you even care about feeding me?
I bit my tongue.
“What do you know about magic words?”
“I know you look batshit when you mouth them during meetings with suppliers.” His arm crossed over my stomach as a car careened past us at the crosswalk. My abs flexed at his touch, my shirt suddenly feeling too thin. Meanwhile, he appeared unaffected. “People stare at me and wonder why the fuck I hired the lunatic in the ripped jeans and selcouth tees.”
“I haven’t worn the selcouth tee since—”
He cocked a brow. “Since?”
“Is there a point to this conversation, or can we eat—Wait. You're pressing me.” My fists rested on each hip. I tipped my head up to glower at Nash. “If you think you can do some subtle ninja interrogation and find a way to trick me into eating your food, you’re as stoned as you used to be.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured across the street. “The soup kitchen is closed. The lights are off. Unless…”
You hate me, don’t you, Starless Night?
“Unless?” I curled my toes inside my Chucks, knowing I’d loathe whatever answer he offered me.
“Unless you know someone who donates a shit ton of money and has a key to the place.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a set up.” I retreated a step when I realized how close we stood. “Or worse—a favor.”
“Come on, Tiger.” His jaw ticked, gaze flicking upward in a way that made me wonder if he talked to starless skies, too. “Give yourself a break.”
“If you tell me why you call me Tiger.” I bounced on my toes, wondering what else I could glean from him. Nash hoarded secrets like the Kardashians hoarded cars. He could stand to lose a few. “No bullshit. None of that abstract answer thing you pulled the other day, too.”
The pad of his thumb brushed his bottom lip. “I tell you why I call you tiger, and you go in?”
“It’s that easy.”
