Page 138 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
His curse rocked my heels back. “That’s not easy.”
The button-down he wore pulled tight when he shoved his hands inside his dress slacks. Solid stone sat beneath his shirt, and I wondered if it would ever crack. He reminded me so much of the Sisyphus statue I’d found. I almost couldn’t wait to show it to him, but I remembered I’d called the gallery and asked them to hold the Depressing Sisyphus instead.
His eyes dipped to my stomach, which took its cue to growl. “Fine.” He ran his hand through his hair—once, which I’d never figured out the meaning of.
“An actual explanation,” I warned. “Be honest.”
Waiting for him to answer felt like finishing a book and learning the next wouldn’t release for a year.
“Remember when I first said it?” His jaw ticked at his words.
“When I ran into you at my cotillion.”
“Yeah.” The scowl unfurling across his face could conquer lands and unseat kings. “After you kneed Able Small Dick Cartwright in the balls. Twice.” He delivered the words like you’d deliver a bomb. No remorse.
I jabbed at the crosswalk button, harder than necessary. “Good times.”
“I said it because you’re fierce.” Nash touched my elbow until I faced him and held eye contact. “You came out of that room looking like a warrior, ready to destroy anything that dared cross you, including me and Reed.”
Some people accept criticism well; others, compliments. I fell into a third category—neither. Mostly because I didn’t talk to many people and cared even less about their opinion of me.
It made accepting a compliment from Nash more difficult than it should have been, because it came accompanied by the underlying threat of luring me in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, allowing them to curl into fists out of sight.
“It’s not an insult?” I barely heard my words over my pulse.
“It was never an insult.”
A hummingbird had replaced my heart, and it fluttered inside me, beating its wings to a rhythm I couldn’t keep up with.
Shut up, Heart. I can’t deal with you right now. Go hibernate.
I wanted to ask so many questions.
Why are you feeding me?
Why are you mad at the world?
Why are you mad at me?
Are you okay? Has anyone asked you that since Hank died?
Swallowing them all, I nodded across the street. “The crosslight turned green.” I dodged around Nash and made it to the door first.
He could have asked me to move, but he leaned over my body. His front pressed against my back. He reached around me and unlocked the door. I shotgunned forward at the first opportunity, making my way through the buffet with my phone’s flashlight until I realized everything had been emptied. Not even the chip packets remained at the snack station.
“Fuck.”
Nash flicked the light on from the door. “I’ll make you a sandwich in the back.”
“The deal was, I’d go inside. Not that I’d eat anything.” I trailed him into the kitchen because it felt weird to be in the buffet area without supervision. “Good thing Delilah’s your lawyer and not you.”
He ignored me, washed his hands, and pulled out ingredients with ease, obviously familiar with the kitchen’s layout. I set my phone down and studied him. His fluid movements disgusted me. No one deserved to make sandwiches with the grace of a professional athlete.
Two slices of sourdough.
Turkey.
