Page 139 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Extra chipotle mayo.
Lettuce.
Watching him make me food felt surreal. Obviously, I knew he'd done it in the past, but seeing it was a different story. Like breaking the fourth wall.
Nash was the star quarterback who lived in his own fiery universe, and he’d somehow gravitated into my icy one. I wanted to share my starless skies and steal his scorching sun. I would never understand it, but it was my truth.
This is why happiness isn’t permanent, I thought. Life introduces you to fantasies, then makes you feel like you can’t have them. You spend the rest of your life seeking that fantasy. When you realize it grew beneath your feet, it’s too late.
I set my phone on the countertop opposite of him, leaned against it, and gripped it with both hands. When Nash added a layer of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles inside the sandwich, my head jerked back.
My favorite sandwich.
He remembered.
How the fuck?
Never once did he look up to me. His attention to detail unnerved me. He sliced the bread diagonally, placed it on a rectangular plate, and set it beside my hand on the counter. My feet seemed less solid as I stared at it.
It occurred to me that we knew more about one another than we’d let on.
Getting to know someone is like gaining weight. Scattered bits acquired here and there. Next thing you know, you’re twenty pounds heavier, wondering where the hell all of it came from.
“What?” he asked when I didn’t touch it.
“Umm…” I tugged the hem of my tee.
“Jesus, Emery, spit it out.” Nash shot me a look that suggested he didn’t know why he was putting himself through this. “You’ve never been shy before. Don’t start now.”
I went with the first thing I could think of.
“There’s no card…”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I expected him to ignore me, but he shook his head, grabbed a pen and paper from a drawer, and set it on the counter. His tongue swiped his lips as he wrote. Slowly at first, then quick scribbles I feared I wouldn’t be able to read.
He folded the note and set it beside the sandwich. “Don’t read it now.”
“But—”
“Do you want it or not?”
I tucked the note into my pocket before he could take it back. “Fine.”
My stomach growled. I ey
ed the sandwich and toyed with the bread.
“What now?” His lips pressed together. He ran his hand through his hair. Twice. “Just eat the sandwich. Fuck.”
His persistence reached a point where I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t understand his motives, but I knew he genuinely wanted me fed, and that offered me leverage. It was a matter of how much.
“If I let you feed me,” I began, taking my time, “I get to ask two things of you—a favor and a question. I expect the truth.”
“You used up your honesty for the day.”
