Page 179 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
As soon as we entered the car, Emery shimmied into her oversized sweats, ordering me not to look. She flipped the dress over her head and replaced it with a white t-shirt that read, Easy, Tiger.
Settling into the seat, she stroked the trim. “What type of car is this?”
I pulled into the gas station and handed an attendant my card with orders to fill up the tank. “A Lamborghini Aventador S Roadster.”
“Hmm… doesn’t seem like something you’d drive.”
That’s because I'd taken an Uber to the nearest car dealership and picked the first car on the lot after my Honda broke down. It happened to be a luxury car dealership. Eastridge, North Carolina for you.
“You know what I noticed about Virginia?” she asked once we’d driven for an hour, the only car on the road now.
“What?”
“She never looks happy. I want to be happy when I grow up.”
“You’re not happy right now?”
“Hmm… I think I am. Maybe. Just a different type of happy. I want to be balter type of happy.” Another made-up word, no doubt. She didn’t give me a chance to ask what it meant. “Are you ever sick of the lies?”
“Whose lies?”
“Lies in general.” She massaged her temples, probably to fight off all those cocktails she’d downed. “People hold back, say what they don’t mean, and hide everything inside.”
I didn’t answer her, merely inclined my head and let her make of it what she wanted. My car careened down the concrete. The first splash of rain hit Emery’s side of the windshield. She reached up and stroked it, the movement reverent.
When she pulled her fingers back, she'd left marks on the glass. “I hate lies. You know what I realized, Nash?”
“Enlighten me. I’m on the edge of my seat.”
“You don’t hate me.” She flung her arms wide as if she'd just made the most profound statement in the world. “You hide behind this rough exterior, because I’ve found my way beneath your skin, and it scares you. You don’t like how I make you feel, because I actually make you feel.”
I swallowed, contemplating an answer to whatever the fuck that was. “You’re plastered.”
“Not really.”
The devious smile forced my fingers to adjust on the steering wheel. She pulled out her phone, gave me her back, and began typing.
I cut a glance at her. “What are you doing?”
She slid the phone back into her pocket and shifted. Her leg jostled the box of my notes she’d taken from the Winthrop Estate. “Just Googled something.”
Stretching her arms above her head, she rested her hands on her neck. We drove for a few more miles before her hand slithered behind my headrest.
“What are you doing?” I repeated. Second time in ten minutes. I was a parrot at this point.
The rain splashed across the windshield harder now. I turned on the wipers, placing the speed to its highest setting.
Her hand retreated at the same time she said, “Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over.”
She leaned over me in a flash, moving quickly for how much she had drunk. A second later, the roof of the convertible flung off, flying behind us with the speed I drove at. I flicked my eyes down to my lap. Her hand still clasped the lever that released the roof.
Emery looked half a second from snorting with laughter.
Glee brimmed her cheeks while I cataloged the past hour.
