Page 164 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Your dad’s address, please and fucking thank you.
She paused and slanted her head. “Is it illegal?”
“No.”
“Is it sexual?”
Fuck, she looked too enticed by the idea.
“No.”
“If you accompany me to brunch with my mom, too,” she bartered, always set on cinching a victory. “Able will be there, and since Reed is spending the weekend with Basil…”
Get in. Get out, dick.
I would have said no on account of my promise to Ma that I’d stay away from Eastridge, but Able Small Dick Cartwright was the type of rich prick who thought he could get away with murder.
“Deal.”
“Deal,” she agreed, betraying her dad with a smile on her face.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Love exists, and it's crueler than lust.
I knew if I loved someone, I wouldn't lie to them. I also knew the idea of telling Nash I was Durga appealed to me as much as contracting a painful strand of crabs.
“What happened to your old Honda?” I asked, sliding into Nash’s sleek black convertible. It smelled of new car mixed with him. I shoved my bag in my foot area and waited for an answer.
“Retired.”
He didn’t elaborate.
I clutched onto my seat when he sped off, thankful he’d left the hardtop on.
Nash Prescott looke
d like every mom’s worst nightmare—and mine for different reasons—in his black jeans and olive-colored Henley, sleeves pulled up mid-forearm. My fingers itched to trace his tattoo.
I dug them into the leather. “I need to make two stops before we get to the country club.”
“This isn’t a field trip, Tiger.”
He rapped the steering wheel with a finger, driving with one hand on it and the other wrapped around my headrest. I couldn’t reconcile him with my Ben, but I sometimes saw glimpses of it. Last night, but definitely not today.
Determination inked his body with tight muscles and a set jaw. “You want the stops, I get two more truths.”
“Fine,” I grit out, knowing I’d regret this, but I couldn’t go to Eastridge without visiting Betty.
I also needed to change out of my sonder tee and into the dress Virginia hated, in the unlikely event that my belongings hadn’t been tossed by the new Winthrop Estate owner. The idea of sitting in a car with Ben had my lips loose, begging to confess.
I busied myself with studying Nash's car, running my fingers along the leather, inhaling its scent. I toyed with the latch to the glove compartment.
“Don’t touch that.”
Too late.
It flung open.
