Page 170 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
They ignored him.
Reed swore, grabbed his phone and keys, and swung an arm around Basil's shoulder. “I’m sorry
for ruining our breakfast, Ma. Basil and I have to get going. We’ll be back later, but I don’t think we’ll make it to Pastor Ken’s sermon.”
Betty turned to him. “It’s okay, baby. The walls of a hospital have heard more sincere prayers than Eastridge’s church. We can stop by the children’s unit later and donate some teddy bears.”
“Sounds good, Ma.”
Reed locked eyes with Nash before kissing Betty’s cheek. I followed him to the door, surprised when Basil tipped a shoulder up at me, as if to say, boys, what can you do?
I slid my hands into my pockets after Basil left for the restroom. “Are you mad at me?”
Fury lined Reed’s face for a second. He released a sigh and gathered me into a hug. “No, but I hope you know what you're doing.”
I don’t.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I offered him a lazy grin and rested my forehead against his shoulder.
I hadn’t had an opportunity to mourn the idea of me and Reed, to dig a grave, and label it friendship. In reality, I should have years ago when I’d slept with Nash. But standing in Reed’s arms, I realized why I never had to.
My heart didn’t caper inside its cage.
My body didn’t experience an earthquake.
I wanted to understand him, but I didn’t yearn for it.
I felt loved, but not in love.
He was just… Reed Prescott.
My best friend.
That’s all.
Only ever my best friend.
I palmed a stash of joints.
I’d poached them from Reed’s bag before he left, just to fuck with him for the punch. Leaning against the hood of my car, I watched Emery run her fingers across the massive double gates to the Winthrop Estate.
She crooked her head to study its height. “How likely are we to get arrested for trespassing?”
The weed wafted to my nostrils. I reeled a joint out of the bag and tossed the rest through my open car window. “Considering it's the Fourth of July and Eastridge is about as corrupt as a North Korean election, not at all.”
I neglected to mention I was the unhappy owner of the sixty-one-acre property. Maintenance fees for groundskeeping and cleaning staff auto-paid from one of my personal bank accounts.
My efforts started and ended there.
Emery tipped her chin at the joint nestled between my thumb and forefinger. “Are you going to light it up?”
Half my damn face throbbed, but I ignored it. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Corrupting you sounds more fun than it actually is, Miss Winthrop,” I lied. Mostly because the opposite was true, and she tasted of bad decisions and something to fight for instead of just something to fight.
Her blue-grays glinted with the challenge. Two fingers drifted down her shirt and thumbed the rim of her jeans, dipping just inside. “Do you like it?”
