Page 45 of Under the Lies

“Is that a good or bad thing?” I whisper.

“Good,” he admits after a beat. Shocking me again with his honesty. “You seem surprised,” he adds in a low octave.

“You seem to keep doing that to me.”

A pause.

Then, in the same voice, he says, “I’m not all that you’ve heard, Sayer.”

Behind the frames of his glasses, those glacial blues nail me where I stand.

“No,” I agree. “I think you’re more, Noah Kincaid. More than a story could ever hold.”

The air is thick around us, humid with tension as he stares down at me with an unreadable expression.

So intense I take a step back.

He follows, erasing the distance between us. Not saying a word, his hand reaches my face.

I pull back, away from his touch. “This goes against the contract.”

It feels feeble, protesting the contract when my body is pulled tight in anticipation and the words taste forced on my tongue, knowing the lie even if I deny it.

The clause of him not touching me is for self-preservation.

Noah’s fingers graze the tops of my cheeks and I wonder if he can hear the beating in my chest, the unsteady rhythm of my heart.

I wonder if his heart beats at all. Or if there’s just a black hole where it collapsed.

Noah’s fingers dance toward my hair, pulling on a strand…holding up a green, shiny leaf. A piece from the fake plant.

I groan, my head hitting the wall behind me.

Noah smirks, rubbing the leaf between his fingers. “What were you doing hiding in that plant?”

“Waiting for you. To watch you like you always watch me.”

“Like what you saw?”

“No.” Another lie.

He knows it too, but for once, he doesn’t call me on it.

We stare at each other for a beat more before Noah entwines his fingers with mine and we start to walk toward the elevator. As we pass by the serving station, I pull away from Noah and run toward the unsupervised counter.

“What’re you doing?” he barks at me, but I don’t answer as I lean across it and wrap my fingers around an unopened bottle of amber gold. I don’t know what I’m doing except that there’s a flurry of excitement taking root in my chest as I race toward the now opened elevator with Noah close on my heels.

A few people eye us, maybe because my wild laughter escapes as the elevator doors close behind us.

“What was that?” he asked, looking wild. He’s eyeing me in confusion while his hair is starting to dry, some strands stick to his forehead while others stand in various directions. My fingers itch to sink into it, but I tighten them around the bottle instead.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the feelings Noah has stirred inside me or maybe it’s the simple fact I keep denying, that I’ve missed Noah more than I should, but whatever it is, I answer honestly.

“I want to keep the night going. I don’t want it to be over yet.” Instead of hitting the ground floor button, I hit the farthest one from it.

And up we go.

“Why did we come here?” He watches as I tilt my head back to look at the stars.

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