Page 46 of Under the Lies

We’re standing on the roof of the building.

I didn’t want to say goodbye to you. I take a sip of the bourbon I stole from downstairs to keep from saying that. It’s the alcohol talking anyway.

On top of the champagne, I’ve started to make a small dent in the stolen alcohol. I know I’m pushing myself past what I can handle, but there’s not a care left inside me. All my reservations, all my worries, for right now, are gone.

I’m twirling in tight circles, careful—so careful—to not get close to the edge. I’m fine if I stay in the center of the roof. As long as I don’t see how far my fall down is, I’m fine.

Still spinning, I tilt the bottle back, but before the rich liquid can reach me, it’s ripped from my grip.

“Hey!” I shout even though Noah is standing inches away. “Give me that!”

He doesn’t. Instead, he quirks a brow as he places the bottle to his lips and takes a healthy swallow. Noah doesn’t wince like I did with the first sip, he probably likes the burn.

Before I can make a grab for the bottle, Noah throws it over my head and I watch, open-mouthed, as it shatters against the wall.

My gaze is fixed on it for several beats, watching the glorious high-priced liquor slowly drip down.

That was mine. I was having fun. Why did my fun just shatter?

“What is wrong with you?” I whirl around and shove Noah’s chest. He barely budges.

“You’re drunk,” he states plainly.

“I was enjoying that!” I push him again and get the same result as before. Noah is an unmoving statue of hard muscle. With my hands on his chest, my fingers curl into fists around the fabric of his coat.

“And now you’re not.” He doesn’t make a move to touch me, but I feel him nonetheless.

He’s always been this mystery. An orphaned boy who wants for little and yet is so angry, who walks the street of this city in the middle of the night. Noah Kincaid puts on a show for the world to see, but he forgets that he once showed me the broken boy that lies underneath.

I want to find the door that leads to the library of his mind and explore all the shelves he has to offer.

“What are you doing, Sayer?”

“Trying to crack your secrets,” I admit with my liquor-loosened tongue.

“That so?” He huffs a laugh. “How’s it working for you?”

My hands move down his chest until the tips of my fingers brush against the waistband of his pants. Apparently bourbon makes me brazen. I look up at him, our mouths almost touching. His eyes unblinking. “Can’t seem to crack the code.” I smirk. “Yet.”

I push off his body, twirling away only for my ankles to catch on each other and I go tumbling down. If it wasn’t for Noah’s wild reflexes I would’ve fallen face first into a sea of broken glass.

His arms are wrapped around me, keeping me suspended mid-fall, his breath brushes against the back of my neck. I don’t breathe as he pulls us away from the glass shards.

Even still Noah doesn’t pull away. Instead his hands graze down to my hips, holding them tight like anchors, keeping me steady.

“Sayer…” he rasps my name, face close to mine.

I part my lips. He doesn’t move any closer. This seems to be a trend with us, even when I pull away, I just snap back into Noah’s orbit. Maybe that’s why I think he’s so dangerous. Not because the power he holds over the town, but for the power he holds over me.

A car alarm goes off somewhere down below, the hold he has over me broken.

I pull away like his body is breathing fire. He makes me feel vulnerable and I’ve worked very hard to be anything but in the last six years.

Noah’s brows pinch in question.

“Stop doing that,” I snap.

“Doing what?”

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