Page 75 of Under the Lies

The man always moves like he’s pissed at the world, out to rectify vendettas.

But I don’t hear those piercing, lethal steps. I try to ignore the swell of disappointment at the sound of lighter, bouncing steps—definitely not Noah—as I twist around to see who’s arrived.

Thea le Veck.

She walks like she owns the place, smiling when she sees me. Her wild hair bouncing with each step.

“Sayer!” She draws closer to me.

“Hi, Thea.”

She plops down on the couch next to me, stretching her legs out on the coffee table and crosses her ankles. “How are you liking your stay at the Kincaid Hotel?”

I fight a smile, the first time my facial muscles have worked like that in days. “Their customer service could use some work.”

She laughs. “Yeah, Noah can be as welcoming as a prickly cactus.”

I stare at her, wondering why she’s here. I haven’t seen her since that party where I stole a bottle of scotch. That was two weeks ago and now she’s acting like we’re the best of friends. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Thea, but what’re you doing here?”

If Thea’s offended by my question, she doesn’t show it. Uncrossing her ankles, she twists to face me. “I came to check on you.”

“Why?” To see if I’m going to run away?

“Because I had a feeling you were bored out of your mind.”

I eye her skeptically. It’s not that I don’t trust Thea, it’s that I don’t know her well enough to understand her motives.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Thea grins when I don’t respond.

“I haven’t had time to be bored.” And it’s true, I haven’t. Having Noah not around has been good on my schoolwork, which was starting to fall to the wayside from all the nights I had been spending with him.

Thea’s grin shifts into a frown. “That sounds boring in itself.”

“I’m actually working on a paper.” I reach for my laptop. “So if you don’t mind—”

“Actually, I do.” She takes the laptop from me before I can even process she moved. I stare as she puts it on the coffee table, next to the chessboard. “Let’s have a party.”

I blink. Surely, I heard her wrong. “Excuse me?”

“A party. Let’s have one.” She gets up from the couch.

I’m almost afraid to ask, “Where?”

“Here, silly.” She stares down at me with her hands on her hips.

I remain sitting.

The idea doesn’t thrill me as much as it does her. “Yeah, no thank you.”

“C’mon, Sayer!” She pulls me off the couch. “It’ll be fun!”

“For who?”

“You?”

Yeah, not likely. “Parties aren’t my thing.”

“Parties are everyone’s thing,” she argues.

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