Page 27 of The Lies We Steal

However, I'm not sure that's true as I count the ticks in his jaw.

One, does he work his jaw muscle out?

Two, he should shave his stumble.

Three, fuck.

He lets out a dark breath that flares his nose, tilting his neck just enough to crack it. Realistically speaking he isn’t gonna hit me in front of all these people. Theoretically, I don’t know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t.

Currently, I’m freaking out trying to figure out how to fix this before he explodes.

He shifts to face me once again, watching me with pits for eyes reaching his hand out seizing the leg of my chair, and jerking me next to him. I can't tell if it's the chair squeaking or if it's me. Either way, my face flames a fierce red because I know people are watching.

I make an embarrassing oof sound when the corner of my seat clashes with his. That same hand I'd been staring at starts crawling up to clutch my thigh, his fingers squeezing roughly so that the denim of my jeans grates against me. And suddenly I’m torn between the two halves of myself.

The side of me that wants to slap him for laying a hand on me and the side of me that is throbbing from the heat of his fingers on my inner thigh. Dangerously close to my center.

His breath slaps me on the face, fanning across my lips and cheeks. I can smell the coffee on him, his morning cigarette, and the flavored gum he is chewing.

It's swirling around in my brain, jumbling my thoughts. Numbing the logical side of my brain just like the night I first saw him. I knew I should’ve left, but I stayed anyway. Just like I was doing right now.

My mouth is silently open, gaping at him as his dark eyes flick from my lips to my eyes, over and over again before he talks,

“There is a fine line between brave and stupid, girl. You are fucking toeing it.” He breathes, my body recoiling from the insult, his face inclines in even closer.

His lips desperately close to mine, an inch away, maybe. I can feel the warmth of his skin on my own and I know I should pull back but I don’t. My body won’t let me. It refuses.

“They are not scared of me because of my money, they fear me because I could, and would kill them if they crossed me. You should think about that before opening those cock sucking lips again.”

I inhale sharply, the lewd image of me on my knees in front of him while he said those exact words. My mouth wrapped snugly around the thick length in his jeans, his hand wound in my hair yanking me up and down it so he could pleasure himself.

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll get you killed.” He ends, releasing my thigh and shoving my chair back to its place. Returning to face the board, crossing his arms across his chest like that didn't just happen.

A few students are turned around looking, our professor not noticing since we were all the way in the back and his back was turned to us.

I hold my breath, wanting to smack myself in the face, but also telling myself that I need to get laid as soon as possible because obviously, I’m having a case of sexual deprivation if this psychopath is turning me on.

I’m just projecting is all, that’s it. I tell myself as I try to calm my flushed cheeks and erratic breathing.

“You okay, Briar?” Easton’s melodious voice comes as a safety blanket mixed with ice water, bringing me back to reality.

I blink, looking at the students who are charging out of the classroom and assembling their things. Apparently, I’d missed the dismal. I didn’t even hear if we had homework. I wordlessly thank myself for recording on my computer, saving the file instantly, and shoving my things into my bag.

I stand up, “Yeah, I’m uh, fine. Totally fine.”

Really believable, Briar. Honestly. Where is your Oscar?

Easton looks down at Alistair, his once charming face turning frigid, “Caldwell.” He utters giving him a less than stellar greeting.

“Sinclair.” He sing-songs, looking up at him with a grin.

Next to each other, they look like the perfect representation of day and night. Ying and yang. Good and evil.

I’m grounded in my spot, not able to get past Alistair unless he moves his chair forward. So I just stand still, awkwardly watching them.

“How's your brother?” Easton asks smugly like it’s an inside joke or something.

Quick as a whip, Alistair responds with just as much irony, “How’s your mom?”

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