Page 49 of The Liar's Reckoning

I barely suppress a heavy roll of my eyes. He’s fuckingimpossible. It makes me want to reopen his text and read it again. He’d said some borderline nice things. Desperate things. Things that made me sweat as I read it in my bed an hour ago.Say the word… I’d be on my knees. I want you.

I have no reason not to believe him. He’s here. But I have every reason to question what the hellI’mdoing here with him.

I’m not sure Avery would take kindly to my sneaking off in the morning to see about a guy when I agreed to think about starting a family with her a week ago. Especially a guy who runs ice cold one second and burning hot the next.

“Last night was that bad, huh?”

He scowls at me. “Where’d that come from?”

“I just figured. You’re sort of scraping the barrel with me of all people.”

“I don’t see it that way,” he says shortly. “How much longer until we get to this apartment of yours?”

The question makes my cock ache. I rub at my jaw and realize I left home without shaving. I gesture at the road. “It’s rush hour. Who knows?”

He shifts, folding his arms over his chest and sinking as much as he can into the seat, his legs spread wide. He looks like a kid in detention—the rebel type I always marveled at who didn’t seem to care about what anyone thought of them—teachers, parents, administrators, fellow students. Me. They never looked happy, and Silas doesn’t either. He never does.

“I’d think you’d be trying harder,” I say after another few silent blocks.

“Hm?”

“You said a lot in the text you sent. Apologized even. But now I just get this same old pissed off version of?—”

“I’m not pissed off. I’m impatient. I want to be alone.”

“So you’re only an asshole in public?”

“I’m not an asshole,” he mumbles. “I’m frustrated.”

“About what?”

He gives me a look like I could not possibly be more oblivious. And I guess I am because I can’t read the look or guess what he’s thinking. I feel sick.

“Did you read my text?” he practically snaps.

I inhale sharply and turn away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softer. “I don’t know why I get like this with you.”

“I’m not an asshole either.”

“I know that.”

“I get this feeling like you’re gonna be really bad for me,” he says.

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“Then why?—”

“Can you stop asking questions?” he says. “Please?”

I do better than that. I shut the fuck up entirely. My silence doesn’t help the cab ride go any faster, and it does nothing to thin out the thick tension in the air, but it’s quiet.

My thoughts turn to my apartment. I haven’t been back in a few months. The last time I was there, I cleaned out the fridge, so nothing should smell. I have no sentimental attachment to the property. I’ve hardly lived there. A couple of weeks at a time now and then.

It was professionally decorated—an ideal bachelor pad with a huge TV and a great sound system. Like my parents thought I might want to throw big parties with all my “friends.”

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