Page 78 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
I should lie again. But I don’t. “I’m here because a man is dead,” I say. “And because you were near the truck he was found in.”
We stay too close for too long. Watching. Waiting. The whiskey sits where it always does, warm behind my sternum, burning a slow path I remember too well.
“You still wear that cologne,” she says, too quiet. It isn’t a question.
“You still keep my glass,” I answer.
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “Maybe I like the weight of it.”
Maybe I like the weight of you.
I shouldn’t touch her. So, I do the next-worst thing: reach past her for the bottle to set it farther from the edge—an inch away from a fall. The back of my hand skims the inside of her wrist. Static. She doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“Careful,” I say, and I’m not talking about the glass.
Her breath hitches. A small, traitorous sound that detonates in my ribs. She tilts her face up, eyes on mine like she’s measuring danger against want and not hating the math.
“Noted,” she whispers.
My mouth is a bad idea away from hers. I plant my hand on the counter instead, close enough that our fingers almost touch. Close enough to remember the freckle at the base of her throat and how it rises when she swallows.
“I should go,” I say.
“You should,” she says. She doesn’t move.
I take two steps, pause, and look back because I don’t know how not to. “If you think of anything you forgot to mention,” I say, pinning my gaze to hers, “call me.”
Like if you made a mistake and need my help. Just ask, dammit.
“I won’t forget,” she says.
For a second, something shifts—her lips part, the muscle at her throat jumps. The moment stretches like warm sugar.
Then Amy flushes and the thread snaps.
I nod once. If I say anything else, it’ll be the wrong thing. I can’t afford wrong.
She’s lying. I know it.
And still, I want to build a wall between her and whatever’s coming.
I walk away before I something else and make everything worse all over again.
thirty-eight
. . .
Elle
The second thedoor clicks shut I release the breath I’ve been holding so long my lungs ache. Amy grabs the counter for support like she might pass out.
“Oh my God,” she hisses. “He knows.”
“He suspects,” I say, throat tight, trying to keep my voice steady despite the whirlwind of panic swirling inside me.
“He knows.” She looks at me, wild-eyed. “Why didn’t he arrest us?”
I shake my head, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “Because he doesn’t have proof. And because—” I glance toward the door, half-expecting it to swing open again, revealing Noah’s serious face and those piercing eyes that seem to see right through me. “I think part of him doesn’t want to find it.”
