Page 4 of The Law of Deceit
“Peachy. Just counting down until this shit is over,” I admit with a huff.
“Same.”
I jerk my eyes back over to her, surprised to find humor dancing in her beautiful eyes. “Sloane Thurman,” I say, mock horror in my tone. “Don’t let your bestie know you’d rather be anywhere than here. She might die of a broken heart.”
She smirks at me. “Jamie knows how I feel about stuff like this.” After she plucks the wrapped present from her purse, she meets my stare. “You and Gemma are special, which is the only reason why I’m here.”
We’re special.
Fuck, I feel thirteen again and not at all like the adult I now am.
Rather than cringing at her well-meant words, I take the horribly wrapped gift from her. She watches me, nervously nibbling on one corner of her bottom lip. I save her the trouble of the suspense and rip off the paper.
An iPad.
“Uh, thanks?”
Her shoulders stiffen and she lifts her chin. “It’s more than just an iPad, Dempsey. You’ll have to excuse that it’s been opened, but I added some apps to it.”
Curiosity has me plucking off the lid and retrieving the lightweight device. I have my phone for all my socials and a laptop I used for school, but I’ve never had a use for much more than that. Once I have the iPad out, I flip open the cover and hit the button to turn it on.
“The passcode is your birthday, but you’ll want to change that to something more secure,” she says, stepping closer—so close I can smell her fruity perfume that makes my mouth water.
Knowing she was there when I was born, hence how she knows my birthday, is a bit of a buzzkill when it comes to my crush on her. I mean, she saw my naked, screaming crybaby ass, for fuck’s sake. She will never see me as a romantic interest. And I will forever be bitter over that fact.
The iPad shines brightly and I look over the apps, most of them I know well. She points an unpainted, filed-down fingernail at the Procreate app.
“It’s for drawing. I know you do a lot of sketching in your drawing pads and notebooks, but I thought you might like to try your hand at digital art.” She digs into her purse and retrieves another item, this one not wrapped. “This came today and I didn’t have time to wrap it up. It’s an Apple pencil. You use it to draw with.”
Her thoughtfulness for my gift pushes away all my previous awkward feelings. Warmth blooms inside my chest and that familiar longing aches.
“I love it, Sloane.” I love you. “Thank you.”
She grins at me, relief shining in her eyes. “Good. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. You’re really talented.”
I blink at her, soaking up her words. She thinks I’m talented?
“You want to see what I draw?” I ask, sounding dumb as fuck. “I, uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll text you.”
Carefully, I close the iPad and tuck it back inside the box, stacking the Apple pencil box on top. The paper I’d ripped off litters the floor in front of me. As if we both come to the conclusion that it needs picking up at the same time, we kneel, faces inches from each other.
Amusement dances on Sloane’s usually stoic face and I can’t look away.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
“I guess you got this,” she says, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “Stay out of trouble, kid.”
And just like that, I’m reminded again of what I am to Sloane Thurman.
Her best friend’s son.
That’s all I’ll ever be.
Sloane
A stifled yawn manages to escape and earn me a chuff of laughter from one of the detectives who’s taken up residence at the coffee machine.
“Late night, Thurman?”