Page 43 of Liar
Savannah tilts her head and smiles. “Hi, Ember. I thought you could use a ride today.”
“Uh…” My ravaged brain takes its time catching up to who’s standing on the front porch. “Dash usually gives me a ride. Although…” I throw a glance over my shoulder, brows furrowed. I haven’t seen him at all this morning. My breakfast of oatmeal and coffee was mysteriously delivered to me on a tray outside my room, a lot like hotel service.
“He has the day off.” Savannah offers her hand. “Come on. My car’s waiting.”
I stare at her open palm, then back at her face. She exudes friendliness, her voice light, her smile easy … but what is it with her eyes? That same vacancy is back. If I squint, there’s a glimmer of intelligence until she blinks, then it’s gone again.
“Um…” Apparently, Thorne’s turned me into a Cro Magnon, with the ability to use only one-syllable words. I throw one last glance over my shoulder. “Okay. Sure.”
Avoiding her awaiting hand, I step out and shut the door, not worried about locking it. Dash is likely lurking about somewhere, and security cameras are up.
At the thought, I wince again. Thorne still lords that damn security tape over me, yet I still gave him my virginity. How fucked up am I?
Seriously fucked up, if I give what I allowed him to do to me any thought. And how much I liked it.
My center pulses and throbs, its former ravaging immediately forgotten as it lubricates itself for more.
I clear my throat and sway my hips, hoping to get rid of the intense want, especially in front of Savannah.
“So how was your night?”
“What? Great. Good. Boring.” Inside, I’m positively sneering at myself. Did Thorne take my intelligence along with my virginity? I think not. “A lot of catching up with assignments. It’s so easy to get behind at Winthorpe.”
“That’s very true,” Savannah responds in a quiet voice. I realize my quadrillionth mistake.
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.” I reach for my dad’s advice next. When foot in mouth, try for honesty. “I’m just wanting to make conversation with you, and it’s tough because of, you know, what we did. Who we are.” I laugh up at the cloudy sky. “Take your pick.”
Savannah’s bland expression breaks into a genuine smile as she looks over at me. “Secret societies weren’t in the Winthorpe enrollment brochure, I take it?”
We lock eyes, and I share a true moment with her. My tummy wriggles with something close to kismet.
It’s at that point we reach the car. Savannah breaks off contact first, heading to the other side. “Slide on in,” she says to me over the hood.
The luxury car is black, of course—the preferred color of the elite’s chauffeurs. This one’s a Range Rover, and I get a second tug on my heart this morning. Mom always said if she ever struck it rich, she’d love to buy a pearl white Range Rover and drive over our neighbor’s lawn (our neighbor, Mr. Tobias, is a cranky old man who likes to dump his garbage on our side of the fence to attract the raccoons).
The memory is so sudden and tangible that I stop opening the car door to take a breath. God, I’m even missing Mr. Tobias’s curse-riddled rants to his dead ex-wife at this point.
“Ember? Are you getting in?” Savannah stares at me over the seats.
My lips tick up in apology, and I hop into the warm leather seats. Mmm, seat warmers. I have to tell Mom about that…
I immediately stifle that train of thought. Too much is going on inside my head this morning. All this sentimentality will make my heart explode if I let it.
“This is Alejandro.” Savannah gestures to the driver, who meets my eye in the rearview mirror and dips his head in greeting. I wave back.
As soon as we’re buckled in, he smooths out of the manor’s circular driveway and onto the road. I find myself staring out my window at the neighbor’s house across the street—just as cranky and hell-bent as Mr. Tobias but much, much hotter.
I wonder what Thorne’s doing right now. Or where he went after I fell asleep.
Thorne tucked me under his chin after giving me the orgasm of my life, stroking the underside of my jaw until I couldn’t fight off sleep any longer. He’s never been so tender and quiet, and I’m pretty sure I won’t see that side of him again. Not if he can help it. Thorne proved that by disappearing while I was lightly comatose and not bothering with a note, text, or anything remotely considerate.
What did I expect him to write, anyway? Thanks for your V-card. See you at school.
He didn’t come with expectations other than to warn me about risks I’m well aware of. I was the one who pushed, begged, and jumped him for sex.
And I would absolutely do it again.
“Penny for your thoughts?”