All the Lies (Lies & Truths Duet #1)(39)

Naomi leans in to whisper, “I’ll gut you if you return to your old bitchy self.”

I smirk. “Is that a promise?”

She shakes her head. “That blunt-force trauma really did a number on you.”

We stride toward the main table. Everyone in the cafeteria watches us closely, seeming to hold their breath.

Silence fills the space as everyone at the main table stops talking all at once.

I stand there, carrying my plate, straightening my shoulders.

Prescott offers an awkward smile. “Hey, Captain.”

Bree reprimands him with a look and presses her lips into a thin line.

Owen jumps up from his seat and grins at us. “Long time no see, Rei-Rei. Are you here for that offer?”

“I’m here for my place.” I meet Bree’s stare head-on. She has enough decency to stop rubbing her hand along Asher’s arm, but she doesn’t let him go.

I refuse to look him in the eye even though I feel him boring holes in my face. One look, one freaking glance and all the courage I’ve summoned might evaporate.

“Oh, what to do?” Bree asks with a honeyed voice. “The table doesn’t fit everyone.”

I lean over, plant my hand in front of her, and mimic her fake smile. “Then I guess you have to make room for the captain.”

Everyone at the table—and the entire cafeteria—grows silent, seemingly entranced by the duel.

This will either bury her or bury me.

And I haven’t returned from the dead to be buried.

“It’s okay!” Lucy rushes in. “I’m sure we can attach an extra table.”

“Hear that, Bree?” I tell her. “Go fetch the table.”

She doesn’t move, her face growing red with exertion. “Reina, you—”

I slam my tray in front of hers, shutting her up. I lean forward and snarl, “Move.”

Her mouth falls open, but no words come out. Her ears heat, looking close to combustion. It’s Prescott who grabs her by the arm.

I remove her hand from Asher’s arm and plant my ass right beside him.

“Right, ladies.” Owen chuckles. “We’ll help with the table.”

A few other guys from the team laugh along with him and go to fetch one. Naomi smiles in my peripheral vision, and I can’t help but smile back.

No one will step on me.

So what if I was a terrible person in the past? I’m changing, and no one will make me feel bad about that.

A heavy arm slings over my shoulder. I breathe in his sandalwood and citrus scent as I focus on his touch surrounding me.

Asher’s hot breath tickles my ear. “What are you doing?”

I swallow, squashing the flutters in my chest and the tightening of my belly. The flaw in this plan? Having to be this close to Asher.

It’s becoming harder and harder to control my reaction around him. A part of me sees him as the one who breathes life into me, the one who saved me twice.

And it’s a wrong thought to have about someone who means me no good.

“It has nothing to do with you,” I murmur back.

Down, body. Stay the hell down.

His lips graze the shell of my ear. A whimper gets trapped in my throat as he bites down for a split second.

“Is that so?” The rumble of his voice awakens goosebumps on my skin.

How can he pack so much sexual energy in three mere words?

My body catches fire from his lips and voice on my ear. I squirm in my seat, fighting to not make a sound or lean into his touch.

“What if I want it to be about me?” His voice deepens with darkness so tangible I taste it on my tongue.

My head snaps in his direction. He watches me closely, but it’s not intimidation. It’s almost like…he’s seeing me in a different light.

A new light.

A brighter light.

“Didn’t you…” My voice catches and I clear my throat. “Didn’t you say you don’t want anything to do with me?”

“You keep barging in anyway.” He licks the shell of my ear one more time. “It’s time I trap you.”





I glide the pen against my lower lip and bite down on it. I sit at the pool, a notepad on my legs, but I’m not studying.

My gaze keeps flitting to the backyard—or, more specifically, to the sleek, cut abdomen and back. They glisten with sweat as Asher switches from short runs to push-ups.

I mean, the least he can do is wear a damn T-shirt. But no, he always works out in just shorts as if he’s offended by anything on top.

It’s not that my eyes are complaining, but there’s a tiny little problem with my body becoming hot and bothered by the view.

The simplest solution would be to stop watching, but for the life of me, I can’t keep my eyes off him.

He’s like a magnet and I’m helpless steel. He’s the fire and I’m the moth waiting to be burned.

I wish this weird infatuation were because of that tousled hair sticking to his forehead, the six-pack cut to perfection, the broad shoulders, or the intricate tattoo rippling up his bicep.

I wish it were all about the unfairly handsome face or the ‘fuck you’ aura he exudes so well. I really wish the tugging and pulling at the bottom of my stomach were only because I’m drawn to his exterior charm.