Page 78 of Under the Lies

Aside from Thea, the only other person from their circle I shared a class with was Gabe. We were in pottery together his senior year. He would always make these beautiful vases that he said could be found in his mother’s hometown in Spain.

Harlow used to call him the pussy of the group, but my sister doesn’t always know what she’s talking about.

It’s the silent types you have to watch out for.

His eyes flick up, staring at me. Those deep brown eyes of his pierce into me. My pulse spikes, feeling like I got caught doing something I shouldn’t.

Unsure what to do—turn away and leave him to read? —Gabe decides for me when he closes his book and stands up. Walking toward me.

Nope. No, I do not want that.

I’m still angry with him (and Reeve) for following Noah’s orders like puppets, bringing me here and catnapping my sweet Pan.

I cut him a dry, hard stare but quickly turn away only to find myself face to face with the last person I thought I’d ever see here.

“Dickie?” my voice is incredulous.

He seems just as surprised as me. “Sayer?”

Richard aka “Dickie” aka “the Dick” Abernathy, my parents’ dream of a guy for me back in prep school, stands before me, wearing nothing but a pair of shiny gold underwear. And not boxer style, but tight, compression hot shorts.

A smear of white powder decorates under his nose. Dark eyes dilated. High.

Yeah, he’s a catch I’m glad I released.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask in disbelief. “And is this some kind of nudist party I didn’t know about?”

“It’s a game,” he says in lieu of the second question.

I want to roll my eyes. Of course it’s a game. But I don’t bother to ask what kind requires you to lose your pants. I don’t want to know.

“What’re you doing here, Dickie?” I ask again.

He clears his throat, running a hand through his blonde locks. “It’s just Richard now, actually.”

“Richard,” I repeat. It feels weird to say after spending my entire adolescence calling him Dickie. “I prefer Richard a lot more.”

He chuckles. “You and me both.”

His eyes widen as they look behind me and I don’t need to look as to know the why.

Gabe is closing in fast.

Time to move.

I grab his hand and pull Dickie-now-Richard into the crowd of people, away from Gabe.

Dickie comes along easily, grinning when he shouldn’t be. He tries to put his hand on my butt, and I have to bat him off. We’re not off to do anything illicit. Dickie is only my means to escape.

Once we’re across the room and a quick glance to see if Gabe is following us and confirming that he hasn’t, Dickie has served his purpose.

But when I try to drop his hand, he squeezes back, not letting go. “You look good, Say.”

His husky voice brings chills to my skin as I blink, his thumb tracing invisible circles on the back of my hand.

He’s never called me Say before. Few people have ever called me that, actually. It’s always Sayer or Baby Brooks. And if I remember correctly, Dickie was one of the people who always called me Baby Brooks.

My skin crawls, feeling trapped.

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