Page 45 of City of Liars

“I know, but I’m not normally this emotional.” She scrubbed at her face, wiping the tears away. “It’s just that this whole thing is so horrible. Whatever the truth is, someone lost their daughter, and my parents don’t even seem to care.”

At the sight of her reddened eyes, I had to fight the urge to snatch the phone out of her hand, call Kate Carter back, and tell her exactly where she could shove her accusations and demands. What more damage could it do?

“I think about Chloe, and how devastated I’d be if anything happened to her,” Liv went on. “And then I think about what a shitty father Gray is, how she wanders around on the edge of that damn river and he doesn’t pay her the slightest bit of attention, all that crap about free range parenting, how children are meant to explore—” She bit the word off, wiping her cheeks furiously. “And I shouldn’t bitch to you about Gray. I’m sorry…again.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know all about shitty fathers.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She slid her hand into mine, and I caught my breath at the electric feel of her touch. “He hurt you,” she said, quiet enough that I could pretend the words had been swallowed by the sound of passing cars.

“It doesn’t matter, Liv. It was a long time ago.”

“Of course it does.” Her voice was fierce.

I stared down at her, incredulous. Her tear-filled blue eyes were wide and bright with anger, her hair blowing in the breeze and her cheeks red from the cold. She looked like a tiger, cornered and ready to lash out at whoever had threatened her cub. And God, she was beautiful.

The hell with propriety, with whatever promises I’d made myself. “Liv,” I said, low-voiced. “Come here.”

My grip on her hand tightened, tugging her toward me. And she came, her eyes fixed on my face, until she stood in the circle of my arms and I was kissing her, pressing her against me as if she might disappear if I let go. She tasted like the salt from her tears and the hot chocolate she’d drunk in the café and she smelled like the ocean and I didn’t ever want to stop. The feel of her hands in my hair, the frustratingly inaccessible shape of her through the padding of her coat, the heat of her mouth and the sensation of her tongue stroking mine⁠—

I pulled back, gasping. She was looking up at me, her lips parted and her expression dazed. “Theo, what⁠—”

“Olivia. Come home with me.”

Her copper brows drew down, and a line appeared between them again. “But we said…”

Once again, I wanted to smooth the line away, and this time, I gave in to the urge. “I know what we said. But⁠—”

The two of us were here, together. We were adults. We could have a little fun, and never tell our families. It didn’t have to go any further than that.

“What I’m saying now is I want to be with you,” I said, brushing the thick fall of her hair back from her face. “Do you want me?”

She blushed, glancing around, but the passersby, true New Yorkers, studiously ignored us. Her voice dropped to a whisper and her cheeks heated when she answered, “Yes.”

“Then come.”

Keeping hold of her hand, I hailed a cab before she could change her mind.

30

Liv

Theo ushered me into the cab, which smelled of curry, and then slid in after me. “Ninetieth and Columbus,” he told the driver, who grunted and pulled away from the curb.

In addition to having a fondness for curry, the driver apparently liked bad retro pop music. Britney Spears blared from the speakers, Hit Me Baby One More Time filtering through the glass partition that separated us from the front seat.

Still reeling, I tried to make light of the moment. “Well, at least no one can accuse him of having good taste.”

Theo hummed in agreement, but it was a cursory sound. He was too busy shrugging off his jacket and laying it across my lap. Even through the material of my skirt, the warmth from his body seeped into mine.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he slid close to me, draping one arm over my shoulder. His other hand crept under my skirt, now covered by his jacket, and slid right into me.

His fingers were cold, and I gasped, both from the icy temperature and from shock. “Theo, we’re right in the middle of⁠—”

“Shhh.” His free hand brushed my breast, sending a tingling sensation through me. “Don’t worry,” he said, his lips ghosting over my hair. “My jacket covers everything. Unless you don’t want to, in which case…”

I was suddenly grateful for the terrible music, which covered the whimper I couldn’t help but make. Outside my window, Manhattan blurred by: traffic and construction and an endless flow of life. I felt at once a part of it and separate, traveling in a bubble that only contained me, Theo, and what he was doing to me. My body clenched around his fingers, an action he correctly interpreted as consent.