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“No,” Novah grouses. Turning, she hollers at the workers, “Can we get another cake!”
I smile softly at Brogan.
He slips his hand beneath the table and rubs my thigh.
My heart bucks violently.
The buzzing in my skin gets more intense.
It’s not real, Liz.
I play that mantra around and around in my head.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
I need to carve it into my soul.
Tattoo it over my throbbing core.
Thrust it into my very being.
Forgetting that truth, even for a second, would be a huge and terrible mistake.
Thirteen
Brogan
“I think she bought it,” I say to Elizabeth on the drive back to work.
“Who?”
“Novah.”
“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”
She goes quiet again. Looks out the window. Folds her hands together and slides them between her thighs.
“For a minute there, I wasn’t sure if this would work.”
“Hm…”
“It looks like we’re more convincing than we thought.”
“Maybe.”
I give her another surveying sweep.
There’s a worried crease in the middle of her forehead.
Glossy pink lips are captured between her teeth.
Her shoulders are slumped.
I thought she’d be celebrating.
So why does she look like her dog died?
“Elizabeth?”
