“Burn someone’s house down.”
She actually looks offended. “Committing arson is not really my style.”
“And watching you lie is not really mine. That’s Nate Lawson’s address, Holly.”
Holly’s eyes snap back to mine. “No, it’s not.”
“Why did you burn Nate Lawson’s house down?” I’m not judging. She could burn the entire borough if she wanted to. I just want to know why.
“Why do you keep saying his full name like that? He’s not John Wick.”
“Is that where you went last night? After leaving me to bleed out on my living room floor?”
“You were not bleeding out. And what the fuck? Are you seriouslyjealousof a dead man? Is that what this is about?”
“Is that an admission?”
“No.”
“Okay, then where were you?”
“At home.”
“Doing what?”
“Sleeping.”
“Ah, I see.” I slip my phone from my pocket, tapping open an app. My beloved capybara surveillance system. Or as I like to call it:Capymera.
Holly’s eyes narrow. “What is this?”
I scroll to the most recent footage and press play, anticipation curling warm and tight in my chest. I don’t know what I’m about to see. I haven’t checked these in a while, not since we started fucking. But I have a feeling it’s going to be something incriminating.
The grainy footage flickers to life. Holly is dressed in her scrubs, stepping into her room.
“Is that my room?!” Holly gasps. “You sickfuck! You have a camera in my room?”
“Shush, let me watch.” My eyes stay glued to the screen as Holly sits on the edge of her bed, face in her hands. Her shoulders shake like she’s crying.
“Give me that!” She lunges for my phone.
I set my phone against a box on the shelf and plant my palm against her forehead, holding her back effortlessly as she swipes at me like an angry cat. “Got something in your eye, huh?” I murmur, eyes still fixed on the screen, my grin widening.
Holly growls — like actually growls — and shoves my hand aside.
Video Holly starts rummaging through her closet before pulling out a short black pleated skirt and a purple full-sleeve top.
“You arenotgoing to watch me change!” snaps Real Holly.
“You’re welcome to unbutton my shirt to even it out.”
She glares so hard I’m sure it must be painful.
I grab my phone from the shelf and step in close until her back presses against one of the metal shelves. Without taking my eyes off Real Holly, I let the video play, but don’t watch.
I focus on Real Holly’s face instead. The slope of her nose, the tiny cut on the bottom right of her lip, bright red against her skin. My tongue aches to taste it. Her chest rises and falls a little quicker. Her eyes flick to my mouth.
I smile.
