Читать книгу Under My Skin - Lisa Unger - Страница 18

“Let’s go over this again,” says Grayson.

He sits on the couch across from me, leaning forward, his dark gaze pinning me to my seat. I know that look; he’s been watching me like that for a year. As though he might still suspect something dark just beneath the surface of what he sees.

Layla’s already here, ministering. She’s gotten me a blanket, which I’m not using, brewed coffee that I’m not drinking. Now she’s hovering, sitting on the couch beside me, leaning in so close that her thigh is fused with mine. Her foot is tapping in that way it does when she’s nervous or annoyed. She’s staring at that white blossom as it quivers in front of us, at Grayson, around the apartment, with a kind of narrow-eyed suspicion.

“You entered your apartment—” he leads.

This is another thing he does, asks me to repeat what I told him, once, twice, three times. Looking for the inconsistencies of lies, I suppose.