Page 75 of The Next Lie

I catch her by the shoulder, turn her, and strike the center of her back with the heel of my hand. Controlled. Hard enough to move air, not hard enough to bruise anything useful.

Once.

Twice.

On the third hit, the banana launches out of her mouth, hits the tile, and skids beneath the island in a wet, obscene smear of fruit and metal.

Reva folds over the counter, coughing like she is trying to expel both lungs. I keep one hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles.

She tries to shrug me off, and I ignore it.

Her coughs turn ragged. Then wet. Then air moves properly, and she sucks in a breath deep enough to reassure the part of me that had already begun calculating how long it would take to put her over my shoulder and get to the nearest trauma bay.

“Welp. As icebreakers go,” I say, “that was ambitious.”

She coughs again, then glares at the counter. “I had it under control.”

“Reva…you nearly died deep-throating produce.”

Her head snaps toward me. Her eyes are watering, and her throat is red. Her dignity is in critical condition.

I’m struggling not to laugh. “If you wanted⁠—”

“Do not even.”

“Look, I was not the one with a banana with strategically placed hardware⁠—”

“It’s called psychological warfare.”

“Against whom? You didn’t even know I was going to be here.”

She points vaguely toward the floor where the banana disappeared. “The patriarchy.”

I stare at her, eyebrow arched.

She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of Shiloh’s hoodie, which will please him so much when he notices. “And possibly you.”

“Then congratulations. I am deeply unsettled.”

Something that resembles a smile flickers in her face. I shouldn’t want it as badly as I do. She clears her throat and immediately winces.

“You’re such an asshole,” she rasps.

“Guilty.”

“I could have died.”

“Possibly, but probably not at fault.”

Her eyes narrow. “Why are you here?”

“To speak with you.”

“Can’t, I’m busy.”

I glance toward the ruined banana under the island. “Clearly.”

She slides off the stool and starts for the doorway. “Great talk.”