Page 121 of The Lies We Play

The room changes around the silence. The snow taps the window and disappears against the glass. The boats outside sit in the harbor with their little lights on, not moving, as if someone paused the city just to see what we would do.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he says. “I think we have to decide.”

My pulse shifts.

To awareness.

I sit down on the couch because standing there with him looking at me like that is no longer reasonable. Halston sits next to me and shows me the menu, close enough that his knee almost brushes mine. He smells clean. Warm. Recent showers and expensive hotel soap. I focus on the menu because looking at his hands would be a mistake.

We order food to the room at seven.

By the time it comes, Coal Harbour is fully dark. The boats are still where they were when I arrived, their navigation lights blinking quietly through the wet snow. Inside, the fire throws low gold across the glass and makes the whole room feel suspended above the water. The suite is too elegant for takeout containers and two men pretending not to watch each other over dinner.

We eat at the small table by the window.

Halston pours champagne like he has been taught there is a correct way to do every single thing a man can do with his hands.

I watch anyway.

“This is different,” he says.

I narrow my gaze. “Different how?”

“Usually we’re at the bar or your place with Liv.” He sets the bottle down. “Don’t get me wrong, I love both places. But this is unusual. Good, though.”

I look at him across the table, the fire behind him making his face seem even more composed than usual. I realize then that we have never really talked about us. Not as a side current. Not as the third point of the triangle. Not as two men in a hotel suite in Vancouver while Liv is somewhere else, trusting us to know how to be careful with each other.

“So,” I say, “are you okay with this . . . us? You and me?”

Halston’s eyes don't leave mine.

He nods once.

“I am very attracted to you,” he says.

Simple.

No apology.

No joke to hide behind.

The words move through me with more force than they should.

“Good to know,” I say, because my voice is the only part of me behaving. “Because I’m also attracted to you.”

I don’t add that I might be falling for him. That’s something for maybe another day or . . . who knows? This relationship is easy and yet complicated.

“I like us as three—and individuals too,” I add, because that’s how I see us.

His smile appears slowly. “Me too.” He clears his throat.“It’s not easy to find a woman who understands that I like men too. Or a man who is comfortable with my sexuality—and accepts his.”

The sentence is calm.

The hurt underneath is not.

I set my glass down.

“There it is,” I say softly.