Page 131 of The Lies We Play
“I’m happy,” she says. “Not in a magnanimous way, before either of you says something irritating. I mean it. I’m happy.”
The room stills in a different way.
Not tense.
Full.
Halston’s hand tightens around mine.
“For us?” he asks.
Liv’s eyes move from him to me.
“For us,” she says. “All three. This means that we’ll be happy—and together.”
“She means forever,” I warned him.
“Probably always,” Halston says, and the smile that follows is small, dangerous too composed for what he has just admitted. “I can live with that. We’ll just have to wait and see if we can stand each other when we move in together.”
“Temporary,” Liv says immediately.
“It could be permanent,” Halston argues.
“I live blocks away from school,” she says, glaring at the screen. “You’re not taking that away from me easily.”
Halston’s smile widens by a fraction. “We’ll cross that bridge—”
“We’re not,” she interrupts. “You don’t have anything that will convince me.”
“I recall you liking my mouth, Liv,” he offers.
Liv’s eyes go wide for half a second before she gets control of her face. “That is unfair evidence.”
“He has a good mouth,” I add, because I have just kissed it and I'm not interested in pretending otherwise.
Halston turns his head toward me.
Slowly.
The look he gives me is calm enough to be legal and hot enough to be a crime.
“Careful, Lafontaine.”
“Not feeling careful.”
“No,” he says, gaze dropping to my mouth before returning to mine. “I noticed. And I could show you what my mouth can do to your body.”
On the screen, Liv makes a sound that is half laugh, half protest. “I am right here.”
“We know,” Halston says. “I don’t mind you seeing—I’d actually enjoy giving you a show.”
The way he says it doesn't cool anything down.
It makes it worse.
Liv’s cheeks flush. “You can't weaponize eye contact through a phone call.”
“I absolutely can,” Halston says.
