Page 132 of The Lies We Play
“He can,” I tell her. “It’s unsettling.”
“It’s effective,” Halston corrects.
Liv points at the screen. “Both of you are getting smug.”
“Baby,” I say, “we’re barely getting started.”
Her lips part.
Halston sees it.
I see it.
For one second, the distance between Vancouver and Greenwich feels like a technicality nobody at the phone company has been brave enough to solve.
Halston’s thumb moves against mine, slow enough that I know he means for her to notice.
She does.
Her gaze drops to our joined hands, then lifts again.
“And neither one of you,” Halston says, voice lower now, cleaner, “have experienced what my mouth can do when I stop being polite.”
I forgot to blink.
The fire moves behind us with a quiet crackle, and the suite feels suddenly too warm, too private, too far from her.
“Halston,” Liv says.
Not a warning.
Not really.
More like she has found the edge of something and wants him to know she is looking down.
“Yes, baby?”
“You are becoming a problem.”
His mouth curves.
“I was hoping for a solution.”
I laugh, low and rough, because fuck, he is good.
Liv presses her fingers to her lips, trying to hide her smile and failing. “This is exactly why I can’t move in with you permanently.”
“Because I’m persuasive?” Halston asks.
“Because you’re impossible.”
“Those are often related.”
I lift our joined hands and kiss his knuckles again, slower this time, because I want to see what it does to both of them.
Halston’s breath catches.
Liv goes quiet.
