Page 43 of The Lies We Play

Creed: That is not a definition.

Liv: That is a hostage statement from a clothing catalog.

Creed: You’re using my own words against me.

Liv: I’m academically gifted.

Creed: I missed you.

Liv: You were gone five days.

Creed: I know.

Liv: I missed you too.

Creed: Roof at eleven?

Liv: Roof at eleven.

Chapter Seven

Creed

Then . . .

My phone vibrates while I’m about to put it into my jacket pocket.

It’s Liv.

Liv: You’re not going to believe this.

Texting dots appear.

I wait.

Liv: There’s another book person at the bar.

I stare at the message for half a second, then smile before I can stop myself.

Creed: Liv, are you glancing at someone’s phone again?

Liv: It’s not my fault that they’re openly reading, is it?

Creed: You have a weird way of meeting people.

Liv: And judging them. Don’t diminish my skill set.

Creed: Wouldn’t dream of it.

Liv: Good news, he was reading a real document and not BuzzFeed or some fishy article, so judgment is suspended.

The good news being that whatever is happening in Livia’s evening has, six minutes into it, become more interesting than the hockey game I just won.

That should concern me.

It doesn't.

Creed: So . . . what’s the verdict?