Page 126 of The Lies We Play

“This is not only about Liv,” he says.

His voice is low.

Almost wrecked.

“No,” I say.

“It doesn't make her smaller.”

“No.”

“It makes the room larger.”

I let out a breath that almost becomes a laugh, because, of course, he would say it like that. Of course, he would find architecture in desire.

Then I kiss him again.

This time, he doesn’t wait.

His hand moves to the back of my neck, and mine slides to his waist, pulling him closer until the table edge presses between us, and the distance becomes an insult. He makes a sound, quiet and contained, but it is there. I hear it. I keep it. I kiss him like I have been trying not to want him since the bar and failing with better manners than most men manage.

There is heat in it.

There is hunger.

There is also Liv.

Not between us.

With us.

In the truth of it.

The fact that wanting him doesn't pull me away from her. It pulls me toward the place where all three of us have been slowly, stupidly, beautifully headed.

Halston’s mouth leaves mine.

He stays close.

We breathe the same air.

For a second, neither of us speaks.

Outside, the harbor lights blink through the wet snow. Inside, the fire keeps going, low and private, as if the room has decided to protect this before we understand what it is.

Halston’s thumb moves once against my jaw.

“What kind of night is tonight?” I ask, but this time my voice is different.

His mouth curves, faint and ruined.

“The first honest one,” he says.

Chapter Eighteen

Creed

Then . . .