Page 45 of The Lies We Play

The air in the locker room feels too warm for half a second.

That is stupid.

She can notice a handsome man. She should notice handsome men. She is nineteen, and brilliant and strange and lonely in a way she hides under commentary. I have no claim on her. I’ve made sure of that. I’m the one with the rules. I’m the one who keeps saying I travel too much to be datable, as if travel is the problem and not the fact that I am terrified of needing someone who could decide I am inconvenient.

Still.

I stare at the word handsome longer than I should.

Creed: Hot?

The dots appear.

Disappear.

Appear again.

Liv: Obviously, I think you’ll find him very attractive too.

Fuck.

I laugh under my breath because the alternative is feeling something I don't intend to name while half-dressed in a locker room full of men who will absolutely make my life worse if they see my face.

Liv: His name is Halston. I think I’ve seen him before.

Creed: Oh, we know his name now?

Liv: I told you James called him by name, and now he’s introduced himself formally. So yes, I have a last name, which is going to make you laugh.

Creed: I can’t wait.

Liv: Saint Claire. So I think I know who he is . . . he’s part of the Saint Claires of Greenwich.

That gives me pause.

Greenwich. Saint Claire. Suddenly, the guy stops being a blurry handsome workaholic and becomes a category.

Liv: I just learned that the Saint Claire Foundation has Night Hawks box seats.

Creed: I know about them. The Saint Claire Foundation puts its logo on the boards at the kids’ hockey clinic the team runs every December. So . . . how do we know all this now?

Liv: I might’ve introduced myself and questioned him.

Creed: Of course you did.

Liv: You judging me?

Creed: Nope. I’m amused by your investigative process.

Liv: That’s what people say when they are judging.

Creed: Are we flirting with Hudson?

Liv: Halston. His name is Halston, and we are not flirting. He’s serious.

Liv: Are you jealous?

I sit down on the bench.