Page 47 of The Lies We Play

Creed: Are you telling him about our conversation?

Liv: He might’ve glanced over and noticed that we were talking about him. He also asked, what if you fall for him? He could fall for you—you’re a hot hockey player. The possibilities are endless.

I stare at the screen.

Creed: You’re the epitome of discreet, baby. Let’s pencil this conversation for later—way later.

I pause after I send it.

Baby.

I have called her that before. Lightly. Teasingly. Once, when she dropped an entire tray of fries at the bar and looked so offended by gravity that I lost the ability to behave like a normal person.

Tonight it sits differently.

Maybe because there is someone else reading over her shoulder.

Creed: I’m on my way. I’ll drop my car at home before walking toward the bar. Wait for me before you decide to go home with Halston.

Liv: I’d never go home with a stranger—even if his family lives close to my childhood home.

Creed: I’m intrigued.

Liv: About?

Creed: Seems like you’re getting his bio before you even exchange numbers.

Liv: I’m bored. By the way, congrats on the goals and that assist. You’re killing it this season.

I smile before I can stop myself.

There she is again. Observing everything. Pretending not to care at exactly the moment she proves she does.

Liv: Halston says he’ll take me to the game next time.

My smile fades.

Creed: We’ll see.

Cam leans over. “That sounded territorial.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You typed territorially.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs.

Shortly after, I’m in the car.

I’m out on Eighth Avenue in two minutes, driving uptown through streets, tie loose, jacket thrown onto the passenger seat, phone facedown on the cup holder because I am pretending I'm not waiting for it to vibrate.

It vibrates at Forty-Ninth.

I make it to the red light before I check.

Liv: Creed, he is hilarious.