Page 5 of False God

We’re both silent, our standard few minutes of chitchat almost up. It’s dinnertime there. And I’ve stood in the polo tent most of the afternoon. I should go find my grandfather and hopefully talk him into heading home.

Instead of saying I’ll talk to her next week, I blurt, “I met a guy.”

“What?” All the dreaminess from discussing her celebrity crush has disappeared from Chloe’s voice. She sounds alert. Annoyed. “Howdid you not lead with that, Lili?”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” I already feel foolish for bringing it up. But a little giddy, too, my palm still tingling from touching Charlie’s. “We only talked for a couple of minutes.”

“You saying you met a guy is ahugedeal. Who is he?”

“I don’t know really. I’d never seen him before.”

“You’dneverseen him before?” Surprise saturates Chloe’s tone. She’s as familiar with the recurring guest list at these sorts of events as I am. I don’t think Atlantic Crest has admitted any new members since the ’90s.

“Never,” I confirm.

“Huh. What’s his name?”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie …”

“I don’t know his last name.”

“Is he hot?” Chloe’s question is tentative.

It’s been a long time since we discussed a guy who wasn’t Cal. I’m sure it’s as weird for her as it is for me.

“No, he’s balding and middle-aged,” I drawl. “Yes, he’s hot!”

Hotis a bland adjective to describe Charlie though. It doesn’t account for how hard it was for me to think when he was looking at me. For his overwhelming presence and overbearing attitude.

And I’m not an easy person to impress. I’ve met presidents. Movie stars. Famous athletes.

“What does he look like?” Chloe asks.

I reach the end of the stable’s stone aisle, staring out at the fairway of the golf course. Lush green stretches as far as the eye can see, chlorophyll brilliant and bright, thanks to the scorching sun.

“Brown hair. Hazel eyes. He’s really tall.”

“He does sound hot,” Chloe agrees.

He looks nothing like Cal, is what I’m sure she’s thinking.

Cal is a golden boy in every sense of the phrase. Tan skin. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Like a surfer who just happened to grow up on the Upper East Side.

“Go talk to him again,” Chloe suggests.

“Yeah?”

It sounds like Chloe exhales before saying, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” I sigh too. “Thanks.”

“Text me after, tell me how it goes.”

I half smile, appreciating the support more than the nudge. Now, I’ll have to talk to him or else text herNothing happened. Chloe knows I’m too competitive to admit that kind of defeat.

“I will. Love you, Chlo.”

---