Page 30 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Some of us have to work for it.”

“Whydoyou have to work for it, though?” he asks.

“Lawther family values. Self-made men.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t get me wrong. There’s a big pot of gold waiting for me if I make it to the end and don’t get disinherited like my sister did.”

“I won’t ask.”

“You can if you want.”

Silas shakes his head, and I can’t help noticing my own disappointment. Like he’ll talk to me, but there’s a line he won’t cross in getting to know me. I understand, I guess. He’s my trainer, not my friend, and I am sort of stalking him today. My explanation for that isn’t just that I find him interesting or fascinating or smoking hot, but he knows my secret in a way no one else does. I don’t have to pretend with him. “That’s fine,” I find myself saying. “I get it. You probably don’t appreciate your clients dumping all their shit on you like you’re some therapist or something.”

“It’s not that.”

“What then?”

“Respectfully, Senator, I don’t want to get to know you better.”

That actually stings. “Then why all the questions?”

“Sometimes I talk before I think,” he says simply as his watch gives another beep. “Time to head home. For me anyway.” Silas comes to an abrupt stop.

I do the same, turning to face him. “Hang on. I have some questions for you, first.”

“Fine,” he says. “But understand I’m under no obligation to answer any of them.”

“Why are you being an asshole?”

“This is not me being an asshole. This is boundary setting. There’s a difference. You crossed a line showing up here today, and I humored you, but?—”

“Why?”

He squints. “Why what?”

“Why humor me?”

“You were here—you were dressed the part. And I’mnotan asshole.”

“Why are you blowing me off?”

He shifts from foot to foot, then lifts his left one off the ground, catching his shoe in his hand and pulling his quad into a stretch that makes the muscle bulge. I try to ignore the faint stirring in my shorts at the sight of it. I feel like I’ve done a good job today of keeping things casual. But honestly, I’m not sure why I expected someone who made it clear to me from the beginning he’s got a price tag to be my friend. Or whatever.

NowI’mbeing shitty, but I’ve got feelings. As much as I might try to stuff them into some dark cavity inside me and pretend they don’t exist, they surge up from time to time.

“You really think it’s a good idea to be seen with me?” he asks. “In public? Running in the park? I’m not exactly in the closet. I haven’t ever been.”

Ever?

“You—you’re my trainer. We’re working out.”

“Were you gonna Venmo me for the session? Because I thought we were scheduled at five.”

“Jesus Christ. Fine. It was stupid. You don’t have to rub it in. And yeah. I’ll fucking Venmo you. Whatever.” I turn and start walking away.

“Shit—Graham. Wait.”

---