I was standing there in front of him in the empty, bleak locker room hallway when he realized that he didn’t have his tape measure on him. I walked out to his motor scooter with him. He pulled the tape measure out of a box fastened to it and took my measurements right there and then, in the sport complex’s parking lot. I swear he measured parts of me that he hadn’t before. Like, he even measured the length of my fingers. Gloves, is what he said, and I’d already learned a new word. I had no idea what sort of gloves he was talking about, but when he touched my fingers, I felt them tingle. I would have loved to touch his hair, or any part of him. Dear sweet Jesus, you are in serious trouble, Livi. That’s what I told myself after I realized that I hadn’t thought of Csaba Váradi at all that day
