I wanted my tone to be light, almost silly, but, as usual, it didn’t work. He set his glass down and put elbows on the table. “What kind of answer are you looking for, Liv?”
“A straight one, Mr. Cryptic. Every time I ask, you redirect or just say we’ve lost our minds. I’m inclined to agree, but even so, it’d be nice to know the parameters of our psychosis.”
His brows lifted. “Do you want to make this an official relationship?”
“No, god no.” I balled my hands into fists.
“It sounds like you might.”
“Well, that sounds silly.”
“Do you want me to commit to you?”
God, yes. I looked away. “Shut up. I just wondered.”
Will paused so we could both take a breath. “What did you wonder?”
“Um. What is this for you?”
He motioned for the waiter and took his time with the wine before speaking again. “It’s good, Liv. This is fun. You like to give me hell about being too serious, and maybe I am. When I’m with you, fun is a lot easier. Is that an acceptable, unofficial, response?”
The bill arrived. Will flipped open his wallet and dropped his card on the tray, all casual and easy. I forgot to offer to pay half because my gut clenched like I’d been punched. I grew very still, breath shallow, insides cold.
Fun. Easy. Story of my fucking life.
“Liv?” Will reached across the table for my hand.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed, surprising myself with my intensity.
He recoiled, eyes wide.
I stood up and shoved my hands through my hair. “Uh, I’m so glad that I’ve been a good time for you. But screw that, Will. No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going home.” I bolted for the door.
The heat of the evening engulfed me. I ran up the sidewalk and had just reached my car when he caught up. Will laid his hand on my shoulder. “Olivia—”
“I said not to touch me.”
He dropped his hand, both palms up.
I took a shaky breath. “I’m not your fun, William. Find that somewhere else. I won’t be that for you. I can’t. I’ve been somebody’s good time too much, and you and I have too much history, too many complicated connections. Beyond that, you know what? For me, this was more, official or not. So, yeah. I’d rather leave it at that, thanks.”
“Liv, wait a second. I know your default is to take everything I say as an insult, but good god. Having fun with you is incredible. It wasn’t meant as a brush-off.”
“Whatever. Let’s just forget it.”
Will’s shoulders squared. “No fucking way. Just tell me what you want.”
I reached back and opened the door, but Will’s hand shot out and slammed it shut with such force that the car rocked. Being stuck between my car and his imposing figure had me mad as hell. I wanted to escape, to walk away, to forget this nonsense and say merci beaucoup to the universe for making me That Girl yet again.
“Let me go. It’s easier this way,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Not a chance. Talk to me.”
“I told you. I don’t want to be your fun.” My gaze dropped to the pavement. Just saying it tightened my chest.
Will stepped back, jaw tense in a frown. “I got that part. So, what do you want?”
Wait, what? “Um, what do I want?”
“Yes, Olivia. What do you want us to be?”
“I… don’t know,” I admitted finally.
What did I want? I’d barely processed that he was refusing to let this—us—go. Most guys would’ve bolted, either from my anger or a conversation like this or both. Most guys would’ve been relieved to let me storm away, maybe would’ve texted me later to follow up. But no amount of venom seemed to faze Will Langer, and now he was asking me to verbalize an ocean of confusing ideas standing here on a sidewalk? Hell no, I didn’t know.
Will bent his head with a slow shake and a long sigh when I didn’t say more. “You obviously want to define us, but you won’t say it. Then you say you don’t want just a good time, but when I ask you what you want, you don’t know? Get real, Liv. Know what you need. You’ll never be taken seriously if you don’t.”
I scowled. “And here we have it, the arrogant douchebag I know you to be, expecting an answer after you just put me on the spot.” I wished my voice was harder and stronger, but he was too good at summing up all my weaknesses.
Will sneered when I called him a douchebag. My icy glare seemed to have zero effect as usual. “You can call me names if it helps you protect yourself, but you know I’m right. A woman should know what she wants, on the spot or not.”
“A little time to think would be appreciated,” I muttered.
He softened a bit at that. “Fair enough. Let’s do this, then: my car needs a tune-up. I’ll drop it off Friday morning. You can pick me up from work for your mom’s birthday. We’ll talk at my office. That gives you two days to think.”
“Okay, but… what if you say no? To, um, what I want?”
Restraint radiated from his posture. “Then we’ll figure something out. But until then, don’t flirt with me. Don’t look at me sideways, don’t touch me, don’t do anything to make me think about stripping you naked and hearing you say my name. Understand?”
“Fine. Same goes for you.”
“Fine. Until Friday.”
I stood there for a long time. The longer I stood, the more I wanted to escape my rapidly morphing reality, so I texted some people and went out. An hour later, my collection of friends had swelled, and we danced ourselves sweaty to 80s tunes at a bar downtown.
This Liv—whiskey-drinking, singing and dancing, and saying whatever came to mind—this I knew how to do. Careers and CrossFit and complicated men be damned, I could always be That Girl.
It was pretty cool, I guess.
But I did give my notice at work the next day.
19
Liv
Me: I need a friend. Want to be one? Drinks after work?
Meg: Ugh, I guess. But just this once, because secretly I don’t like you.
Me: xoxo
“How was your date?” I slid into the booth across from Megan the next evening, glad she was available.
“Great. He took me to a comedy show. We had a lot of fun.”
Fun. I flinched at the word. “And after?”
Megan took a slow sip of her martini. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“I didn’t mean that you did.”
A pleased grin flickered on her. “He did kiss me, though.”
“You look a little smitten.”
She shrugged. Megan wasn’t one to get hung up over a boy. “Let’s just say I’ve got a feeling this could take me places.”
“Awesome, Megs. Cheers!” I held up the vodka cranberry that the server had just set beside me, and we clinked glasses.
“So, what’s up? And how was your date?” She checked her phone. “I can’t stay long. Promised my aunt I’d come to dinner tonight.”
“I’ll keep it brief.” I took another sip of my cocktail and told the story. It was the super condensed version, but I took her from the way we’d started to last night’s debacle, ending with, “Help me. He wants to know what I want. He says I need to tell him what I want us to be.”
“Neck-sucking and dinner dates and that hot body aren’t enough, huh?”
“It’s plenty. And it is fun, even though it’s intense and a little aggressive and a lot overwhelming.”
She wiggled her brows at aggressive, but I ignored it.
“I just can’t be fun again right now. Especially not with him.”
My best friend knew what I meant without any elaboration. “Then you shouldn’t have lied about needing to define it. You want a commitment. What’s wrong with that?”
I toyed with my glass. “What if he says no?”
“Dude, you have a funny type. That guy is a handful with the dark stares and the arrogance and everything. But the
way he looks at you? More than that, the fact that he’s waiting to hear from you? I mean, come on. You don’t do that with someone who’s a random good time. One thing though. You’d better be able to say out loud exactly what you need. From everything you’ve told me, he’s no bullshit.”
“That is what I need. Someone who doesn’t bullshit—or let me, either.”
“Ooh, I like that. Go with that.” She nodded enthusiastically and drained her drink.
“Sorry, but I have to split. Let me know how it goes. Oh, and one more thing. Never forget: if he says no, then you’re still you’re badass, beautiful self. Nothing changes that.” She blew me a kiss and slid out.
I sat back in the booth and toyed with my phone while I finished the drink. Instagram said Jesse Storms had just wrapped his album, but I didn’t give much of a damn about that. I’d only started following him on impulse after that party so long ago. More important was the email I’d gotten this morning from Mrs. Harris, the owner of the daycare.
My brain was full on the way home. The feeling had become too familiar these days.
Tom and Will were eating dinner when I got in, so I grabbed a bowlful of pasta salad and sat down, smiling at my brother.
“Good news, sis. I’ve got a long weekend off next week. Want to come to Gatlinburg with us? Mom and Dad want to get a cabin. We can get a place with a pool, which Mads will love.” He made a face at her, and she clapped.
Normally I’d be in for a trip to the tourist town in the Smoky Mountains, but, “Um, sounds great, but I don’t think I can.” I cleared my throat. “Actually, I have some news. I put in my notice at work today and, uh, emailed the director of Maddie’s daycare. I’ve been working to get certified as a teacher, and the exam is next Thursday. Mrs. Harris said she’d hire me as soon as I can start.”
“Really?”
Tom and I both looked at Will when he spoke. He busied himself with his dinner.
My throat tightened, weirdly defensive and nervous. “Yes, really. Have something to say about it?”
“About time you made the decision.”
Tom groaned. “Sheesh, I thought you guys had been getting along okay. Did something happen?”
I coughed into my water. “Not at all.”
“Sorry, man,” Will said with a sigh. “I’m just tired. Long day. Apologies, Olivia. I meant to say congratulations, of course.”
I didn’t want to flip him off and roll my eyes, but I knew Tom was waiting for it. “Right, I’m sure that’s exactly what you meant. Thanks ever so, dear William.”
My voice was heavy with sarcasm, but there was no way I could meet his gaze. There was also nothing sarcastic about it. His support meant more than I cared to admit.
“You two are adorable. It’s like having teenagers. Maddie, please never get older,” Tom said, wiping her little mouth with a napkin. “Anyway, that’s awesome, Livi. I’m so proud of you.”
He grinned and reached for a high-five. I found a smile and slapped his palm, but I couldn’t help but think of Will’s high-five just days ago.
Tom cleared the dishes. “At least you’ll have the house to yourself for a few days while we’re gone. Will’s apartment is ready this weekend.”
“Good,” I muttered, still unable to look at the man across the table. “When are you leaving?”
“Sunday according to the Gregorian calendar. I believe on your personal one, the exact time is ‘not soon enough.’”
Tom groaned again, but his back was to us, his attention to the sink.
I glared at Will and bit hard on my twitching lips. “Clever.”
Shit. That mischief was in his gaze. He glared right back.
“I hate you,” I mouthed.
“No, you don’t,” he mimed.
Tom returned to the table, and we both snapped our gaze elsewhere. “I want you, Will Langer. I want you to want me.” I’ll say it, and he’ll say yes…
Right?
20
Will
I’m so fucking proud of you for having the balls to do this. That was what my comment was meant to tell her.
For the first time, I think she got the message.
But there was a guarded tension to her shoulders that had been there ever since our date had gone horribly wrong. And there was a loop in my brain that wouldn’t quit trying to figure out how in the ever-loving hell telling Liv that she made me happy had resulted in such a meltdown.
Why couldn’t she just say what she wanted? What scared her about tossing that hair and stating the truth of the matter? Did she think that somehow that would result in her being hurt? What could she ask for that would be so ludicrous as to have someone reject it?
What are you scared of, Liv?
Twenty-four more hours of analysis until I could find out.
21
Liv
Dinner reservations were at seven. My story was that I had to have my fingerprints done for the daycare. I would go downtown in the afternoon to do it, thereby making it impossible for me to look after Maddie. Tom had back-to-back overnight shifts. Mom was happy to pick Mads up from daycare so Tom could sleep as late as possible, especially since she’d stay with them that night. It was a perfect setup, with plenty of time in the afternoon for me to get ready.
I’d actually gotten my fingerprints done on lunch Thursday, so by 4 pm, I was showered and standing in my closet, searching for the perfect outfit. Tonight’s look had to kick a lot of ass. I had to walk into a fancy office, face Will, and be a charming daughter all at once. Yikes.
A journey to the depths of my wardrobe found just what I needed: black straight-leg capris and a royal blue wrap top that showed some cleavage but stayed firmly within the bounds of classy. I curled my hair into sexy waves. Bronze eye shadow and black mascara offset “Pink Pearl Pop” for my makeup. Nerves made me move fast, and in no time, I stepped into black heeled sandals and went to the mirror. The look was uncharacteristically elegant, but it worked. I glanced at the clock; I’d be a little early, but you can’t be too careful with Nashville traffic on a Friday afternoon.
I parked in a garage under Will’s office building and rode up twenty floors with my fingers in knots.
The receptionist looked up when I crossed the lobby to her desk. “Good afternoon, Miss. How may I help you?”
I almost turned to see who she was speaking to. People never addressed me so officially. The outfit must’ve worked. “Uh, hi. I have an appointment?”
“With whom?”
“William Langer?” Why did his name come out as a question? Why do I sound like I learned to talk five minutes ago?
“Your name?”
“Olivia Milani.”
She glanced at her computer. “Yes, I see you’re scheduled at five. He’s on a call right now. Have a seat. I’m sure he’ll wrap up soon. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
I declined and perched on a black leather chair by the wall. Afternoon sunlight poured in behind me. The whole lobby gleamed white and chrome. People buzzed back and forth down hallways behind the receptionist while I sat, watching the activity and trying not to look as wound-up as I felt.
The sound of his voice brought me to my feet before I even saw him. Will appeared from the hall on the left, in conversation with three other men.
“Will?” The receptionist called. “Olivia Milani is here.”
His attention shifted from his companions to the receptionist, and then to me. Luckily, my legs knew to take a step forward. My brain sure as hell didn’t do anything useful once I caught sight of the charcoal gray suit he wore. The lavender shirt and gray tie underneath made him hotter than ever.
He swept his gaze over me, mouth closed, jaw clenched. I felt the other men’s eyes too but paid them no mind.
“I didn’t know you were here already. Sorry to keep you waiting.” His pitch was slightly different than I was accustomed to, but his business voice worked on my body as well as his usual growl.
I think I nodded. I might’ve
just stared.
He turned to the others. “I’m going to miss the meeting since my five o’clock is here. Give me the minutes on Monday, okay?”
“You got it, Langer,” one of the men said, his eyes still on me. Will nodded, and they continued on.
He stared at me a moment longer and cleared his throat. “Come with me. Ellen, I’ll be in my office. No more calls today. Put it all to voicemail, please. I’m off soon.”
The receptionist smiled, and he took my elbow and guided us back down the hall from which he’d appeared. Inside his corner office, my heels sank into the carpet while my gaze went to the view of the city. A huge mahogany desk faced me. A brown leather couch sat in the corner beside a door which, I had to assume, was his private bathroom.
“Not too shabby,” I said when I’d gotten my jaw off the floor.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Will shut the door and flipped the lock. He gestured, so I checked out his diplomas and the framed ads on the walls. I wandered to the window to look down at the river before scanning the desk. Precisely piled stacks of papers, a computer, and office supplies were the only decorations. Not a single photo or trinket in sight. Typical Will.
I looked up when he crossed the room to a cupboard by the couch and poured two bourbons. “Drink?”
“Yes, please.”
“Have a seat.” He handed me a glass and went to lean back in the executive chair on the opposite side of the desk.
I arched a brow, glanced down my nose at the functional chairs beside me, and strolled around to where he sat. “Love to, thanks.”
Perched on the edge of his desk, legs crossed—then re-crossed, just to emphasize my complete comfort—I flashed a saccharine smile.
“Your ass is sitting on a three-thousand-dollar desk.”
“It seems sturdy enough.”
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