You & Me: The Complete Series (3 Book Boxset)

by Lisa Shelby

  “Ah, sweet candied nuts! You busted me!”

  I can’t help but giggle at his attempt at not swearing after being caught yet again.

  “Sweet candied nuts? Really?” I say when Ireland leaves to put her dollar in her jar.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Ugh, you are so gross, Liam.”

  Alex and Emily join me on the couch, and Emily hands me a glass of wine while she sips her glass of water.

  “What’s gross?” Alex questions.

  “Liam,” I answer simply.

  “Oh,” is all she says.

  She’s married to Mick. She knows exactly what I mean, and further explanation isn’t needed.

  Once the kids are settled and it’s just the adults in the family room, Liam says he’d like to make a toast. We all lift our glasses high and wait for God knows what to come out of his mouth—he doesn’t disappoint.

  With his glass in the air, Liam proclaims, “To nipples…” The room is full of sighs and moans. “Because without them, boobs would be pointless!”

  The room erupts in a combination of laughter, rolled eyes, and heavy sighs.

  I look at Alex when I hear her groan and I say, “You know you are married to the blond version of him, right?”

  She sighs. “I do know that, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

  I get it. I’m starting to think that I wouldn’t want to trade a man like Liam for the world either.

  Shit!

  Chapter 8

  Cami

  I know I am a thirty-year-old woman, and I am skipping through the lobby of Liam’s Pearl District loft.

  His furniture is set to be delivered in the next hour or so, and I’m excited to help him decorate his place. I can’t help it; this is what gets me giddy. Liam’s text from yesterday didn’t hurt either.

  Liam: Daily reminder…You are awesome and you can do anything you put your mind to, little lady. Oh, and I can’t wait to get my table tomorrow!

  Cami: What about all the other furniture?

  Liam: Sure, that stuff too but really it’s all about the table. ;)

  He hasn’t missed a single day since happy hour a couple weeks back. He sends me a daily reminder telling me how great I am and giving me the confidence I need to tackle this Avenue of Dreams project. His words of encouragement often come with some silly joke or sexual innuendo that I know he doesn’t mean.

  I’m sure his messages don’t mean as much to him as they do me, but knowing he heard my little comment about needing a reminder that I could do this, and that he hasn’t missed a day since…well, it means something to me. It means he thinks about me at least once a day and that feels really, really good. I feel my face light up every time I read one of his messages.

  Yep, all it takes is one text a day, and I am as giddy as can be.

  I take the elevator to the fifteenth floor and knock a happy, little ditty on his door once I arrive.

  No answer.

  I knock again. “Liam, it’s Cami. You home?”

  I hear movement, a curse or two, and I think something might have just broken.

  I hear the locks go through the process of turning, and the door swings open. Only, Liam isn’t there to greet me. Instead I see his retreating back as he stumbles back to his bed and flops his body face first into his mattress.

  “Liam, you okay?”

  He groans something unintelligible into his pillow in reply.

  I take a quick glance around the room and see the evidence that proves his current state is in fact self-inflicted.

  There is an empty bottle of rum in the kitchen and another on the floor by his bed. I pick up the bottle by the bed and scoop up the pile of mail that is strewn all over the floor.

  I set the mail on his kitchen island and put the bottle next to the other in the kitchen. Liam is a pretty organized guy, and things aren’t a mess, but this is just what I do.

  Sitting on the bed next to him, I squeeze his shoulder. “Liam, your furniture is going to be here soon. You wanna get up?”

  “Don’t care.” I decipher this through the muffled words that are swallowed by his pillow.

  “Hey, what’s up with you? Why are you such a mess in the middle of the day?”

  “Just put the shit wherever you want, Cam. Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Liam, what is your deal? Talk to me.”

  I wait for his answer but am met with quiet snores.

  I remember him telling me that he deals with things, including his insecurities, by drinking too much. Because of this, I can’t help but worry about him and what’s happened to put him in this state in the middle of the day.

  I wait for the furniture to be delivered.

  I wait and ponder what in the world could have him set him off and caused him to get drunk, this early in the day. I refuse to judge him, though. I am going to be his friend and let him explain the situation to me tomorrow.

  Because there will be a conversation had tomorrow.

  Once the furniture arrives, I direct the delivery guys where to put everything, and Liam sleeps through the entire thing.

  He doesn’t budge.

  He’s fully dressed, lying on top of the covers.

  The noise of me working with the delivery crew, the scraping of furniture moving across the floor, and the loud whooshing of all of the giant pieces of plastic coverings being pulled off his gorgeous, new, dark furniture doesn’t faze him in the least.

  He is out cold.

  Dead to the world.

  Not meaning to invade his personal space, but not being able to help myself from tidying up his place as I loiter around his apartment, hoping he might wake up, I come across a wedding invitation that has been crumpled and thrown on the ground.

  It appears a Miss Hannah Edwards and Thaddeus Benedict are to be married. It also appears Liam wasn’t too thrilled to be receiving their invitation.

  I can’t help but wonder if this beautifully embossed piece of parchment is the reason for the condition of one passed out Liam Fanua. My gut tells me it is.

  I also wonder, just who Hannah Edwards is.

  I know it’s none of my business, and I know we’re just friends, but I have a multitude of feelings flooding through me as I ponder who Hannah is to Liam.

  I feel protective and pissed.

  What a bitch!

  I don’t know who she is or why she is affecting my friend this way, but I do know that I don’t like her.

  Which brings me to my third emotion.

  Jealousy.

  This last feeling is the most confusing to me of them all. I have no business being jealous. We aren’t together. Liam is just my friend. He’s part of my little family unit. But the overwhelming feeling coursing through my veins is undeniable jealousy.

  My little, green monster doesn’t often rear her ugly head, but she is making herself more than known today. She is being loud and overbearing, and I don’t know how to get rid of her.

  She’s making me feel uncomfortable and itchy.

  I look at the man passed out on his bed, and I can’t help but think how unfortunate it is to see a man like him in such a state. He is a smart, kind man with everything at his fingertips. Yes, he has money and looks, but he has so much more to offer.

  If only he saw his worth.

  Why do I have a feeling there is more to the crumpled wedding invitation I found on his floor.

  I’ve meandered around his place long enough and can’t really think of another reason to stay, other than to make sure he’s still breathing.

  I write a quick note and leave it along with a glass of water and some ibuprofen.

  I reluctantly close his door behind me and leave the sleeping beast on his own.

  He opens the door looking sheepish and blurry-eyed but much more alive than he did yesterday afternoon.

  He may be hungover and have thrown on a t-shirt and athletic shorts, but he still looks better than I do in my just from the gym look.

 
; A look that says, See I’m not jealous. If I was into you, would I show up all sweaty and gross? No way, Jose.

  “Hey Cam,” he says, searching my eyes for the judgement he must assume he will see reflected back at him. It’s clear this is something he has experienced in the past, but he’s not going to get that from me today.

  Nope. That is not why I’m here.

  “I come baring gifts.” I hold up my hands. “A strong cup of joe from your little coffee shop on the corner and a greasy food cart breakfast burrito to cure that hangover I’m guessing you have right about now. Oh, and Candace, the barista at the coffee shop, told me to say hello.”

  I throw him a wink, hand him his coffee, and walk right past him and into his kitchen.

  Without asking, I reach into the kitchen cabinet and grab a plate for his burrito. I rip a paper towel off the rack and join him at his new kitchen table where he sits, holding his face in his hands.

  Rubbing his face like he is more than exhausted and a bit ashamed, he brings his dark eyes up to mine.

  “Cami, this place looks fucking amazing.”

  “It does,” is all that I say.

  He’s searching my eyes for more and waiting for me to spew my opinions about what I witnessed yesterday. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him in this condition but the first time it was in the middle of a work day.

  His hold on my eyes doesn’t break. As beautiful as his eyes are, at the moment, there is a sadness in them that is breaking my heart.

  He looks like his soul is at least fractured if not completely broken.

  I have never wanted so badly to kick another woman’s ass.

  I continue to give him the silence and the time he needs while reaching across the table and taking one of his big hands in mine.

  “Cami, about yesterday…”

  I rub my thumb back and forth across the back of his hand.

  “I’m sorry you had to deal with the delivery guys without me. I really love everything, and you put it all in place perfectly. You truly are a natural. Thank you for everything.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  He gives my hand a squeeze before he says, “I’m really sorry you had to see me like that.”

  I squeeze back. “Want to talk about it?”

  It’s hard to see the embarrassment and discomfort coming from the big, tough man in front of me this morning. The man who is always joking and rarely serious. It’s disheartening and unsettling, to say the least.

  He pushes his plate to the side.

  “Fuck,” he says on a ragged breath, breaking our eye contact.

  “Liam, you don’t have to tell me, but I hope you know that you can tell me anything. It won’t go any further than this room, and it won’t change the way I look at you. You can trust me, but you also don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. It’s up to you.”

  Instead of replying, he stands from the table and begrudgingly starts rifling through the mail I tidied into a nice, clean pile yesterday. He drags himself back to the table and slides a slightly crumpled off-white embossed invitation into my line of sight.

  “Hannah Edwards and Thaddeus Benedict are getting married,” I state calmly to a pacing Liam.

  “Yep.”

  He doesn’t elaborate, but he does continue to very slowly walk back and forth in front of the table I’m still seated at.

  Me, his burrito, and this beautifully hand-crafted wedding invitation that has clearly sent him into some sort of tailspin.

  He decides to give his concrete floor a break, and he collapses into his overstuffed, dark brown, leather couch. It suits him perfectly.

  “My mom sent me my mail yesterday. That was in the stack.”

  I push my chair in and move to sit on the other end of the couch. Staying quiet and letting him take things at his own pace.

  It’s so quiet I can hear the annoying blare of a car alarm float up from the street.

  He wipes his palms on his shorts, and I can’t tell if sharing is something he doesn’t do often or if what he is about to share is what has him so anxious. He takes a deep breath and begins.

  “Hannah is my ex.”

  I assumed as much, but I don’t speak my thoughts out loud.

  “Seeing her name with his on that invitation is just a reminder that I was never going to be good enough. I already knew it, but this just really sent the message home to me loud and clear.”

  Confused, I ask. “What do you mean you weren’t good enough? How were you not good enough for somebody, Liam? Anybody that has met you would have to disagree.”

  I mean seriously, what was wrong with this woman?

  “Well, Hannah was quite clear when she expressed to me that I wasn’t enough and that there would never be anything that I could ever do to change that.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Two years off and on.”

  Wow.

  He chuckles. “I know, that’s like a lifetime for someone like me, right?”

  Shit! I said that out loud.

  Trying to recover, I push at his leg with my foot.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just never heard you talk about having a serious relationship in the past.”

  “Well, even if you did mean it like that, you would be right to. My relationship with Hannah was the longest I have ever been in. But apparently, where I thought we were in love and ready to take the next step, she was ‘just having fun.’”

  He seems to be relaxing a bit as he turns his body to face mine, and to my surprise takes my shoes and socks off my feet and starts massaging them while he continues to tell his tale.

  “I will never forget the night I almost proposed. I got down on one knee, and the moment my hand went into my pocket to pull out the ring, she started laughing.”

  What the hell?

  “She didn’t just laugh, she was hysterical. I had hoped to see tears streaming down her face because of how happy she was…not because of how stupid she thought I was.”

  “Oh, Liam.” It’s clear this big, strong man was brought to his knees in humiliation. This man who doesn’t seem bothered by anything and who let’s everything roll off his back. I can see it in his eyes. She rocked him to his core.

  “She said there was no way that she would ever consider marrying me. She thought that I understood that we were just having fun and that what we had was never about love. It turns out she wanted to torture her parents and pass some time before she settled down. Settled down with the perfect blue blood, white collar, stuffed shirt that her parents would approve of.”

  He lifts his naturally tan hands off my pale foot and holds them up as if he’s showing me something.

  “I don’t get it?”

  “It wasn’t that I wasn’t white collar enough. I wasn’t white enough.”

  I hear myself gasp, and I really don’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “What a bitch! What did you even see in her?”

  “I don’t know, Cami. She was hot. She was aloof. She played hard to get.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “All of that made me want her more. She was the first girl to tell me no, and she made me work for months to even get her to go out with me. Once she did, I was cast under her spell, and I thought I was in love.”

  He laughs to himself and takes my other foot into his strong hands.

  “I never loved her. I know that now.”

  “How do you know that? It is possible that you loved her even if she didn’t reciprocate the feeling?”

  “Looking back, I think I was really just in love with the idea of her. In my mind, she was the perfect girl, and the fact that she felt anything at all for me blew my mind. I had never been with anyone that long, and even though we had never said the L-word, I thought after two years it was the next natural step. I thought if a girl like her was going to be with me, I had to try to keep her.”

  Does this man really not know how great he is?

  “Liam, why wouldn’t s
he feel something for you? You are a pretty great catch.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. Doubtful, yet still with that cocky attitude that is always just under the surface. Although, I think it’s a bit harder for him to muster it up on a day like today.

  “Well, clearly I would need to be a different color, have different money, and come from purer blood to be a great catch for some people.”

  “Liam…” I whisper, not knowing what to say.

  “I was nothing but a joke to her. She used me to piss off her parents. I found out after we broke up that her parents were appalled by my presence. Do you know how many Sunday dinners I spent at their family table, Cam? Little did I know that having me at their table was actually ruining their appetite.”

  I pull my feet from his lap, and with a determination taking over my body I grab his laptop, a pen, and the wretched wedding invitation off the dining room table.

  I plop back down on the sofa next to him and with my determination aimed at proving to this man that he is in fact more than good enough, I take my credit card out of my bag and get to work.

  “Cami?”

  “Zip it, Fanua.”

  Zip it, he does. He patiently waits for me as I go back and forth looking at the details on the invitation—that Liam is looking at like it is burning a hole into his brand-new sofa—and the information on the screen in front of me.

  “Done!” I say as I lick the envelope with our RSVP inside and seal it shut.

  “What’s done, Cam? What the hell are you up to?”

  “I booked the flights, the hotel is up to you. Two rooms, please. No funny stuff, mister.”

  Uh oh. Maybe I moved too fast. He looks pissed if that frown on his face is any indication. Oh, well, too late.

  “Cami, what have you done?” He sounds deflated, and he rubs his face with his hands and then pushes off of the sofa and storms away. It’s a loft and therefore one giant room, and there is really nowhere for him to go, but he is raging around the room with a purpose.