by K Larsen
Liam pins me with his eyes and serious face.
“That sounds like a sick fascination.” His tone is deadpan.
I smile at him. I like that he is being sincere. Something he was not at the charity event. He was attractive, yes, but smarmy, too. I like this Liam better. He is more callow. More genuine. I raise my mug to my lips and sip before saying, “Mayyy-be.” One corner of his mouth lifts up, revealing a small dimple. “What’d you do today?” I ask. My fingers clutch my mug too tightly.
“I listened to my assistant, Mara’s, personal phone call with the insurance company.”
“Riveting,” I state. I take a sip of my coffee.
“It was, thank you. She had it on speaker phone and spelled out her insanely long email address. The agent read it back, correctly. No one does that with her email and she goes ‘wow, you’re the first person who has ever gotten that right on the first try.’ Do you know what the agent said, Nora?”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I’m guessing no ...”
Liam’s eyes widen with mock enthusiasm. “She goes, ‘YAY! I'M LITERATE!’”
I stare at him a moment before I dissolve into a fit of laughter. It feels good to laugh. Of course, Eve and Lotte and Aubry can get a chuckle out of me but it has been ages since an outsider has. My grip on my mug loosens. My throat does not feel so tight. My anxiousness dissipates altogether.
“Mara must have been stunned,” I say.
“It was priceless. I’d pay to listen to it all over again,” Liam chuckles.
“So, besides that—what’s going on in your life, Mr. Lockwood? How is your niece?” I ask, then pull on the back of my shirt to stop it from riding up. Liam’s eyes follow my shirt and I become very aware of his roaming eyes. He notices me watching him and clears his throat.
“I had a date last night,” he sighs and looks down into his coffee mug. I am shocked that this is what he is choosing to share.
“And ...” I prompt. I am curious.
He blows out a breath and looks up at me. “I hate first dates. They are ridiculous.”
“Agreed, it’s like an interview. You know the answers you’re supposed to give, but you know you can’t tell the truth, if you want the job.” I tell him.
He stares at me before saying. “She asked what I do for fun.”
My eyes go wide in mock horror. “Did you tell her you enjoy watching porn and Facebook stalking people?” I try. I really do. I try not to laugh at my own comment but I fail and start giggling. Liam gives a loud, long belly laugh. I am known for putting people off with my bluntness and particular brand of humor but Liam seems to accept it in stride. I lean back in my seat more.
“How’d you know?” he asks, playfully. I cock my head and tap my temple.
“You look the type, I suppose.” He grins at me devilishly. There is something in those eyes that makes me feel comfort. The way they glint in the light or perhaps just that they are green like … I push Holden from my thoughts again.
“To answer you, no. Obviously. Do you tell your first dates that you choreograph routines to songs and kiss your cat on the mouth after professing how much you love him?”
“It’s a dog. I’m not really a cat person.” I tell him, feigning insult. “So, what’d you tell her? Wait, let me guess—you told her you love ...” I regard him for a moment. Suit, but athletic build. Hair, not corporate style but longer, just enough to be fun outside of work. “Hiking or rock climbing?” I throw back at him.
Liam wrinkles his nose at me.
“You can be super irritating, you know that?” he quips.
“Yes. I do. I bet she said she likes hiking, too, but her version probably involved a warm scone and an iced coffee in her hand while doing it,” I say.
“Touché, she definitely didn't look like a hiker.” he admits. “And I don’t hike anyway, so that’s a good thing.” he laughs. I was wrong about him. That still leaves his version of fun out in the open. “She had on full armor,” he says before resting his chin on the heel of his hand. And before I can ask, he explains. “Woman Armor equates to a push-up bra; four pounds of makeup; three inch heels so that her ass is propped up and noticeable and her only objective is to capture a decent looking male and procreate.”
I can’t help but laugh again. It feels good to do it.
“What’d you wear?” I ask.
Liam looks down, his longish sandy blonde hair flops over his eyes, “This.” He shrugs.
I widen my eyes, pretending to be appalled.
“Pull it together man,” I laugh.
“Hey, as soon as she ordered a salad, I knew we didn’t stand a chance,” he quips.
“Did she get that hungry look in her eye when you ate ... like she was so hungry, she was thinking of ways to sneak your food off your plate and shove it in her mouth without you discerning?”
Aubry and I notice this while out for dinner often. You can almost always spot a woman on a first date, based on what she’s eating. It never fails to amuse us.
“It was bad.” He shakes his head and smirks. “Complete with bad sex to end the night. You know, she wanted dirty talk but not really, because the second I busted out a dirty word, she looked like she wanted to put me in a choke hold for saying it and then when she tried it, it was so incredibly unnatural, that her face stroked out just saying ‘pussy’” he whispers the word and looks around, “And then she didn’t know where to touch me and vice versa because we’re strangers and it was a complete and total shit show.”
I am taken aback by his candidness. It is not typical in my experience. Or maybe I am just that out of touch with society as of late.
I lean toward him. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” he says, smirking.
Laughter bursts out of me.
“After she left, did you curl up in a ball wishing you could just lie there being depressed for a week?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I really don’t know if we’re close enough for you to know the answer to that.”
I pout in good fun.
“Any good plans for the weekend?” he artfully changes the subject. Interesting. He doesn’t like first dates. He was up for dirty talk but didn’t enjoy the sex he got. Liam Lockwood is an enigma to me. I am rather proficient at nailing down a person upon meeting since coming home, but he has thrown me off course. I stare at him briefly, unsure if I want to tell the truth. I don’t know him. I don’t know anything about him but there is a pull between us I can feel. Butterfly wings in my gut. An astute awareness of my pulse. It makes me nervous.
“No. Nothing planned. You?”
“Staying in mostly. I need to catch up on my porn and Facebook,” he says. I can’t help the grin that takes over my face. “Do you want to hang out?”
“I believe I already told you, I don’t date,” I answer.
“Yes. You did mention that. But you didn’t say that you don’t friend.”
“Friend?” I ask.
“As in, have them? Hang out with them?” he says. His dimple pops out again and it makes my belly somersault.
“You want to be friends?” I snort out. He lifts his chin at me.
“What if I do?” He leans back in chair. I mimic his movement.
“I’d say you’re signing up for more than you’re bargaining for.”
“You don’t scare me, Nora.” I wish I would. I wish he didn’t say that. I probably would scare him, if he knew all my dark desires. If he saw my body. Knew what I craved.
“Likewise.”
“So Saturday ... how ‘bout we meet in the park,” he points out the window. “Over there. I’ll bring lunch, you bring drinks and a blanket.”
“I feel like I’ve been bullied into a date somehow,” I say.
“It’s only a date, if there’s a kiss.”
“There definitely won’t be a kiss,” I tell him.
“No. Definitely not. You’re kind of disgusting to look at.” My eyes nearly pop from their sockets at his wo
rds, but I cannot stop the laugh that bubbles up from my belly, and out my mouth. Liam Lockwood is trouble. A weakness in an attractive package, with a good sense of humor. Outside of my small circle of friends, others tiptoe around me. They treat me differently since my return. It is nice to experience ordinary.
“Fine. Noon. Saturday.” I push up from my seat and leave without another word. As I walk out, I hear him laugh. I wait until I am in the park, away from the cafe windows to let my smile emerge. An incipient seed of hope takes root in my chest.
Liam
It’s Friday and I’ve spent all of fifteen minutes not thinking of Nora since Wednesday. I played it cool. I showed her my other side. The fun side. She reacted so much better to that. Better than I had hoped, even. If she’s willing to be friends, I can make her crave me, need more than that in no time. It’s a little more work but a step I’m willing to take. Nora Robertson was the last person to live with my brother. She knew him. She might even know of me. But if the name meant anything to her, she isn’t letting on. She can tell me things I desperately want to know about the family we left behind. I will make her want to kiss me. She will want to touch me. Need it even. I will show her how the Lockwood men really are and Holden will roll over in his grave. The woman he so desperately clung to, will be mine, not his.
When I arrive at the park, there is a large yellow blanket spread out and a small cooler at one corner. I wave with my free hand. It took hours to go back through her Instagram page and find all her food posts, but I did it and I am confident she will be wowed with our lunch selection.
I set the basket down on the blanket. There are no clouds today and the temperature is near sweltering but Nora wears a sundress with a cardigan over it. It makes me wonder if she's chaste or simply a lunatic. She stands.
“You came,” she says.
“Of course.” She spreads her arms.
“Friends hug, right?”
I laugh. She is adorable. I take her in my arms. The gentleness in her touch, the warmth of her hand on my skin, it makes me remember all the things I don’t have. I want something to fill up that chasm that gapes inside me. When we release, she doesn’t immediately know what to do. She is awkward and cute. Damn. I long to reach out and rub her shoulders but that’s too tender. Too much of a lie. I reach out and touch her hand instead. She pulls it away as though I’ve bitten it. I don’t know the details of what Holden did to her but I can imagine. I did live with him, too. I was a victim of his proclivities. She lives in a cell made of skin. Held captive. Sealed inside herself—always. It’s gotta be tough. She needs to learn how to release her demons. I shake my head. That is not my job. It is not my goal. I need to stay focused. I’m hard. I thrive on her confused and unsure emotions.
“How was your week?” I ask. She sits cross-legged and smooths her dress over her knees.
“Productive,” she says. I sit beside her, legs stretched out. My arm brushes hers. The fine hairs on her forearm stand tall—nervous. I grin because she can’t know. She’s helpless to whatever I throw her way. She has a scar on her right elbow. It’s faint now but still noticeable. It could have been from crashing into a tree sledding as a little girl, or maybe she fell during cheer practice in high school and split it open. Maybe it came from a man or her mother or an animal. I could ask but it would take all the fun out of my game. I like to wonder. I like to make up my own stories.
I bump my shoulder against hers. “Good.”
“How was yours?” she asks.
“Work is brutal right now. Long hours. Tough to deal with clients.”
“What do you do?”
“I broker investment deals.”
“That sounds like a lot of inflated ego.”
“Rude. Excuse me for having a good job.” She starts to speak but I hold my hand up to stop her. She’s touchingly flustered, thinking she’s screwed up somehow. There is a strong, sinewy animal beauty about her; a beauty that promises more than she intends to deliver. Her eyes sparkle with a slight challenge and I feel the stirrings of excitement. The line I’m treading is a very thin one. “I’m kidding, Nora. It’s a job, not my life.”
“Sorry. I ...” she sighs and looks at me. She has to squint to block the sun from her eyes. “I’m not really a people person.”
“I already garnered that. Just relax.”
“Why does everyone say that? If it was that easy to relax, I would be.”
“You never relax?” I ask. She snorts and smirks at me.
“You seem to make my social blunders acceptable. Why can’t others be like that?”
“I think that’s called DNA. Like, everyone’s is different, thus making us all unique.” Nora smiles wide and falls to her back. Her red hair spreads around her like a devilish halo. I take the opportunity to admire her as she stares at the cloudless sky.
Nora
Intense green eyes stare at me. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, is at least six-two and has biceps the size of my thighs. I look back to the sky and apricate. He is distracting.
“I had a nightmare last night,” I say, instead of all the other things whirling around my head. From the corner of my eye, I watch Liam lean back on his elbows. “It’s always the same. The constant whining of jets gathering power offends my ears and that Indian man with the dark jeans and internet explorer blue socks, who is yammering on in his native tongue, shoes under his seat. A mother in a coral shirt is frantic, trying to keep her infant from making noise and disrupting people. And my eyes close and it’s all too much. The persistent white noise of chaos. Breath goes in through my nose and out again, but it’s still too loud. And I know I will be off the plane soon but it doesn’t do anything to quell the overwhelming claustrophobia encroaching me. And then that baby shrieks, and the blonde in front of her shoots me a dirty look, and the man to my right coughs at me. It hits my shoulder and that god damned high pitched whine grows louder, until I bolt to my feet and scream ‘shut the fuck up.’ Then the entire cabin gasps and points at me, accusing and judging before silence ensues and I open my eyes,” I say.
“You need therapy. Or to stop frequenting the airport to watch people,” he deadpans.
I roll my head toward him. “People watching is therapy to me.” And I am in therapy but of course, he doesn’t need to know that.
“You have that dream often?” he asks. I have an urge to tell him that I do. I have it often but not as often as I dream of Holden. That when I wake panting in the night, I can still feel his hands on me. His lips on my skin. I shiver despite the heat, then laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Liam asks. I am almost startled someone is next to me. For a moment I was lost in my mind. “You zone out a lot, don’t you?”
“Is that weird?” I ask, knowing full well it is odd.
“A little, but I don’t mind. What were you thinking of?”
He lays down. Our shoulders touch. It is hot today and I would love to be in my backyard without a cardigan on but there is no escaping that now.
“Nothing. I just ... zone out sometimes,” I tell him. “What did you bring to eat? I’m starving.”
“A girl who likes to eat. I dig it.”
“One, this isn’t a date, so I can eat, and two, I am no girl.” Liam rewards me with a mischievous smirk. He sits up and bends forward. His T-shirt rides up as he reaches for the basket he brought. Muscles, cut and defined, line his back. His skin is golden, as if he spends many hours in the sun shirtless. I catch myself staring and avert my eyes before he twists and sets the basket between us.
“True, and probably true. I’ve yet to see proof of womanhood.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “You’re awful.”
Liam shrugs and opens the basket. He pulls out various tubs. As he removes lids, I see all my favorites and if I am honest, it pleases me as much as it bewilders. Goat cheese, grapes, little salami rounds and a baguette.
He hands me a plastic fork. “Tell me one deep thing about you as a person.”
“That
is a queer request,” I say.
“Queer?”
“Strange. Strange request. I like words.”
“Oh, I see what you did there. You tried to answer both my questions at once. Nope. Liking words is not deep enough.”
I frown and think for a moment. I’ve been open with him so far but I’m not sure how much of myself I really want to share. I pop a grape into my mouth. Liam watches in a way that is not friendly. It is lusty. My cheeks burn pink as I swallow.
“I am no ordinary girl. Society often shouts at us to fit into the mold. And I don’t. I never have. So this lingering guilt seeps in, causing me to second guess myself and wonder if I am indolent, or unable to cut it in the ‘real world’, or perhaps not meant to be here at all.” What I don’t tell him is about Holden. How he may be dead but he haunts me. Turns me cold. He will haunt me till the day I die I think.
“Okay, that might have been too deep,” he says.
I raise my brows at him. He hands me a small plate with little clumps of each item.
“Well, what about you? What’s your deep thing?” I ask. Liam grows quiet. The sound of grapes between his teeth and the breeze the only sound. I feel as if I have intruded on something private. He catches my eye and holds it. The emerald green holding me captive.
“Something happened when I was younger. I should've known better. I should have stopped it from happening.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I say. I reach out and rest my hand on his. His hand is cool to the touch, despite the heat. Mine is hot from being overdressed. His skin feels good underneath mine. He smirks and I pull my hand away.
“I don’t. Blame myself, I mean. I blame the other party,” He says casually. Too casually.
“Can I ask what happened?” The wind picks up and swirls my hair around my face. It sticks to my lips. Liam laughs and reaches out to smooth it down. I still. The moment is intimate when it should not be. He senses it, too, and shrugs.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
I wave a hand through the air.
“No worries,” I answer. I nibble on my food. The variety tickles my palette. More than once, I catch Liam watching me eat. I think better of pointing it out. I am enjoying myself and do not want to spoil the moment. When his plate is empty, he asks, “Are you ready for dessert?”