by Leisa Rayven
I smile. “Why are you blushing? What did Angel do?”
“Nothing. She’s fine.” I raise my brow at him and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She used this sort of flirty, sexy tone to explain she’s gluten-free this week, and then, at the end, she stroked my arm and smiled.”
“That bitch.”
“Don’t give me shit. Seriously, I’m not in the mood. This woman could flirt me into committing murder, I have no doubt. Now, give me cash. I’ll get her a different lunch.” He holds out his hand.
I pull out the petty-cash tin and hand him a fifty. Surely that’s enough to cover whatever Angel wants. Josh grabs a second fifty and shoves the money in his pocket. “Back soon.”
Dammit, our budget is so screwed.
I put the cash tin away, and I’m about to go back to my rehearsal schedule when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swings open to reveal Liam. Within seconds, my palms are wet.
I stand to face him. “Mr. Quinn. Do you need something? Is your lunch acceptable? If not, I’d be happy to get you something else.”
He lingers in the doorway before moving into the cramped office and closing the door behind him. He looks too big for the small room. His shoulders seem broader than I remember, and traces of ink peek out from the right sleeve of his T-shirt. That’s something he didn’t have last time I saw him up close and shirtless.
He glances around the room before coming back to my face.
He just stares for a few seconds, and dammit, I can’t believe the years haven’t diminished his effect on me. Time’s supposed to heal everything, right? Well, it hasn’t educated my heart to stop wanting a man who doesn’t want it back.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Quinn?”
He takes a step forward, and I have a moment of panic because in this enclosed space, my usual tactic to avoid and ignore is impossible.
“Elissa—”
“Mr. Quinn, if there’s something you need—”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name, sir.”
“God, Liss.” He sighs and looks me up and down. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s my office. Not that hard to believe.”
“I meant on the show.”
“Marco asked me to run it.”
“I would have thought that as soon as you heard my name, you would have run a million miles.”
I don’t mention I’ve considered it. “When I accepted the job, I didn’t know you would be the star.”
The muscles in his jaw tense. “Of course you didn’t. That makes sense.” He lets out a bitter laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have taken it, would you?”
I try to find a nice way of saying it, but there really isn’t one. “No.”
He nods. I’d say he looks hurt, but why would he? He’s been living the Hollywood high life without any contact from me. I doubt he’s even spared me two thoughts over the past six years.
“Well, however you got here, I’m grateful.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ve missed you. More than you know.”
I almost laugh. Of course you have. In between making megabuck movies, earning millions of dollars, and banging one of the most desired women on the planet, you’ve had plenty of time to pine for the short, cheese-obsessed stage manager you once had a thing for. That makes perfect sense.
He reads something on my face and frowns. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t dare question you, Mr. Quinn. That would be very unprofessional.”
There’s that look again. Hurt or disappointment—I can’t decide which. “I guess I haven’t given you much reason to have faith in what I say, have I? Just one more thing I regret about us.” There’s laughter out in the hallway, and he looks over his shoulder before coming back to me. “Speaking of us, does anyone here know about our … history?”
“No.”
“Not even Josh?”
“He knows we’ve been … intimate. That’s it.”
“Intimate.” He says it like it’s funny. “Doesn’t really do justice to what we had, does it?”
This conversation is veering off into uncomfortable areas. “Mr. Quinn—”
“Mr. Quinn is my father.”
“Your agent requested we address both yourself and Miss Bell in a formal way.”
“My agent likes to make people think we’re more important than we are. That’s his job. Don’t listen to him about anything. Especially not about me and Angel.”
God, just hearing him say that phrase ties my stomach in knots. “Me and Angel.”
“Liss, about Angel—”
“If you’re concerned that our past will cause you any discomfort, in either a professional or personal capacity, I’d like to assure you that I’m going to do everything in my power to make this experience as stress-free as possible. For both you and your … fiancée.”
I nearly choke on the word. Finding out he was engaged didn’t snuff out the tiny flame of hope that we’d somehow be together one day. It just stifled it, in the most painful way. “I realize this situation isn’t ideal,” I continue. “And if you tell me your concerns, I’ll be sure to address them.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Could you please stop talking to me like you’re my bank manager? Like we don’t even know each other?”
“I don’t know you anymore.”
“You’re the only one who’s ever known me. Fuck, Liss—”
“I’d rather you call me Elissa.” He’s the only person in the world who calls me Liss, and it feels way too intimate for our current situation.
He walks forward, and I have no room left to retreat. He stands so close, I can smell him. The entire space fills with an intense energy that makes my heart pound erratically against my rib cage.
“Elissa, I’m sorry. That day … the last time I saw you. I hurt you, and I hate that.”
I can’t cope with him being so close, but I clench my jaw and force myself to sound calmer than I feel. “There were faults on both sides. We weren’t even in a relationship.”
“We both know that’s not true. What we shared—”
“Was a long time ago. We were young and stupid. Everything seems epic at that age, and we got carried away. I knew it at the time, and I know it now. I’m over it.”
His eyes bore into me. “It?”
I straighten my spine. “You.” He blinks a few times, and I ignore his conflicted expression. “Now you’re engaged to one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I…” Come on, Elissa, say it. Even if you don’t mean it. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”
If I were Pinocchio, my nose would be poking his eye out right about now. Well, okay, I’m too short for the eye, but his chest would be getting a bruising. “No matter how it happened, I’m glad you two found each other. It’s obvious you love her.” I risk looking at his face. “Right?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Do I seriously expect him to say “no” and take me in his arms? As usual, my unrealistic romantic expectations are way off.
“Yes, I love her,” he says quietly. “I’m lucky to be marrying my best friend. Not everyone gets that chance.”
A knot of tension coils in my stomach. I really wasn’t prepared for how much those words would hurt.
“And what about you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Are you … with anyone?”
It sounds like he’s asking if I have a terminal illness. I guess if stubborn singleness were a disease, I could be said to have a chronic case.
What do I tell him? That since our time together, I never go out with a man for more than a couple of weeks? In general, men disappoint me. Yet another thing for which I blame Liam Quinn.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” I say. Several someones, really. None worth mentioning.
<
br /> His stare is intense. Like he’s trying to see straight into my soul. “Does he treat you well?”
I almost cave and tell him the truth, but my pride takes over my mouth. “Like a queen.”
The tension in him gives way to something else. Relief, perhaps. “Good. You deserve happiness. You deserve … everything.” When he looks back at me, there’s such raw longing there that all the air in the room disappears, and for the first time in my life, I feel claustrophobic. I lean back against the wall, and hope he can’t tell.
“Was there anything else before you go, Mr. Quinn?”
“Yes. Stop calling me Mr. Quinn. Everyone else can call me whatever the hell they like, but not you. Please, Elissa.”
“Okay, Mr. Qu—” I take a breath. “Sorry. Liam.”
The second I say his name, something shifts in the air. My skin prickles and his entire posture changes. In that moment, he’s not a movie star, and I’m not his stage manager. We’re the same two desperately connected people who fell down a rabbit hole years earlier and climbed out forever changed.
He takes a step forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to touch me. But after looming over me for several long seconds, he turns on his heel, opens the door, and strides down the corridor.
When he’s out of sight, I collapse into my chair and drop my head onto the desk.
So, yeah.
That went well.
THREE
PAST TENSE
If sitting on the couch eating cheese were a sport, right now I’d be the Olympic champion.
Our first day of rehearsals has left me drained. The thought of enduring another few months of controlling my reaction to Liam has led me to being pantsless in my favorite nightshirt as I inhale a wedge of Jarlsberg.
“Wine?” Josh calls from the kitchen.
“If you have to ask that question after the day we’ve just had, then we’re no longer friends.”
I look up to see him in the doorway holding a wineglass so big, it could be seen from space. I suspect it’s holding an entire bottle of wine.
“I was being polite, loser. I already knew the answer.” He has a six-pack of beer in his other hand. “When we’ve finished this lot, I vote we move on to the bourbon.” He passes me my wine, and then flops next to me as he uncaps a beer. He takes a long drink before letting out the world’s most resonant burp.
I groan in disgust. “You’re a class act. You know that?”
He holds up a fist. “Word.”
“Still pissed about your reaction to Angel?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. You talk a good game when you’re trying to get a woman into bed, but as soon as you meet someone you actually feel something for, you get all irritated. You did it last year with Lara, and you’re doing it now with Angel.”
He leans back and shoves his hand in the waistband of his pants. “Hold that thought while I go get some toilet paper, because what’s coming out of your mouth right now is total shit.”
“Okay, fine. Live in denial. But you’re still going to whack off to pictures of her, right?”
He shrugs. “Probably. Mike’s a total slut for leggy redheads.” He picks up the remote and starts flipping through channels.
“Remind me again why you named your penis Mike?”
“I didn’t. You did.”
I frown. “I did not. I don’t make a habit of naming penises. Especially not those belonging to my best friend.”
“Wrong. You once referred to my dick as ‘magic.’ Hence, Magic Mike.”
I laugh before taking a giant swig of wine. “God, you remember that? I was joking.”
“Sure you were.”
I smile as I put my feet up on his leg. He halfheartedly gives me a foot rub.
Josh and I have been living together for just over a year, and I never expected to enjoy living with a straight guy so much. After cohabitating with my brother for so long, I was relieved to get away from him. I mean, I love Ethan, but he was pretty high-maintenance. I suspect he’d be more bearable now that he’s sorted out his life and gotten back together with his one true love, but still …
Josh and I sit on the couch and drown our sorrows for almost an hour before I excuse myself and retreat to my bedroom. My head is all over the place right now, so I figure I should just call it a day and hope tomorrow is better.
After I crawl into bed and close my eyes, thoughts of Liam push back in.
As much as I’d like to think everything that happened is now water under the bridge, it’s clear from our little confrontation in my office that there are issues that still need to be sorted out between us.
Feeling nostalgic, I grab my phone and find the picture of us from the first night we met. Liam’s hand is on my face, and he’s kissing me so deeply, just looking at it gives me tingles. That was the first time I ever laid eyes on him. The first time I ever kissed him. The first time my inner voice ever warned me to stay away from him.
There’s a light knock on the door, then Josh says, “Are you decent? Looking at porn? Waxing anything interesting?”
I smile. “None of the above, perv. Come in.”
When he opens the door, he gives my room the once-over. “Dammit. Just once I’d like for some underwear to be lying around. Especially those little red ones with the bows on the back.”
“Josh, how many times have I asked you to stay out of my underwear drawer?”
“Twenty-three times and counting.”
“Well, this makes twenty-four.”
“Noted, and ignored.”
“Good, then.”
He shoos me with his hand. “Make room, woman.” When I move to the far side of the bed, he climbs under the covers next to me.
I quickly shut off my phone before he can see the photo.
“So,” he says as he turns on his side and props up his head with his hand. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Well, you just watched most of an episode of Dance Moms without hurling abuse at the television. That’s never happened before.”
“I’m just tired, I guess.”
“Uh-huh. And perhaps you’re preoccupied because of a certain ex-flame.”
I pick imaginary fluff off the sheet. “Nah.”
“Yeah.” He grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “Are you ever going to tell me what went down between you and Quinn? I got the impression you guys were just about the hot animal sex, but you really liked him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“But you did.”
I shrug.
“Lissa, talk to me. You’ve been keeping your feelings for Quinn on the down-low for years? What the hell?”
I rub my eyes. This is one subject I don’t feel comfortable discussing. What I shared with Liam feels like a precious secret, and if I talk about it, the things I remember as bright and shiny will tarnish.
Josh lies on his back and closes his eyes. “Have it your way. I’m just going to rest here for a while. If you want to tell me a story of love and loss, that’s cool. If you don’t, no problem. I’ll just have extra time to refold everything in your underwear drawer.”
I smile and push him so hard, he almost falls out of bed.
“Fine,” I say as he chuckles and makes himself comfortable again. “Once upon a time on a Friday night, me and my pushy best friend had a date in Times Square.”
Six Years Earlier
Times Square
New York City
“Hey, beautiful lady. Where you headed?”
A random drunk dude steps in front of me, and I hit him with a withering gaze. “I’m meeting my karate-expert boyfriend, so step aside or risk him splintering you like a kickboard.”
“Oh, sure. You just saying that to get rid of me? Or do you really got a boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes. “Look at me. I’m fine as hell. Of course I have a boyfriend. He’s right over there.”
I
step around him, but I can feel him watching me as I climb the giant red staircase to where Josh is waiting.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says before bending down and planting a soft kiss on my lips. “Can’t wait to take you home so we can have all the sex.” He says it loud enough for Random Drunk Guy to hear.
“Me, too,” I say, just as loudly. “The sex with you is my favorite. Your penis is like magic. And afterward, you can practice your lethal karate moves on people who hit on me.”
Random Drunk Guy scowls and turns away, and I sit down and sigh. It’s ridiculous how often we have to do that.
“The magic-penis line is new,” Josh says as he casually drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I like it. It’s good for my ego.”
“I’m glad. But you know if you ever say something about my vagina, I’m going to hurt you, right?”
“Yep. I haven’t forgotten last time. Neither have my balls.”
I smile and lean my head on his shoulder.
Having a boy for a best friend can be both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I always have a way to duck unwanted male attention when needed, but on the other hand, guys I want to notice me see Josh and assume I’m attached, so they steer clear. It can be frustrating.
I haven’t dated anyone seriously since high school, and even though I’m mostly happy about that because men are a distraction I don’t need right now, sometimes I have a twinge of longing. A wistful desire for something more.
At least I have Josh. Tonight we’re doing one of our fave activities, which is sitting in the middle of Times Square and playing “Fuck, Marry, Kill” with people who pass by.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Josh says as he points to people loitering in front of us. “Cowboy hat, skinny jeans, and chubby suit.”
“Hmmm. Tough one. They’re all pretty bad.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to need a decision.”
“Fine. Kill Skinny Jeans because then he can’t raise sons who will follow in his ridiculous hipster ways, marry Chubby Suit because it’s obvious the man has a job and can pay for my cheese addiction, and fuck Mr. Cowboy Hat because he looks like he’d know his way around a filly, if you know what I mean.”
Josh frowns. “You’d fuck him because he can walk around a horse? I don’t understand.”