Chapter 15
POV: Liam?
I didn’t want to ignore her.
I just thought it would be easier that way. Because the more comfortable we got with each other, the more difficult things would become.
That night, when I went home, all I thought about was her. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did anyway.
And like the addiction she was—my mind couldn’t—it wouldn’t—forget about her.
Neither could I forget about the sex.
God, it was that good.
I hadn’t had sex like that in years—in fucking years.
Especially not with a woman from around here.
Her slickness even smelled delicious—-like a floral aroma—and the way she felt—-tight—and the way she behaved—obeidient from once without a single sarcastic word to even say. To say I enjoyed it would be a vast understatement. I loved it. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
But looking at her here now, I discovered that I wanted the same. The exact same thing my mind wouldn’t let me forget about.
Sex with her. Right here and right now.
And I realized that I was fucked, extremley fucked. And not the literal type unfortunately.
Because I knew, deep, deep down that this couldn’t happen again—that it shouldn’t happen again—but I couldn’t stop hoping that it would.
And the worst part was, I was back to ignoring Maeve, like nothing happened, even though we both knew very well that something did and something big.
And the second worst part was that I felt like a total wuss by doing so. I didn’t even feel like a man right now, at least not the man I usually felt like. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth—that I was interested in her and worried that I was.
And just as I was staring at her, thinking about how I was going to dig myself out of this hole, this never-ending hole full of feelings called Maeve, her gaze met mine.
Fuck. She caught me staring at her.
I turned as quickly as I could, tearing my gaze from her, as Caitlin and her continued talking.
I knew Caitlin would figure it out, if she hadn’t already. I knew she’d figure out why I was staring at Maeve, and why she was staring at me, and why there was this silent tension between the two of us.
I didn’t look towards the two of them to find out. I just tried to pretend like I was busy, walking around aimlessly, shining bar glasses, and taking customers orders.
I thought I was safe from Caitlin’s questioning, that was until I felt her behind me hovering.
“You’re avoiding me,” she said.
“What are you going on about?” I pretended like I had no idea.
She scoffed. “What am I going on about?”
I turned to meet her gaze. She was all narrowed eyes and folded arms. “You know what I’m talking about, Liam.”
“I haven’t a clue,” I lied, trying to distract myself from meeting her gaze again as I walked towards the end of the bar to pour a glass of whiskey neat for a customer.
“Maeve.”
The single word unsettled me and I’m sure Caitlin could read it all over my face.
I frowned, hoping that would disguise my true emotion. “What about her?” I asked.
“Stop playing stupid, Liam. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Maeve—that cute blonde American girl sitting in that corner booth right over there,” she replied, pointing her finger right towards Maeve.
“Stop pointing!” I nearly shouted, as I tried to even my tone.
“Then admit it. Admit that you’re messing around with Maeve.”
“I’m not,” I lied again.
“Liar,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re so predictable.” She walked away from me.
But I walked after her. “What do you mean predictable?”
“It’s always the same thing with you, messing around with women, not caring about their feelings, or even having a single afterthought. But unlike most of these women in town or the tourists you choose to fuck, Maeve is actually nice and smart and she’s well you know…different. And you choose, like you always do, to ruin something or someone that can actually be good for you!”
I shook my head in disbelief.
Here my sister was, accosting me for not appreciating or liking Maeve. When I couldn’t stop thinking about her and convincing myself that I shouldn’t be interested in her and having sex with her again, on every piece of the furniture I had in this goddamn pub.
“There is nothing going on with Maeve and I!” I nearly yelled, trying to stop the constant thoughts of her, and trying to stop Caitlin’s incessant pestering.
And as soon as I said the words I knew I fucked up.
Next level fuck up.
Because I turned my head and saw Maeve staring right at me. And she looked pissed.
She got to her feet almost instantly, gathering her laptop, her purse, throwing down cash on the table and walking towards the door without a second look back.
“Nice job,” Caitlin scoffed, walking away from me.
But I just stood frozen in place.
I wanted to run after her. I wanted to apologize—to tell her that I shouldn’t have said that, especially so loud. I wanted to admit that I was confused with my emotions and I was worried about what they meant.
But I knew by doing so, I’d risk everything—the careful shell I built, to protect myself from such emotions.
Because in the end, the truth remained.
She was an American. She had a life there. She wasn’t here to stay and she most certainly wouldn’t want to stay in a small town in Ireland and try to make a life here.
So as much as I wanted to chase after her, I couldn’t.
I just sat there staring at the door—the closed door—then at the empty booth she was once at—then out the window, at the empty sidewalk.
She was gone. She had heard everything.
And the emotions I tried so hard to suppress were bubbling up to the surface right now like an overheated tea kettle.