Chapter 9 Linus
nine
Linus
Two Months Later
Winter in Pullman settles into bones no matter how many layers I wear.
I’ve been here long enough to recognize the routines. Late-afternoon sunsets. Students shuffling across icy walkways. The way everyone’s breath fogs in a shared cloud at bus stops. Enough time to build a life, at least on paper.
Not long enough for the loneliness to quiet.
Classes. Dorm. A job at the student union. A set of new acquaintances who think my accent is charming and my shyness is deliberate rather than reflexive.
I’ve put on a good facade. Pretend the guilt of cheating on Niamh doesn’t follow me from lecture to lecture. Delude myself into believing the quick, clumsy blowjob is the only real confirmation of the part of myself I’ve tried to keep buried.
Pretend I’m not tracking Liam McGloughlin everywhere he goes.
It’s not intentional. I’m not a stalker. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The Wazzu campus isn’t big and Liam’s the big man on campus, though he doesn’t seem to give a fuck. His band, Fireball is building a following, and both he and his twin brother stand out without trying.
Liam’s hair always looks like he ran from bed to class without checking a mirror. He wears the same beat-up black boots every day. Girls orbit him. Guys too. He moves with an easy confidence I can’t look away from.
I don’t want to stare.
Always do.
He’s captivated me. No two ways about it.
Doesn’t matter if he’s strumming his guitar on the cold concrete steps outside the Communication building or laughing with his brother in the dining hall, his energy is impossible to ignore.
Each time I’m near him, the yearning is deep and inconvenient. It isn’t lust, not entirely. It’s something sharper.
Recognition, maybe.
He moves through the world with a freedom I’ve never allowed myself to imagine.
I haven’t spoken to him yet. I want to.
Probably too much.
Tonight, there’s a party on the far side of campus. I don’t usually go out. I hate cheap beer and small talk. I pull on my coat anyway, because there’s a good chance Liam will be there, and I promised myself I’d say an actual word to him next time I had an opportunity.
The cold hits my face the second I step outside. The air smells like snow, even though none is falling. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walk fast, boots crunching on leftover ice. Music spills from the house before I reach it. Bass vibrates through the porch boards.
Inside, it’s too warm. Bodies are packed shoulder to shoulder. Lights flashing inconsistently, like someone wired the house badly or wants to induce seizures. Conversations overlap into a single crowded hum.
I scan the room before I realize I’m doing it.
There he is.
Liam.
Back against the far wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans, silver chain glinting at his throat.
His hair sticks up in all directions, darker under the dim lights.
He’s talking to someone. A girl with a high ponytail and dramatic eyeliner.
He looks alive, bright, carved out of something fiercer than everyone around him.
He holds a bottle of sparkling water, tapping it against his palm with restless rhythm. His eyes sweep the room, cataloguing faces. When they pass over me, something in me jolts.
I push off the counter before I lose courage. The girl he was talking to drifts toward the hallway and a space opens at the arm of the couch.
A chance.
I take it.
He notices me instantly.
“Hey.” He sits on the cushion next to me. His voice is deeper than I expect. Rough, warm, carrying the faintest trace of a Belfast accent. He studies me briefly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
I manage a half smile. “Hey yourself.”
“You’re new,” he says, like it’s a fact he’s been turning over in his mind.
“I’ve been here a few months.”
He studies me without apology, then nods. “I’m Liam.”
“I know.”
The second it leaves my mouth, I regret it. Too eager.
He laughs once, soft and quick. “Right. And you are…?”
“Linus.”
His eyes spark when I say it. “Irish?”
“Dublin.”
“Aye.” He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “My folks are from Belfast. Makes my lilt come and go, or so I’ve been told.”
I relax before I mean to. “I hear it. It suits you.”
“So, Linus.” His smile is small but real. “Why are you in Pullman?”
“To study entertainment and hospitality.”
He nods like it’s important. “You into music?”
“Sure. I worked for a talent booking company in Dublin. Logistics mostly.”
His eyebrows rise. “You serious? Proper gigs and everything?”
“Depends on your definition of proper.”
My chest loosens when he laughs.
“So you already know about Fireball.” He pushes loose hair off his face.
“Everyone knows Fireball.”
He looks pleased when I mention his band, like he isn’t used to hearing praise yet but wants to be. “We’re still figurin’ things out. Got a new singer who’s a pain in the ass, but it’s my dream.”
“You’re good,” I say before I can chicken out. “I’ve heard you.”
His eyes sharpen. “Where?”
“On the radio. Saw you at a house party…” I trail off, mortified.
He grins wider. “You’ve been doing recon.”
“No, I—”
“It’s fine.” He palms my thigh. “I’d watch me too.”
I choke on a laugh.
He shifts slightly so his knee brushes mine. The contact is small, fleeting. Enough to jolt something low in my stomach.
“You seein’ anyone?” He leans closer.
“No,” I answer, too quickly.
“You want to be?”
I swallow. “Maybe.”
His smile fades into something softer. Careful. Curious. “Who? Lotsa pretty girls around.”
This feels like a cliff I’ve been inching toward for months. Adrenaline pumping, I force myself to look him in the eyes.
“Aye, but I came tonight hoping you’d be here.”
His gaze lowers, not to my mouth. To the space between us, like he’s imagining it gone.
“That so?” His thumb strokes my thigh.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He shifts closer, and when he speaks next, the lilt in his voice is unmistakable. “You don’t flirt much, do you?”
“No,” I breathe. “I was in a relationship for three years. We broke up when I moved here. I don’t really know how.”
“You’re doing grand.” Liam’s eyes bore into mine, warm enough to pool heat low in my stomach.
His face inches closer until I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. He isn’t cocky now. Not teasing. Something in his eyes looks almost shy. Careful.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he murmurs. “I’m glad I came over here.”
I exhale shakily. “Me too. I’ve wanted to talk to you for weeks.”
“So let’s talk.”
The whole party blurs at the edges. The noise, the lights, the cold wind pushing in every time the door opens. All of it fades.
There’s only him.
The way he patiently gives me all the time I need to choose the next moment.
The pull between us is unmistakable, undeniable. For the first time in my life, wanting a man doesn’t feel like a secret I need to hide.
Tonight feels like a beginning.
A terrifying, beautiful beginning.
I think he might be into me too.
Whatever this is.
Whatever it could be.