25. Liam
Chapter twenty-five
Liam
June
Iwasn’t sure what to expect out of a river float trip in Arkansas, but I’m having a shockingly enjoyable time.
The other guys here—Beau, Clark, and Davis—are comfortable in a way that suggests this was an integral part of their childhood and young adult years.
Although I grew up three hours from here, I was never invited on any float trips (not that I would have accepted an invitation).
I suppose I could have experienced something similar during college, but the vibe at the University of California, Berkeley was a different world than northwest Arkansas.
Kayaking at Albany Beach is very different from lazily floating down a small river in an inner tube.
By the time I was getting my MBA at Pepperdine Graziadio Business School, I was too focused on learning everything I possibly could about the business world to bother with recreational activities. Aside from a daily morning run, at least.
As I watch the easy camaraderie between these lifelong friends, there’s a dull pain behind my ribs. An uncomfortable feeling, like I’ve missed out on something. I shift in my inner tube, my attention catching on Madison and Clara twirling each other’s tubes in circles.
Being in close proximity to Madison in a bathing suit adds a different layer to the subtle torture of this event.
I’ve tried to maintain distance from her in the weeks following those nights together during the storm.
Fought to shut down the instincts that scream at me to pursue her the way I dream about.
Watching her interact with this group of friends—the way she radiates energy as she volleys sarcastic banter with everyone—only makes my gut instinct even harder to ignore. I’ve never fought this hard against my gut in my entire life, and it’s an infuriating battle.
“So, Liam, tell us some of your job’s greatest hits. Surely there must be some other companies that were more screwed up than our very own pet food factory,” Davis says with a grin.
“Yes, please tell me we’re not the worst train wreck you’ve ever seen,” Beau adds.
Laughing, I respond, “I don’t know how to answer that in a way that doesn’t disappoint you. This was definitely my first time uncovering an embezzlement scheme. It just might take the cake.”
Beau groans, splashing water over his face.
“But that was definitely a Wilson screw-up, not the employees,” I amend, trying to soften the blow. “But I do have stories for days of general incompetence and idiocy, if not outright criminal activity.”
As I share examples, there are shocked exclamations, howling laughter, and pleas for more horror stories. It feels easy conversing and connecting over stories of work that I’m good at without having to share any intimate details of my personal life.
By the time we reach the end of our float route and cook dinner over an open campfire, I realize just how comfortable I felt with this group of friends today. The knowing smile Madison is giving me from across the fire seems to indicate that she can sense my thoughts.
As we sit around the fire, Syd makes a comment about the significance of this annual float trip that everyone picks up on but me.
“Wait, Liam doesn’t know about this,” Madison says. “Clara, Clark, fill him in on the history of float trips and Christmas and your love story.”
I appreciate her looping me in, and the rest of the group seems eager to throw in their two cents as Clara and Clark share—well, mostly Clara. Clark offers minimal verbal additions, but he stares at Clara with mesmerized eyes the entire time.
I catch Madison’s eye as Clara talks about Clark finding her by the giant Christmas tree in Kansas City to confess his feelings, and I see something new glimmering in her gaze.
Is it envy? Discontentment? Longing?
Or am I just projecting my own emotions onto her?
Madison is uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the evening, and I’m content to sit back and listen to the natural flow of conversation between the friends.
The evening dies down along with the embers of the fire, and everyone makes quick work of packing up the day’s supplies.
We left our vehicles here at the end of the float path this morning and carpooled up to the start of the route, so Davis and Sydney will give Clark and Clara a ride to retrieve Clark’s truck.
As we disperse to our cars, Clara and Madison talk in hushed tones before Clara gives Madison an extended hug goodbye.
The conflicted look on Madison’s face when she turns to me only adds to my own conflicted feelings.
What am I doing? What are we doing?
It’s a bad idea.
Right?
Madison’s pensive mood continues on the drive home, and I don’t have any spare mental energy to drum up conversation. I’m too busy trying to beat my gut instincts into submission.
We ride the few minutes home in tense silence.
The quiet remains a heavy blanket as we head inside the house.
Madison kicks off her sandals at the door and sets down the bag holding her phone, sunscreen, and empty water bottle.
She pauses to give Hamlet a “hello” scratch on his chest, then pads to the kitchen for a glass of water.
The domestic familiarity of this scene between us makes my chest ache.
I follow her, standing a few feet away, watching her motions.
She’s still wearing her swimsuit underneath a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a T-shirt, and her long hair is pulled up into a high ponytail.
The coral strap of the halter top is visible above the collar of her T-shirt as she stands by the sink.
The vision of her holding Clara’s hand to twirl their inner tubes around on the river dances through my mind.
The memory of her teasing laugh is so tangible, I expect her to be grinning when she turns around.
Instead, there’s that same unfamiliar, guarded look in her eyes when she pivots toward me, leaning her back against the counter. Wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail frame her face, and her cheeks are perfectly sun-kissed.
The tether I had on my gut is stretched too far, too thin. It starts snapping strand by strand, adrenaline surging through my system as I stare at her. I shift my weight on the balls of my feet, clenching and unclenching my fists.
I don’t know what exactly changed in my expression, but Madison looks at me with concern.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. She takes in my fidgety energy. “What’s going on? Did you not like hanging out with everyone today? I thought you were having a good time, but was I wrong?”
Barking out a half-laugh, I take to pacing back and forth. “No. That’s not it. I did have a good time today. I enjoyed being with everyone.”
Rubbing a hand over my jaw, I glance at Madison. She frowns as she asks, “Is it . . . bad that you enjoyed it?” When I shake my head, she holds up exasperated hands. “Then what is it? Why are you acting all psycho-antsy?”
“Because—” I start but catch myself. Pausing my pacing, I turn to face Madison. She sassily raises an eyebrow, and that’s it for me. “Because I’m tired of convincing myself not to kiss you.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, and her other eyebrow raises in shock. The drumming in my chest is so hard, so fast, I think my heart could literally burst any second. I’m surprised it doesn’t explode out of my chest altogether when Madison takes a step closer to me.
So, so close.
Her chin is raised, her eyes are locked on mine as she murmurs, “Maybe you should stop convincing yourself.”
That’s all it takes to snap the final strand of restraint. I instantly step toward her, gather her face in my hands, and lean down to finally claim her lips with mine.
Madison meets my kiss with the same explosive intensity raging through me, zero to sixty with no warm-up lap. Like gunpowder and a spark, our lips meet with eruptive chemistry.
I’m immersed in her scent—eucalyptus and sunscreen and campfire smoke. Immersed and happily drowning, putting up no fight to save myself. I want more of her passion, more of the taste of her lips, more of this volatile alchemy between us.
I make a conscious effort to slow us down, to relish the softness of her lips against mine, the smooth skin of her cheek beneath my thumb, the tangle of her hair between my fingers.
But she wraps her arms around my waist, hands roaming the muscles of my back, and my foot backs off the brake.
Looping one arm around her back, I lift her onto the kitchen counter, bringing her lips to my level.
She fluidly moves her hands from my back to my neck, pulling my mouth back to hers.
I can’t hold back a moan at the sensation of her fingers against my scalp, her unrestrained passion almost a challenge.
All that feisty, sassy energy bundled up in Madison’s tiny frame reverberates in the way she kisses me, and I could so easily get lost in it forever. The power of her kiss could become my addiction, my energy source, my sanctuary.
So easily.
But the logical part of my brain claws its way back to consciousness, reminding me of why I fought against this attraction to Madison in the first place. Because it’s not actually easy or simple.
It takes concerted mental effort, but I break away from Madison’s lips. We’re both breathing heavily, and I remove my hands from her waist and her hair, placing them on either side of her on the counter.
We stare at each other, gulping in oxygen, until I catch my breath enough to speak. “What are we doing?” I ask.
“Ummm, I was kissing you, Suits. That’s what I was doing. Pretty sure it was a mutual action,” Madison deadpans. Her response reignites the gunpowder, and my body screams at me to continue that mutual kiss. I settle for dragging my thumb across her lips instead.
“It was very mutual. You might recall that I’m the one who started it,” I murmur.
Under my thumb, her lips curve into a classic Madison smirk.
“I like you, MJ. I feel . . . different with you. Different than anything I’ve ever experienced.
You’re fiery, you say exactly what you’re thinking, you’re determined, and you don’t take crap from anyone, myself included.
I like this attitude,” I say, holding up her hand to point out the way she always has her middle fingers painted a different color from the rest. She coyly bites her lip as I release her hand.
“There's also the fact that you’re so freaking beautiful I can hardly stand being in the same room without touching you.” My thumb traces down to hold her chin. “I like you. But how can this work? There’s an expiration date to our proximity. We’ve always known there was. So what are we doing?”
Madison’s lips turn down as she whispers, “I don’t know.”
I return my hand to the counter, because I’m not sure I can withstand any tiny point of physical contact with the woman in front of me. Not if I’m going to have a level-headed conversation.
“I don’t know how it’s going to work,” Madison says softly. “And normally, a lack of clear plans makes me queasy. I’m not a fan of forks in the road without an obviously right direction to follow.”
Disappointment and fear sizzle in my chest at her words, causing my muscles to tense.
But Madison reaches a hand up to my cheek, smoothing her fingers down my jaw as she adds, “But right now, I don’t want to take a path that isn’t toward you.
Because I like you. I like your self-confident, take-control-of-the-room swagger.
I like the secret tender side you do a very good job of hiding.
I like that you don’t back down when I try to push your buttons, and I like who you push me to be.
So I can figure out how to make the path work. I’m very resourceful.”
That sassy glimmer is back in her eyes as she finishes the sentence, and I lean in closer to her again. “We carve out the path as we go?”
“As we go,” she whispers.
I decide that’s enough level-headed conversation for the night and crash my lips back into hers.
Seconds or minutes or hours later, we’re interrupted by Hamlet leaping onto the counter.
“Hammie!” Madison exclaims as I pull out my disappointed dad voice to chide, “Hamlet, no counters.”
He jumps onto Madison’s shoulders, yowling for attention. Given our proximity, it’s an easy few steps for him to cross from Madison’s shoulders to mine, meowing incessantly in my ear.
Although initially annoyed, I recognize his interruption for the necessity it is.
My default speed setting may be more Formula 1 race car than minivan, but I don’t want to kill the engine of whatever is happening between Madison and me.
I want this to be a cross-country road trip, not a drag race.
So I need to recalibrate my momentum accordingly.
Sighing, I pull Hamlet off my shoulders and hold him in my arms between us. She leans in and kisses him on the head, then plants a soft kiss on my lips.
“To be continued when we’ve had some sleep and can think straight,” Madison says.
“Just to be clear, are we talking ‘to be continued’ on the kissing or the ‘how does this work’ conversation?” I ask wryly.
She bites the corner of her lip before replying. “Both. Obviously.”