Chapter 29
When I get to Liam’s door, I can already hear music coming from his apartment. I straighten out my top, pulling at the bottom, and glance down at my jeans. I can’t remember the last time I think I felt sexy, but every time I’m around Liam that’s the word that pops in my mind.
I feel confident and good about myself most of the time, but he takes it to another level. The way he stares at me, longs for me almost—I always thought someone’s attention like that would make me uncomfortable, but it’s the complete opposite.
The door swings open before I can even knock, and I glance at the tiny camera near his door. He literally saw me coming.
I pause before I speak. Before I move or even breathe.
Because he looks perfect. And it’s the first time I’m finally letting myself see him instead of rushing past the thought.
He’s absurdly handsome on a regular day.
He takes on a hot, masculine approach in his uniform, but tonight there’s a navy blue apron against his light gray T-shirt and black jeans.
His hair is styled in that perfectly messy way where some pieces are in his face but you can tell they’re supposed to be.
His eyes are so pretty, and that smile—someone help me before I say screw dinner and just start kissing him again.
Because, of course, his lips are softer than a freaking pillow.
“Wow.” He opens the door and the simple three letter word comes off his lips effortlessly.
“Hi,” I say, smiling.
“You look really pretty, come in.” He opens the door wider and steps to the side to let me pass.
“Thank you. It smells really good in here,” I say, removing my shoes.
His apartment is becoming one of my favorite places to be, which is saying a lot since I’ve only been here twice. But I’m instantly comfortable. The same way I am around him in general.
“It’ll be done in about five minutes. Grab yourself a drink if you want—there’s some decaf coffee in the fridge and some other things too.”
“You know, just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t. I know you like a beer here and there, maybe even an old fashioned.”
The fridge is stocked with beverages and food. A major contrast to what I previously knew about his empty fridge.
Liam’s standing against the counter, two bowls in front of him as he starts plating the food. He layers things, beginning with the rice and then some corn, followed by everything else. He looks good in the kitchen. Almost as good as he looks on the football field.
“I know.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t drink a lot during the season. But you’re right, I do love to have one now and then.”
I nod as I come up to his side. There’s a mixture of aromas around me and it’s making my stomach growl, it smells so fresh and so appetizing.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says, turning to me.
There’s a pair of tongs in his hand that he uses almost as a wand, waving it around when he speaks, and I pull my lips together to avoid laughing at the very cute gesture.
“I’m not feeling a drink right now, but I promise not to hold back if I end up wanting one later. ”
“Go crazy,” I tease, and his lips curl up as he finishes plating the meal.
He brings both bowls to the kitchen island, then grabs napkins and utensils before he pulls out one of the barstools for me.
“This looks really amazing, thanks for cooking.”
Liam unties the apron, pulling it off his body and places it on the counter before he takes a seat next to me.
“Any time.”
We eat in silence for the most part. Each looking at one another every so often, nodding our heads in agreement that this dish is fucking good. Like good, good. If I didn’t walk into him actually cooking, there’s a chance I would’ve given him shit about ordering takeout and pretending he made it.
Both of us clear our bowls and he even goes back for seconds after inhaling the first helping.
I can’t help but notice his phone has been buzzing on and off for the last hour, and even though I’m trying to ignore it and be nonchalant…I am, in fact, very nosy about it.
“Should we finish our puzzle?” he asks just before it buzzes again.
“You don’t have to avoid your calls or texts on my account, Liam. If someone needs you or something, just answer the phone.”
There’s a bite in my words. It’s unintentional for the most part, but after all the bullshit I went through with my ex, I’d rather not be a fool again.
“No one needs me.” He stares at his phone and then holds down the side button, completely powering it off.
“It’s the guys in the group chat discussing my life against my will.
” He chuckles. “I may have given them some fuel to work with and they’re having an entire conversation about it.
But the ones I’m actively avoiding are my dad’s.
His messages aren’t important right now, or ever really.
But especially tonight. I don’t want to be bothered by him. ”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little silly for the jealous bone that poked out a little. I have no right to feel that way. No claim to him or whatever this is.
“Did you think another woman was texting me or something?”
“Or something.” I shrug, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Dem,” he says, reaching for my hand, and I let him take my fingers into his.
“I haven’t texted a woman in over a year, except for my friends’ wives or girlfriend.
You’re the first woman I’ve hung out with in a long time.
I don’t know how much clearer I can be when I tell you I’m all in on whatever this is.
I’m happy to remind you every day if you need it—it won’t bother me.
But please know that it’s you. It’s only you. ”
It’s weird that I believe him. He makes me question everything I thought I knew and thought I wanted after my divorce.
I nod, feeling his fingers lace through mine as we stand facing one another in his kitchen. The light above the stove is on, giving an almost somber glow to the evening. His thumb makes circles on the back of my hand, and I look at our hands together. The sheer size of his cover mine so seamlessly.
“So…” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve seen a lot of interviews you’ve done when they’ve asked if you have someone special in your life. You know, any of those incredibly personal and—quite frankly, inappropriate—questions, and—”
Before I can continue, he cuts me off.
“You.” He takes a step closer to me and his grip on my hand tightens slightly, but it’s still gentle.
“Me what?”
“I was always talking about you. They’re all about you.”
When Liam stares at me the way he’s staring right now, it could make my heart skip a beat. I feel so confident that every piece of me—the broken, battered, and bruised—would be unconditionally cared for with him. And I’ve never been that certain about anyone—even the man I married.
“What?”
“I mean, yeah, I didn’t actually have you.” He laughs, taking a step back, but his hand still wraps around mine, not letting go. “But I’d say it with you in mind.”
I can’t believe all these years, all those interviews and times I’ve seen him talk about a woman—he meant me. There has to be something to be said about a man who holds out hope for five years, right?
He jerks his head toward the living room and leads me to the couch, where I take a seat. There’s a beige blanket on the corner that he hands me as I get settled before he grabs my drink from the kitchen island and brings it to the coffee table.
To my surprise, the puzzle looks like it’s still in good shape, exactly as we left it. Consider my faith in Birdie restored.
“I—I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.
“Is that weird?” He takes a seat on the couch near me and runs a hand through his hair. I watch as it falls back in place.
“It’s…” I pause, shaking my head. “It isn’t weird.
I guess I’m just so taken aback by it. I mean, truthfully, Liam, I’m not na?ve.
” I chuckle. “I’ve known, you know, about your crush or whatever you want to call it for a while, but I guess I never thought it was anything more than that.
Certainly not as sincere as it apparently is. ”
“Well, you were married, Dem. Despite how it may seem to someone who doesn’t know me, I am a respectful guy.”
He’s nothing like the picture I had painted of him in my mind. Emotionally, intellectually—it’s almost enough to make me drop every wall and guard I have.
“Well, you’re more respectful than he was,” I mutter softly.
Liam’s bicep flexes when he moves his arm to drape it over the back of the couch. I catch his eyes lingering on my lips and I allow myself to mirror him.
“If you ever want to talk about anything, you know you can, right? I mean, I fucking hate him, but if you need to vent, or whatever…” His hands tap his chest. “This is a safe space. It’s just you and me.”
“Just you and me.” I repeat the words he said when I opened up about Brianna too. And I believe it. I feel it. “I guess I like the sound of that.”
“Of you and me?” he asks, eyes flickering with hope.
I nod slowly, biting the inside of my cheek.
He reaches his hand out to me, and I bring my fingers up to his as he takes them and presses the softest kiss to my knuckles. My eyes watch the entire thing, my inhale hitching at the warmth of his breath against my skin.
“There isn’t much to say.” I take a quick sip of my drink. “Anymore, that is. I probably could’ve talked your ear off this time last year. Even a few months ago, but I’ve forgiven him—for my sanity, not because he deserves it. And I’ve moved on. Or, you know, I’m trying to.”
“Did he ever apologize?”
My mind replays one of our final conversations the day I handed him the divorce papers. I was sad. I was hurt. I felt empty and lost. But I also felt sure. I knew it was the right thing.
“He did. We’ve had a lot of really mature conversations, and I think that’s why when he does go through one of his immature moments I get so mad and upset. Because I know he can be rational, he just chooses not to be all the time.”
“Yeah, that’s hard. It’s probably his way of dealing with it, right? Lashing out for no reason.”
“Brandon’s always had a temper. I knew that going into our relationship, but I always looked at his hotheaded personality about things as passion. I laugh at myself now for that.”
“I promised I’d never ask about him and what happened—but I do need to know if he ever laid a hand on you. Please tell me if he touched you, Dem.”
Liam’s eyes plead with me for honesty.
“He never laid a hand on me. I promise. Our arguments were verbal—never physical.”
He exhales a deep breath and nods. “Okay. I don’t want to say that’s good because, you know, fuck him for raising his voice at you, but I’m glad it never escalated.”
Shaking my head, I scoot a little closer toward him on the couch.
“It didn’t. When I—” I stop myself. “Never mind.”
“No, what?”
“I don’t want to make you sit through the downfall of my marriage. What a boring way to spend the evening.”
His head tilts and he gives me an amused smirk. “I already said you can if you need to.”
Moments like this remind me that I didn’t have anyone to talk to during my separation and divorce. I worked through things with my therapist and I’d give my mom weekly updates on things, but neither of those are the same as having a person.
It just made me miss Brianna even more than I already do.
“The articles that came out last December about him cheating on me were true, but we were already having a hard time before any of that came out. Yes, he cheated.” I sigh, unable to make eye contact with Liam. “But our issues started before that.”
“It doesn’t excuse him cheating.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It doesn’t.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Dem. It pisses me off knowing the person who was supposed to love you the most hurt you in that way.”
For a while I chose not to speak on things that happened.
On how it all ended and what led up to it.
It’s no one’s business. But, at the same time, all that does is protect the image of someone who I no longer respect.
And how is that fair to me? I don’t owe Brandon anything.
Plus, is it really bad-mouthing someone if all I’m doing is explaining what they did to me?