28. Liam
28
LIAM
“ W ow! What a place. You’ve even got laundry? I hear that’s highly coveted.” My dad, Andy, slaps his hand on my back, taking in my apartment. He’s grinning widely and wearing one of his overpriced shirts with awful prints on them. This one’s a blue Cheetah print shirt that for medical reasons (the state of my retinas), should be burned immediately.
My dad arrived twenty minutes ago, and we’ve hardly made it past the foyer. He’s been inspecting everything like we’re at a crime scene and offering positive commentary about all of it. I think he’s worried I’ve reached some sort of quarter-life crisis and wants to avoid talking about the whole dropping-out-school-and-getting-married thing at all costs.
“I’ve really got to make it up here more.” He glances around. “Is that real velvet on the couch?”
“I think so.”
“Apple TV? We’re living in Roku City at home, but this is much fancier.”
I glance down the hallway towards Whitney’s room. Is she sleeping again? Is she really feeling better, or did she just say that for my benefit?
“So, where am I sleeping? I could use a shower. Feeling a bit of the driving ick.”
I don’t know where my father learned the word ick , but I’m not going to question it. Probably from Love Island. I show him where the bathroom is and then guide him to my room.
“I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” I tell him, leaving him to settle in. Once I hear the shower start, I put the kettle on, knowing my dad would like a cup of tea when he’s freshened up. I’m pouring the hot water into two cups when I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. I turn to see Whitney padding into the kitchen in her oversized t-shirt and sweats.
“Hey,” she breathes out, crossing towards me. I want to reach out and wrap her in my arms, but instead, I flex my fingers at my side.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice even.
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she replies.
I open the fridge and take out a La Croix, handing it to her. “My dad’s here.”
“Oh shit.” She glances down the hall towards my room. “I wish I looked better.”
“You look good,” I tell her.
“Coming from you, that’s a glowing compliment.”
I scowl, frustrated that she always seems to misunderstand me. “You always look stunning, Whitney. You don’t need me to tell you that. You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
What the hell did I just say?
Whitney blinks back at me, silence settling between us in the aftermath of my admission.
“Wow, that water pressure is incredible, Li. I feel like I’m getting the five-star New York experience right now,” Andy calls from the hall as he enters the room… in a fluffy white robe and bunny slippers.
“Dad,” I groan. “What are you wearing? Can you put some clothes on?”
“What?” He glances down at his slippers. “What’s wrong with this? I’m getting comfortable.”
Whitney giggles from behind me and crosses the room to my side. “Hi, I’m Whitney. It’s so nice to meet you,” she greets him, her expression warm. I wish she looked at me like that. No hint of wariness, no sign of skepticism. Just open friendliness.
God, what’s wrong with me? I’m jealous of my own dad now?
“The missus! Thanks so much for letting me crash with you,” my dad says, sticking his hand out and shaking hers. “I’d hug you, but I think my son might be right for once. I should get dressed. Didn’t realize you were here.”
She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about it. We’re family now, right?”
Family.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and turn away from them, fiddling with the teacups. “I made tea, Dad.”
“PG Tips?”
I nod, the corner of my mouth pulling upwards. “Only the finest for your five-star New York experience.”
He laughs and shuffles out of the room, his slippers smacking against the floor.
Whitney turns to me, her eyes alight and her hand covering her mouth. “Your dad is a riot,” she says.
I shake my head. “He’s a bit insane,” I warn her.
She laughs. “I love it. How are you two total opposites?”
“Excuse me? I’m not funny? I seem to remember you holding your side in pain on Tuesday when I did my Love Island impressions.”
“That’s because you are way too good at them.” She eyes the teacups in curiosity. “What kind of tea are you making?”
“The only kind my dad approves of. English breakfast with milk and sugar. You want some?”
She shrugs. “I’ve never tried it.” She steps closer to me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “How are we supposed to act?”
I stare down at her. “Like we’re married, Whitney.”
“Yeah, but like… touchy?”
My eyebrows furrow. A week ago, she was begging for me to fuck her. Now she won’t even touch me? What the hell did I do wrong?
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Of course not. It’s fine.”
I chuckle, sliding her tea over to her. “I’m a lot better at this than you are.”
Her mouth drops. “You are not.”
I smirk, bringing my cup up to my lips. “I absolutely am.”
“No way.” She raises her eyebrows. “I wanted to be an actress when I was a kid.”
“Well it’s a good thing you didn’t go pro because you are terrible at pretending.”
“I did it at the gala.”
“Yeah, and I had to drag you out of there.”
Silence settles between us as we tiptoe closer to the unspoken thread that connects us: that night. Luckily, my dad comes back into the room at that moment. He’s wearing a black t-shirt now, thank God. I’m about to slide his teacup over to him when I feel Whitney’s arms wrapping around my torso and her lips pressed against my jawline.
I freeze.
She meets my gaze, her eyes alight with a challenge.
I’ll show you acting, it says.
My lips tug into a half-smile at the realization. I didn’t intend for my comment to be a challenge, but if it means I get to feel her hands on me, I’d call it a win. I slide my hands to her hips, holding her lightly. I brush my hand up to her face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
She swallows.
“Aren’t you two a pair?” My dad chimes in.
Both our heads snap up to him, as if we’d forgotten he was there. The whole reason we’re wrapped up in each other.
“How did you two meet?” he asks.
I step back from Whitney and give my dad his tea. My eyes lock with hers again, a question between us. We really should have rehearsed this.
“My old roommate Olivia left suddenly, so Liam filled her spot. At first, I was worried about living with a guy, but he charmed his way into my life,” Whitney answers.
“Got married pretty fast,” my dad replies, a hint of judgement in his tone.
“Dad,” I say in warning.
Whitney smiles. “It’s okay. You’re right. We did get married quickly, but I knew pretty fast that Liam was the one.”
My chest flutters wildly. I know she’s pretending — trying to prove she’s a good actress, or whatever — but her words and the warmth in her tone sound so real.
I wish they were real.
Whitney turns to me and presses her hand on my stomach, staring up at me. “Thanks for the tea, babe. I’m going to go freshen up. What are we doing for dinner?”
I take a deep breath. I’m starting to regret teasing her, because this is not good. She can’t keep looking at me like that. Like she cares about me.
“I thought we could cook here. I got stuff for burgers. Are you feeling up for eating?”
“If you’re ill, Whitney, I can go off on my own,” Andy says.
She shakes her head. “No, no. Burgers sounds great. I should try to eat something.”
I watch her leave, my eyes drawn to the sway of her hips as she crosses the room and my chest still tingling from where her hand was resting.
“She’s stunning, Li,” my dad says when Whitney is out of earshot.
I nod, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. “She is.”
Before I can say anything else, my dad comes around the counter and wraps his arms around me. He’s always been a hugger and a bit of a sensitive soul. Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around him, sighing into his arms.
He pulls back from our embrace, meeting my eyes. “So, you gonna tell me about school now?”
I shake out of his grip and sit in one of the kitchen stools with a sigh. “Shouldn’t we at least have a pint first?”
He chuckles. “Alright. Good thing I brought a six pack, then. Figured I’d need to bribe you with Boddingtons.”
“Seriously? Boddingtons? Do they even make those anymore?”
“Believe it or not, I’ve been storing them in the basement for years. Was waiting for a special occasion.”
“I’m not drinking fifteen-year-old beer. I’ll run down to the corner shop and grab some.”
“But I lugged ‘em all the way here!”
Shaking my head, I grab my keys and slide my shoes on.
“Don’t interrogate her while I’m gone,” I tell my dad.
He raises his eyebrows innocently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I slip out of the kitchen, not quite believing him. I hope our acting skills are enough to make it through my dad’s questioning. All I know is when it comes to my wife, I’m way out of my depth.
“You sure you don’t want a beer, Whitney?” my dad asks, pulling another Guinness out of the fridge.
She shakes her head. “No, thanks. I don’t really like beer except for sours and the occasional Corona with lime.”
My dad gasps as if Whitney’s committed a horrible crime. “Corona,” he says in disbelief. “Li, you should’ve told me your wife had such shit taste.”
“Dad,” I warn, but Whitney just throws her head back, laughing. She’s been cracking up at everything my dad says, and my mood is swinging between thrilled admiration at the way her smile lights up her whole face and childish sourness that I’m not the one who put it there. When I got back from the bodega hours ago, I found my dad and Whitney laughing like old friends. I asked what the hell was so funny, but they just burst into another round of laughter, after which Whitney told me I just had to be there.
Needless to say, I’m losing my mind.
My dad reaches into his pocket with a smirk. “Well, I’ve got a little something else we could do.” He pulls out a joint and a lighter.
“Oh my God, Dad. Seriously?”
“What? It’s legal here.” He turns to Whitney. “What do you think, daughter-in-law of mine. Should we toke it up?”
Something close to a snort escapes me, but when I see Whitney shrug across the table, my smile drops.
“Sure, I’m down. I haven’t smoked in a while, but I’d take a hit or two.” She presses up from the table, sliding her chair back. “Let’s go on the balcony.”
My eyes narrow. “ You’re going to smoke?”
She cocks her head, her hand on her lip. “You got a problem with that, babe ?” She tacks on the last word like a challenge, and my dad whistles like I’m in trouble.
It’s all terribly annoying.
“You were sick today. You probably shouldn’t,” I reply.
“You’re my husband, Liam, not my keeper.” She struts ahead of my dad, and I follow. I should feel chastised, but all I can focus on is the word husband coming from her lips, and how badly I want to sink inside her and make her call me that over and over.
“Watch yourself, Li. She’s got you by the balls,” my dad whispers, grinning.
This is going to be a long weekend.