35. Liam
35
LIAM
“ Y our ticket, please?”
The flight attendant glances at my phone, then gestures towards the first-class seats that I booked for Whitney and me. I figured that since Whitney was willing to confront her fear of flying just to come home with me for the holidays, the least I could do is try to make the experience somewhat bearable.
“First class? Is that why you insisted on buying the tickets?” Whitney groans.
I turn to meet her challenging gaze. “If I let you buy them, you’d have me up at the crack of dawn like a drill sergeant again.”
She laughs and her eyes sparkle, the sound bringing a smile to my own lips. I could watch her laugh forever.
It’s been almost a month since the night in the kitchen when those damned words almost spilled from my lips.
I love you.
I’d almost said it. I was ready to, ready for the pressure in my chest to cease, to free myself from this torment once and for all. But I didn’t, and every night since, as I lose myself in the indescribable feeling of her, I’ve had to bite down on my tongue to stop the words from escaping.
“These must have cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have,” she says as the flight attendant takes her bag.
“Don’t tell anyone, but… ” I lower my voice to a whisper, smirking, “my wife is loaded.”
She shoves against me, and we slide into our seats, which are more like pods than actual seats.
“Abbi gave me a Xanax, so I think I’ll be fine,” she says, tapping her foot as she straps in. I rest my hand on her knee, stilling the jerky movement. Brushing my thumb lightly against the inside of her thigh, a sly grin spreads across my face.
“You’ll be fine. I’ve thought of the perfect way to keep you distracted.”
She glowers at me, but the bob of her throat as she swallows gives her away. “Liam,” she says in a scolding tone, but the sound of my name on her lips only fuels my excitement.
The flight attendant comes over and asks if we’d like anything to drink, so I ask for two sparkling waters. I draw soft circles against Whitney’s inner thigh while we wait, my hand slipping higher up her leg. Her eyes dart down to the movement, and she swallows again, but she says nothing. As the flight attendant starts the safety presentation, I leave my hand on her thigh. Soon enough, the plane is nearing takeoff, and I can feel her tightening beneath my grip.
“I should’ve taken the Xanax before we boarded. Shit,” she says, a hint of desperate trepidation in her tone.
Slipping my hand higher, I brush another circle with my thumb and lower my head towards her ear.
“I bet if I slid my hand into your leggings I’d find you wet right now, wouldn’t I?” I drop my voice to a low murmur, breathing against the shell of her ear. “Nobody on this plane knows how needy you are for me.”
“Liam,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed.
I slide my hand half an inch higher, tightening my grip on her thigh. “Maybe I’ll have to find out.” I inch higher. “Maybe I’ll let you ride my fingers if you can be quiet.” I smile as her breath hitches. “Maybe I’ll have to take you into that tiny bathroom and fuck you against the wall. See how quiet my good girl can be.”
She lets out a quiet moan, her face flushing with desire. The sight of her lips parting and her chest rising and falling in quick breaths sets my own pulse racing. Abruptly, I pull my hand away, sitting up straight. Her eyes fly open, and a flush of pink travels up her face as her shocked gaze meets mine.
“Look at that,” I say casually, glancing around at our surroundings. “We’ve taken off.”
She heaves a heavy breath and swallows, blinking. “You… you?—”
“I think I’ll watch Die Hard on my flight. What about you?”
She smacks my arm lightly, then huffs out a breath, her gaze softening. She slips her hand into mine and squeezes it.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Even though I’m all worked up now.”
“I think you mean horny like a cat in heat.”
That earns me another smack. “Shut up,” she groans, then turns to her TV. “I’m gonna watch Notting Hill. I need to practice my British accent. ”
“Please don’t.”
She just grins and turns her movie on. A few minutes later, I feel the brush of her fingers against the knuckles on my left hand. My eyes flicker up to her face in surprise, but she doesn’t glance my way, her gaze locked onto her screen. The corners of my mouth tugging upwards, I slip my fingers into hers, our hands intertwined.
When we land at Heathrow, I’m exhausted. Whitney took the Xanax after watching her movie and slept for a few hours. I have to rouse her awake and keep her droopy figure upright as we find our way to our rental car. By the time we pull up to my mum’s house, Whitney’s previous tiredness is nowhere to be found. She’s bouncing up and down in her seat, her eyes darting all around.
“Can you chill out? You’re making me anxious,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “I’m nervous! I want your mom to like me,” she confesses, looking out the window. “Wow, is this it? It’s so pretty. I love the garden.”
I reach for her hand, undeterred by her attempts distract me. “Of course she’s going to like you. She’s going to love you.”
Just like I do.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I don’t know if you noticed, but I am not great with moms.”
“Stop it.” I reach for her chin, turning her to meet my gaze. “That says much more about your mom than you. You know that, right?”
She shrugs and reaches for her bag. “Come on, let’s go in.”
I pull the key from the ignition and round the car to grab our suitcases from the boot. Whitney hops out of the car, stretching her arms above her head and inhaling deeply. Before I can unload the cases, I hear my mum’s voice.
“You’re here! Simon, they’re here!”
I glance up to see my mum bounding down the steps of the house with her arms outstretched. She’s headed straight for Whitney with a wide smile on her face.
“You must be Whitney. It’s so lovely to meet you.” My mum wraps her arms around Whitney, who hugs her back with a dazed expression. “I’m Charlotte.”
“It’s great to meet you,” Whitney replies. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”
My mum waves her off and runs towards me, squealing. “Darling!” she exclaims. “I missed you so much.”
She hugs me, gripping my shoulders tighter than expected. I drop our bags and wrap my arms around her small body, my eyes prickling. When I pull back, she’s wiping at her tear-stained face and laughing.
“Mum,” I groan. “Crying already?”
She waves me off. “I’m a mother.” Skipping over to Whitney, she locks arms with her. “Let me show you inside. Liam can get the bags.”
They go inside without another glance in my direction. Shaking my head in laughter, I grab the bags and follow them into the house. Simon greets me in the doorway, taking Whitney’s suitcase off my hands and clasping my shoulder.
“Liam,” he says softly. “Great to see you.”
I slap his back lightly. “You too, mate.”
“Good flight?”
“Yeah, not too bad.”
We both nod in silence. I hear my mum’s laughter floating from the kitchen as Simon helps me bring our stuff upstairs to the guest bedroom. We fill the silence with meaningless small talk then meet my mum and Whitney back downstairs.
“Shall we go for a walk down to the beach?” my mum asks when we get to the living room.
Whitney glances at me, and I slip my arms around her waist, wanting her closer. “Do you want to?” she asks, her head tilted up to meet my gaze.
I don’t want to go for a walk. I want to take her to the bedroom right now and stay there for the rest of the day, exploring every inch of her body.
“It’s not far, but it is nippy,” my mum says. “We’ve got extra hats and gloves.”
“Sure,” I murmur against Whitney’s head. “You’re not tired from the journey?”
She shakes her head. “Stretching my legs would be good.”
After we all add about three more layers, covering ourselves with scarves, hats, and gloves, the four of us ramble down the lane towards the pebbly beach. Simon and my mom clasp hands a few feet in front of us, and Whitney snuggles close to me, burying her face in my chest for warmth as the wind picks up. While we stroll down the sparse, unpopulated beach, Whitney shivers against me.
“Do you want to go back?” I ask, tucking an arm around her.
She shakes her head, her teeth chattering.
“You’re freezing.”
“It’s s-s-so pretty,” she manages with a smile, looking out at the waves on the horizon. “It’s like a p-painting.”
I watch her expression as she takes in the view, the reality of her being here with me settling in. She came all the way to England for me. She braved her fears just to stand beside me and meet my family.
Those three little words, always so present these days, hang on the edge of my tongue. This is as perfect a moment as I’m going to get — Whitney’s blonde hair whipping in the wind, the light blues of the sky fading into a wide-sweeping mélange of pink and orange, the soft sound of children’s laughter floating from a few yards away.
I tug her to a halt, meeting her eyes with a fierce intensity. “Whitney, I?—”
“Look!” my mum shouts, flailing towards the ocean. Both of us glance up and in the direction of her pointing in time to see a dolphin head peeking out of the water.
“Oh my God,” Whitney exclaims, running ahead towards the shoreline. “Liam, did you see?”
I nod and follow after her, trying to hide my disappointment. I’m sure there will be another moment soon. I don’t know if I can keep this in for much longer. It’s eating me up, the desire to hear her say those words back to me.
What if she doesn’t say it back?
She has to.
She came here for me.
That has to mean something, right?