16. EMERSON
16
EMERSON
Six Summers Ago
I don’t think I’ve ever slept that peacefully in my life. Maybe as a child, but the last time I slept through the entire night? I can’t remember it.
As I wake up, the warmth of the early morning summer sun hits my face. Rays are shining through the three large windows adjacent to the bed. The emerald drapes are slightly agape on the furthest window to the left. Sheer curtains open behind them, letting in enough light to pierce my face. The warmth from the sun isn’t what has ignited the rest of my body, though.
Something, or someone, heavy is draped across my stomach. Fluttering open my eyes, I look down to see his arm outside of the covers, holding on to me, pulling me into him. My mouth goes dry, and a self-loathing amount of heat dips low into my core, a prick of curiosity to the rest of who is under the covers.
Tipping my head down, I see I’m in a t-shirt that must belong to him. A wave of relief washes over me that I’m not completely naked. My legs are bare and intertwined with his.
The ending of last night is fuzzy.
I don’t think anything happened except for a few too many drinks—my slight headache is proof of that. What I do remember is that once back at his hotel, Liam made us each another drink. We sat on his couch, talking about nonsense and laughing for hours. It was somewhere around two in the morning when I yawned the first time. When I leaned forward on the couch to search for my shoes, Liam stopped me with a hand on my thigh.
His touch was an electric shock to my body, waking me up .
“Planning to walk back at this ungodly hour?” he asked.
“I’m only a couple blocks away,” I informed Liam. “Thank you for—”
“Stay,” he offered. “I. . . I can sleep on the couch if that makes you more comfortable. I don’t want you out there walking alone.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, contemplating his offer. The tenderness and protectiveness of his request released a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
“Okay,” I said at the same time he offered to walk me back.
A pleased smile formed on his face. Any hesitation I felt about staying was instantly gone.
He showed me which room he was staying in. His two friends from earlier, Callum and George, are staying here also. I thought Liam was joking till we walked in. The place is insane. It is the largest hotel room I’ve ever been in. Liam motioned for me to make myself comfortable before heading into the bathroom to change.
I was looking down at my outfit when Liam reemerged in a pair of sweats and a faded college rugby shirt. My skirt and button-down shirt didn’t exactly scream comfortable sleeping attire, but the idea of sleeping in only my undergarments had my core twisting.
I began unbuttoning my shirt when Liam tossed me one of his shirts from the dresser. “You can wear this,” he said.
“Thank you.”
My back to him, I slipped on the t-shirt, I can tell it’s older, loved—another shirt from university. There’s a small hole in the right shoulder and on the side by the hem. On me, the shirt is massive. It hangs down to below mid-thigh when I remove my skirt and hugs the curve of my butt.
“Did you play rugby?” I asked.
“Football or soccer as you call it. But enjoyed watching rugby and supporting the team. George played.”
I turned around to face him, but Liam had already gone to the couch .
“Good night, States. Don’t dream too much about me tonight,” I heard from the couch in the suite’s common living space. His sleepy voice was familiar, and I knew if I was lucky, I’d hear it in my dreams tonight.
Liam Hayes is a dream on both sides of consciousness .
“Good night, Liam,” I whispered back.
I slipped in on the side I could tell was opposite to the one he had been sleeping on. The sheets pulled up around me. Warm, enclosed in his smell, and satisfied with tonight, sleep came easily.
At some point in the night, Liam climbed into the bed.
I should be bothered.
I shouldn’t enjoy being in his arms.
I shouldn’t enjoy the feeling of him up against me. I shouldn’t be trying to feel him up against me. But I do.
I move my hips slightly.
“States,” a sleepy Liam growls out.
“Mhmm.”
“If you don’t plan on that being in you, I’d stop moving this minute.” His breath is on the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine and making the hair on my arms stand straight up. The combined sensation is a flame burning my body, desperate to be extinguished.
I try to move Liam’s arm so that I can escape.
His arm doesn’t budge. If anything, the jerk tightened his grip on me.
“Mates came back and kicked me off the couch. I hope ya don’t mind.”
Do I mind? An extremely attractive guy with muscles that rival a Greek statue, and a British accent that would have any female swooning over them, cuddled me in bed. I couldn’t even get my last boyfriend to cuddle me during a movie. Yeah, I don’t mind .
“Oh yeah. Y-yeah, I don’t mind.”
He removes his arm from me a few minutes later and got out of bed. Thank goodness. The warmth of his body was gone, leaving me with a chill. Never mind. I think I’d rather he be back in bed now.
I roll over. In the haze of last night and drinking in his delicacy, I didn’t realize how tall he was. Standing, Liam has to be two or three inches over six feet easily. Compared to my five foot seven, he is a giant.
When he lifts his arms to stretch, it takes everything in me not to say ‘big stretch’ like my mom used to say to our dog, Buster.
Instead, I need to pick my jaw up from the ground. Probably find a tissue to wipe up the drool too.
His broad shoulders ripple first, each muscle following suit. The layers of muscles down his back narrow into his waist that dips into a pair of dark gray Calvin Klein briefs. If my ass is grabbable, his is one you could eat off.
Under the covers, I clench my legs. My hand flies to my mouth to cover it with a smack, and I pray that I don’t say anything stupid or do anything foolish. The way he makes me feel has eroded my faith in myself.
Liam walks straight ahead to the bathroom. From the way his ears rise, I know he has a smug grin on his face.
I have to go. I decide to use Liam’s time in the bathroom as my opportunity to leave.
Moving around the room stealthily, I find my clothes folded and on the dresser instead of on the floor in the pile I had left them in last night. The butterflies that have burrowed themselves in my stomach flutter their wings at the small but thoughtful and unnecessary gesture. Before joining me in bed, he took the time in the middle of the night to fold my clothing. You’ve got to be kidding me, I sigh.
From the top of the pile, I grab my leather skirt and step into it, trying to be quick. The metal zipper gets caught on my underwear and a bit of skin .
“Shit. Ow!” I say out loud. My eyes flash to the bathroom door, hoping that the volume of my voice won’t trigger Liam to rush to my rescue. He would, I have annoyingly no doubt.
Tugging on the zipper in an upward movement, it doesn’t budge. Just leave it , I tell myself. The skirt is tight enough on my waist that it won’t fall.
I debate removing his shirt or not. It would be the most interesting souvenir I would bring home.
He won’t miss it anyway, will he? Or maybe it’ll force us to see each other again if he wants it back? Yeah, I’ll keep this.
I style his shirt into the skirt.
There is a creak of a door opening as I buckle the black strap of my heels.
“Well. . . this is a first.” His voice is still rough, but his tone is now. . . disappointed? Did he expect me to stay? “Never not slept with a girl and had her scurrying to get out of here.”
Shit.
Operation get-the-hell-out-of-here is a total failure.
His disappointment clings to me, and I hate it. I hate thinking that I’ve somehow hurt him after his kindness and respect last night. In a matter of minutes, I made him feel like I’ve felt too many times before. I can’t bring myself to look at Liam, knowing what I’d witness all over his face.
My brain is fighting to recover from the worst he has to be assuming of me.
“I was only kidding, States.” He’s leaning against the frame in gray sweatpants, no shirt, and an audacious smile forming across his face. “You sure enjoying. . . leaving?”
“No, I was going to get a—” Think quickly, Em! “—us coffees.” Coffee? That’s your grand excuse? “You don’t want to see me without coffee in the morning, and I uh. . . probably shouldn’t go out in only this.” I pinch his shirt. “Ha.”
“I’ll come with you. Let me change.” Liam glances down, my eyes following his lead .
Remember all those muscles in his back? Multiply them by about one hundred, and you will get the picture of the feast of his abdomen. He looks like Michaelangelo’s David and The Thinker had a child and decided to chisel out a few extra muscles for funsies.
“Do you want your shirt back?” I gulp.
Liam glances back at me and licks his lip. “Keep it. Looks better on you,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom again.
Moments later, he returns in a pair of black cargo shorts and a vintage graphic Beatles concert t-shirt—a complete contrast to the more sophisticated attire from last night. Both are just as appealing. He could wear a burlap sack, and I’d want to rip it off him.
He runs a hand through his bedhead. “Ready?”
***
We ended up at the same place where we first saw each other only two days ago. He pays for our coffees before we grab a table in the window.
“What brought you to Lisbon?” Liam asks me while blowing on the steam coming from his hot, black coffee.
“How long did we spend talking last night, and this never came up?”
“I know.” He laughs.
“Celebratory end of college trip with my best friend.”
He tilts his head in confusion. “But you were by yourself last night?”
“Long story short. They”—Liam’s shoulders tense—“had to go home for a family emergency but convinced me to stay. So here I am, solo in Lisbon, finishing the last few weeks without her.”
The brief rigidness in Liam’s body is gone. “You don’t appear too sad about her being gone.”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“I don’t know. What should it be? ”
“It’s not that I’m not sad; trust me, I am. Maybe relieved is a more accurate way to describe how I feel.” The honesty of what I just told him is chilling. I think I felt this way yesterday but was avoiding it. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but now I have—and to a semi-stranger, semi-guy I’m undeniably attracted to and spent an incredible, unexpected night with. “I love Natalie. Don’t misread this. We’ve been together since we were children. She’s just. . . we’re opposites.”
“How so?” Liam inquisitively asks.
“Let’s say if she were here, you’d be sitting with her instead of me.”
“Doubtful.”
I tilt my head, narrowing in on him. Quickly, I’ve learned that Liam doesn’t say something unless he means it.
“Anyway. This whole summer was originally her idea, but most of it was spent with her pining for others instead of seeing it together.”
“And what do you call last night and this morning?”
“I was not pining after you!”
“I would love to agree to disagree, but States, even a blind man would know that you were devouring me with your eyes.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.” I challenge him.
“I never mind when it’s a beautiful woman.”
“You are so full of yourself.”
“You could have been.” He takes a sip of his black coffee. I choke on mine. “Tell me more about—”
“Natalie.” He nods. Good, moving away from that topic. I tell Liam how we met and a few stories that help paint the picture of her and us as kids. “Growing up, she was Miss Big Ideas, and I was Miss Get Shit Done. We still are. When Natalie spews an idea, they are mostly thought out. . . for the most part.” I laugh a little, reminiscing. I take a drink of my black coffee. “They include photos, outfits, a diagram, or whatever she may need to convince me the idea is great. She gave me a full outline when she had the idea for this. I made it happen while finishing up our spring semester. I think that’s why she told me to stay.” Or at least I’m telling myself not to feel guilty about being okay with her gone.
I take another drink of my coffee, longer this time. Realizing that I’m word vomiting and should probably stop.
“How thoughtful of her to add staring at a stranger at a coffee shop to the outline. You executed that plan brilliantly.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Wasn’t on her outline. It was on mine.”
“Oh really?” His eyebrows shoot up.
“No,” I reply blankly, trying to avoid his flirting attempts.
“You shouldn’t feel bad about wanting to stay,” Liam admits softly and comfortingly.
“I didn’t say I felt bad about it.” My brow furrows slightly.
“States, your body language is saying it all. Your shoulders are tense. You keep looking down at your coffee, your brow pinches, and you keep biting the side of your cheek.”
“I didn’t realize you were paying that close attention to me.” I really didn’t, and now. . . now I want to know what else he noticed.
“Get used to it.” He says it as if it’s a promise. A promise I’m not sure I want him to keep.
What am I getting used to, Liam Hayes?