22. EMERSON
22
EMERSON
Six Summers Ago
Today was one of those days that you remember forever. The type of day you tell your grandchildren about when you’re reminiscing about what it was like to be young and dumb.
This would be my definition of young and dumb.
Alone. In a foreign country, spending the day with three boys I barely know. It also sounds like the start of the next Crime Junkie episode, but something deep inside me, so innate, is telling me to do it. Go there. Be with them— be with him .
In all seriousness, though, I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect day.
My expectations were already low—anyone’s would be if you thought you were going to be spending the next four weeks of your life alone. Not that I would have minded, but after having the most fun I’ve had on this trip, I’m grateful to subtract one day from those I’ll spend solo.
“Does this place work for everyone?” Callum asks.
After dinner, we all agreed to go out.
We’re standing in the middle of a cobblestone street. No cars can drive on the road, only bikes and pedestrians. The night is crisp, with no clouds and only stars in the sky. Neon signs from restaurants and bars illuminate our faces.
“You’re one of us now, you realize?” George wraps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into him as we walk toward our destination. “Drink for a drink. Tit for tat. We pace each other, so you better keep up.”
“Yeah?” I shrug out of his embrace. “You forget, I went to college in America.”
George smiles at me with too much excitement, which scares me for wherever he’s expecting this night to go.
“Ready?” Liam reaches for my hand, pulling me with him and into the place.
George grabs a round of shots from the bar while we find a high table. Eagerly, he raises them in the air as he makes his way to the table.
Callum and him seated on one side, Liam and me on the other.
“Cheers, mates!” We clink our glasses together before dropping back the shots.
My eyes shoot close, and the cold liquid, vodka, sends a shiver through my veins. I feel it to my toes, and they curl. Opening my eyes, I find Liam focused on me with a feline smile, and my toes curl again.
“Bar?” he asks me.
“Lead the way.”
The guys gave us their drink order, which was beer, as expected. Everyone wanted a beer except for Liam, who ordered a Negroni with an extra shot of gin.
“Something stronger?” I eye him, brows raised in suspicion.
“What should I be drinking then? That piss water you just ordered? I’ll pass.”
“If you want piss water, you should come to the Midwest. This stuff”—I gesture to the glass bottle set down in front of me—“is much better. I promise.”
“Maybe someday I will.”
Maybe someday I will. Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the idea of seeing Liam again—more than today and in Chicago.
What would it be like to see him again? I think I want to.
George coughs once as we return to the table. I pass their drinks to them across the sticky table. He slides my camera toward me. It wasn’t out when I left the table, but I swore I saw it in his hands when we were walking back from the bar. What he took a picture of, I don’t think I want to see.
“Left ya a lil’ surprise on there.”
“Thanks?” I ask cautiously.
“Someday, you’ll thank me for it.” He winks.
Liam and I slip back into our seats next to each other. Me on the left, him on the right. He sat on the right at dinner earlier, too. Liam whispered into my ear at dinner that he noticed I am left-handed and figured it would make it easier for me to eat and have space without him bumping his right arm into me.
“So, States. Tell us about growing up over the pond,” George says.
“Am I getting interviewed?” I ask snarkily.
“Easy, girl.” His hands rise in front of him. “Only curious about where you are from.”
“Indiana,” Liam beats me to the answer.
“Good memory.” I glance over at him, taking a sip of my beer. He looks proud of himself for knowing the answer. “I’m from Fishers, Indiana. It’s a suburb of Indianapolis. Smack in the middle of the Midwest. If you were to visit, you’d get nothing like this or what I bet London is like. We have miles and miles of farmland.”
“Cal here is used to the farmland. Aren’t ya? He’s from the town of Guildford in Surrey,” George says.
“My grandparents used to be sheep farmers. Dad wasn’t about it and moved to Sydney, where he met my mom. When we moved back, I loved spending parts of the break from school on their farm,” Callum elaborates.
“It’s easy to forget that even thousands of miles apart, some parts of life are so similar. That our worlds aren’t all that different,” I respond.
“This is why I enjoy exotic girls. They bring perspective, and I’m always interested in learning something worldly.”
Callum spits out his beer after George’s response.
He…what? My eyes flutter. “Exotic? ”
“Aye, like you.” George smirks.
“What’s the minimum qualification, not being from wherever you are located?”
“Bingo!” George cheers.
“Got. . . it.” I turn toward Liam, pointing the neck of my beer his way. He hasn’t said a word. “What about you?”
“I don’t like you because you’re not from here, but it is a hot bonus.” He winks.
“That’s not what I meant.” I swallow. My cheeks pink at the thought that he likes me.
“What about me?” he asks.
“Want to share with the group about yourself?”
“Grew up in London, went to school in London, and I live in London now. Doubtful that anyone could drag me away from living there. I don’t think there is a me without London.”
Callum and George roll their eyes. I already knew this; we talked about it earlier. I wanted an excuse to hear him speak.
“Any siblings?” I ask the table.
“Only child.” Liam points to himself. “Cal has two older brothers and a younger sister. George is a middle child of two sisters.”
“Callum’s sis is a real babe, too. Audrey is finishing up school at Oxford now. Studying psychology.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Callum says.
“You aren’t going to tell me that my sisters aren’t babes? I’d be offended because my mum is stunning, and we all got our looks from her.”
“I wouldn’t call them babes to your face, man. He has one older sister who lives in Paris now, and the other is about to be at university.”
Hearing them speak for each other about these details of their lives is endearing. It shows how knotted their friendship is, which reminds me a lot of Natalie and me.
Natalie. Wow, this is the first time I’ve thought about her since we arrived. And I haven’t heard from her all day either. I figured I wouldn’t be able to avoid thinking about her with the consistent texts I would be receiving, but she’s been silent.
I fire off a quick text to her.
“Any sibling for you, States?”
“Nope. Only child.”
“Damn, I’ve always wanted to cross off my bucket list, American sisters,” George remarks. His tone is deadly serious.
“For fuck’s sake George.” Callum slams his bottle on the table, causing it to bubble up toward the top. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
“I’m sorry to disappoint. What if I find someone that looks similar to me? Would that work out that kink for you?”
“States, I’d rather just have you.”
“I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.” I give George a quick wink to be sure he knows I’m only partially kidding and not out here trying to bruise his already large ego.
“He’s everyone’s type,” Liam butts in. A scraping noise draws my attention to where he moved his chair closer to mine. The side of our knees barely touch. “If he’s not, then what is?”
Smooth way to find out if he’s my type. I know he’s curious. I’m curious if I’m his too.
“If I said you, would you try to discreetly bring your chair closer to mine again?” I call him out. “I don’t have a type, but if I did. . . it wouldn’t be you either.” I lick my lips, noticing he’s staring at them.
Liam leans in toward me.
“Liar,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is hot, traveling down the upper half of my body right to between my thighs. He leaves his mouth there, the touch of his lips on my skin is faint. My eyes close lightly. “I think I’m exactly your type. It’s all over your face, States. ”
I pull my knee away from his. The spot is cold from the lack of skin-to-skin contact, but I need the cold. I need the cold to decrease the record-high temperature my body is pushing.
I don’t bury the use of his nickname for me—well, their nickname for me. George and Callum have also adapted it. But it’s the way Liam says it. He calls me it, and it makes me feel like I’m his. His in a way that I’ve never been anyone’s before—but I’m not his. So why is there a part of me that thinks it might be okay if I was?
I blink rapidly, trying to rid myself of this thought and wash the look that is all over my face away.
“Didn’t enjoy what you saw earlier today?” Liam slides his hand under the table, placing it on my thigh right above my knee. He gives it a slight squeeze as he starts moving it up. Higher and higher. “I bet if I were to keep going, I’d be able to tell exactly how much you liked it. Thus proving that I am your type.”
“You wouldn’t,” I dare him. I’m looking straight ahead, giving him zero indication of exactly how wet I am for him.
“You’re right. I won’t because I respect a woman, and if she says I’m not her type, then I’m not her type.”
Liam swiftly removes his hand from my thigh and places it back on the table.
“Unlike you, I won’t lie. You are my type. Quite my type, Emerson.” My name is a purr on his lips, the sound of it petting every plane of my body.
He’s not leaning into me anymore, acting as if nothing just happened. Liam reaches for his drink, picks it up, and brings it to his lips. I watch as his throat bobs when he swallows.
I swallow. . . a little too loud.
Callum and George sit there pretending to ignore what is happening across the table when we all know they are well aware.
I return us to the conversation.
I’m trying not to let his words, the heat, or whatever went on between Liam and me linger.
Ignore it, and it’ll all go away, right? Yeah, right .
We continue talking about growing up. When asked about our parents, both Liam and I avoided answering. It all ends with them sharing stories from college. I love hearing them talk about this, especially the stories about Liam.
The entire day, I craved to get to know him better. I want to know everything there is about him. Who he was as a kid and who he is now. How he started his company, and what his aspirations in life are. His favorites—foods, TV shows, books. How his lips would feel on mine.
I think he wants to know me too.
Every time I’ve spoken tonight, his attention has been devoted to me. He wasn’t distracted like George or Callum, even though they asked a majority of the questions. Liam only listens. I kept sneaking peeks at him; his blue-gray eyes looked like they were processing and storing every piece of information about me as he did last night.
I’ve always appreciated the small things. Big gestures are one thing, but I think you see someone through small, intimate gestures, like remembering where someone is from. It doesn’t take a lot to show someone you care about them.
If someone wanted to go back and tell my parents that, I would appreciate that, too.
Liam doesn’t move his chair back to its original spot. Instead, he keeps moving it closer like I am a magnet, drawing him closer, the force too strong to repel.
We are close enough now that the whole side of my leg is touching his. My skirt has ridden up, revealing more of my bare leg to his touch.
The connection between our lower bodies is searing. If he were to put his hand back on my thigh now, it might put me over the ed—shit, I think he just read my mind. The palm of his hand is now firmly situated on my leg.
Liam is a magnet for me, too.
My upper body is inching closer and closer to him .
I almost forgot we have company at the table. That we aren’t the only two at this table, in the bar, in this city, or in the entire world. I’ve somehow lost myself in him.
Callum and George are enthralled by their phones.
Liam and I are in the middle of our own conversation now. We are bickering about something important—what the best pizza toppings are.
Mine are banana peppers and honey.
His is pepperoni.
“You know that makes you boring, right? Only pepperoni.”
“It’s not boring. It’s called consistency. Always good, and everyone is bound to have a pepperoni pizza on their menu. Boring is better than being a weirdo that wants to have sticky fingers when they eat pizza.”
I would say Liam is like his choice in toppings, consistent, but he keeps surprising me.
“I’m not a neanderthal. I don’t get it on my hands.”
“No! Please tell me you aren’t the person who eats pizza with a fork and knife.” He’s barely two inches away from me—mouth wide, with a playful look of disgust.
“So what if I do?” I lean my head in closer.
From the proximity of our faces, I can see the gray speckles in his blue eyes. Far away, it’s easy to lose the gray in the blue, but right now, I can see the crystal the gray makes his eyes. It’s as if the Atlantic displaced some of its water in his eyes. They are a shade of blue I’ve never seen before that has me leaning in closer for a better look.
“I take it back. You aren’t my type then,” he says.
The right side of his mouth raises, a half smirk plastered on his face. His ocean eyes dip to my lips. I pull part of my lower lip in between my teeth. Liam inhales sharply.
Carefully closing the remaining distance between us, I lightly brush a kiss on his lips, pulling away before he has the opportunity to kiss me back. “That’s a shame, then.” I pull the entirety of my body away from him. “For a minute, I thought you were mine.”