Chapter 11 #2
Ever. I don’t know if he means to, but he makes it sound like this is a long-term thing. Something indefinite. That we’ll always be like this. I know we won’t, but it’s a nice thought anyway.
“I’ll tell her eventually,” I say. “But I’m giving her time. She and Kevin just broke up, and I don’t want to brag about having the best sex of my life with Kevin’s roommate.”
“The best, eh?” Liam asks, leaning in to nibble on my earlobe.
Heat blossoms against my rib cage. With other partners, sex was always a means to an end.
He came, I came—sometimes on my own when he couldn’t get me there.
It was all very practical and utilitarian.
But sex with Liam is different. It’s intense.
Focused. Hungry. Not just for each other, but for the moment, like it’s something tenuous we’re both trying to hold on to, to make last for as long as we can.
And he always gets me there. Multiple times.
“You know, Kevin is going home to Colorado for Christmas next week, so we’ll have the place to ourselves,” he says, curling a hand around my waist. “Which means we can make as much noise as we want.”
“Does that mean you’re not going home for Christmas?”
“This is home,” he says.
I know he means Seattle, or even this apartment, but there’s a hopeful little part of my brain that wants him to mean me.
“No, home to England,” I clarify.
His gaze falters ever so slightly, but he slides his expression right back into place. “I’m staying here in Seattle.”
“Won’t your family miss you?” I ask.
“I don’t think so.” A shadow passes over his face, and I realize it’s the first time the mask has slipped and the shiny, flirty man I’ve been sleeping with gives way to someone with harder edges and sharper lines. Someone decidedly less shiny.
I don’t want to pry—after all, we’re just hooking up and he’s not obligated to tell me about his personal life—but I can’t help the prick of curiosity.
“Is everything okay?” I try.
Liam looks away, suddenly engrossed in my now-empty bowl of soup.
“I don’t exactly talk to my parents,” he says after a long pause.
“Oh.” I shift my weight, and the mattress creaks. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but I can tell from the clench in his jaw that, whatever it is, it’s something he holds close to his chest.
“So if you’re not going home for Christmas, then what are you going to do?” I ask.
“Probably pull Christmas crackers all by my lonesome.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him.
His hands move down to my waist, thumb skimming across my hip bone. “It’s not so bad. Last year I watched Die Hard and ate enough sweets to make me sick.” He says it with a smile, but the expression doesn’t fully reach his eyes, which makes the whole thing even more sad.
I sit up, shaking my head. “Okay, first off, Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I press on. “And second, I can’t let you do that. It’s too sad.”
“I’m not sure I have a choice,” he says.
“Yes, you do. You can come to my family’s Christmas.”
As soon as I say it, I wish I could swallow back the words.
I mean, geez, this is supposed to be casual, and he definitely doesn’t want to meet my family.
My loud, annoying, invasive family, who will ask Liam a million questions about med school and which residency program he’s doing.
God, they’ll probably be obsessed with him.
“I mean you totally don’t have to,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking if you don’t have—”
“I’d love to,” he says, cutting me off.
“You would?”
He nods, his whole face brightening. And God, he looks so earnest right now, it makes my heart squeeze. I tell myself it’s because I hate the thought of him spending Christmas alone, that I’m just being nice. That I would have offered it to anyone. But I know that’s not true.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because my family is sort of a lot. My mom will probably bring her new boyfriend and my grandparents will complain that he has too many tattoos, and there will probably be a fight and my sister will be annoyed at my brother for bossing her around and Grammy will cry because she wants everything just perfect.”
The words rush out of me, hot and fast, and I brace myself to hear him tell me no. Of course he doesn’t really want to come. He was only joking. Instead, his eyes lock on mine, and he says in that charming voice of his, “I want to, Roslyn.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he confirms.
I smile and he smiles back, a wide one that swallows up his whole face.
“You know,” I say, sinking back against his pillow, “my family will probably think you’re my boyfriend.”
I mean it like a joke. Like, Isn’t that so silly? Of course you’re not my boyfriend. Or even, We should probably get our story straight before they ask. But Liam’s gaze drags to mine. “Am I?” he asks.
“Are you what?”
“Your boyfriend.”
My heart races. “I…I don’t know,” I admit.
He tilts his chin, gaze tracking me up and down. “We’ve been seeing each other almost every day and, well…” He rubs the back of his neck, two splotches of color appearing in his cheeks. “I really like you, Ros.”
Ros. I like the way his mouth in particular wraps around the single syllable, holding the r sound in the back of his throat.
“I like the way my sheets always smell like you after you leave, and how unbelievably sexy you look wearing my shirt right now.” His eyes drop down the length of my body, and I blush.
“I like the way my heart beats faster every time my phone goes off because I’m hoping it’s you and how my favorite part of every day is when you come over. ”
Something soft settles against my chest at the way he’s looking at me, so earnest, so sincere, and a dozen warnings go off in my head.
We shouldn’t. We should keep things simple, detached.
I should keep my walls tall and my moats deep.
After all, that’s the best way not to get hurt.
But my excuses fade into background noise as the truth, the one I’ve been trying to ignore, gets louder.
The truth is that I can feel myself falling for him. The slow, easy kind of fall, which doesn’t even feel like falling at all. More like stepping into a warm bath or waking up next to someone who feels more like home than any four walls ever could.
Like maybe I could love him. Not now, not yet. But I could.
I think about what he said the night we met. Isn’t the risk what makes it meaningful? The possibility that it doesn’t work, but you want it badly enough to find out?
If I let myself, I can picture the future. How we’d collect stories and memories and favorite places and things that remind us of each other. How we’d make plans and form routines and witness each other’s lives. How our hearts would grow and expand together.
Maybe I’ll end up like my mom. Maybe I’ll get my heart broken. But for the first time in my life, I wonder if maybe the risk might be worth it. If he might be worth it.
“Seeing you is my favorite part of the day too,” I tell him. Then in a smaller voice, I ask, “So what does this mean?”
“I want to be with you,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine. “I want you in every way I can have you. In sickness and in health,” he adds with a half laugh.
My pulse strums against my ribs, throat squeezing with emotion.
He sounds so certain, so sure, and suddenly I am too.
I’m still scared—terrified, really. Of getting attached. Of getting hurt. But maybe Liam is someone worth getting attached to.
So I focus on the strong jaw that kisses me so well, and I tell him the only thing I can think to say. The only thing that makes sense. “I want to be with you too.”