“Not long. Puns are kind of my cup of tea.”
I pause. Crap. “You win.”
“Aww, I had a few more to spout off.”
“I’m not humoring your punning problem anymore,” I shout.
“Well, isn’t a certain pot calling the kettle black?”
“Consider this slammed door my response.” I smile, shutting the bathroom door behind me.
Like the kitchen, Liam’s bathroom is modern, with slate gray tiles lining the back wall and a tall glass standing shower flush against it. A large frameless mirror hangs over a square sink. I step toward it, preparing myself for the worst.
A figure vaguely resembling Amy Adams in a punk rock phase stares back at me in the mirror. Shit. I brush the hair sticking to my ashen face off my cheek and turn the knobs on the faucet to wash off the raccooning under my blood-red eyes. So much for the waterproof mascara.
After a thorough scrub, I pull on the oversized flannel pajama pants he gave me and the long sleeve shirt, laughing at myself in the mirror. Girls used to make shirts with Liam’s name on them, but he always offered me this one, saying “his girl” deserved something official.
“I’d have to lose something pretty terrible to wear that shit,”I’d say with a death glare, determined to suppress any butterflies that may have felt alternatively. If Liam knew how dangerously close I was to the edge even after everything—to the line between hating or loving someone with every passionate fiber of my being, I could only imagine how he would have manipulated the situation and strung me along to his advantage again.
Hand resting on the bathroom handle, I take a moment to breathe. Once I bring up the subject of pretending to date, there won’t be a “going back.” And the border between the land of love and hate I’ve so painstakingly maintained will all but blur from my perspective.
But Caleb deserves peace at his wedding, and I can’t give that to him like this.
So long dignity,I think, slipping back into the living room.
Liam’s knee bounces as I approach him already sitting on the couch. My steaming cup of tea rests on a large glass coffee table nearby.
“I didn’t freak you out, did I?” I pull at the hem of the shirt.
He shakes his head. “Just the normal amount.”
“Well, that’s good anyway.” I pause and sit down on the other end of the couch, picking up my tea. “Thanks for this.”
Liam’s focus stays heavy on me as I prolong the inevitable. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Oh. Right. Well . . .” I inhale the steam and breathe. “So this is going to sound—well, to be honest, I don’t know how it’s going to sound to you, but due to recent developments regarding Caleb’s wedding, I may require some assistance.”
“And this would be—”
“I need a date for the wedding.”
He crosses his arms, his grim mouth twisting into a wry smile. “I thought you were going with Tyler Higgins.”
“He, unfortunately, has an inflexible laundry schedule and cannot be bothered.”
A crease forms between Liam’s eyebrows.
“I don’t know.” I huff. “Obviously, he didn’t want to take me.”
“Why do you suddenly trust me to take you?”
I pick at some fuzz on my lap and shrug.
He snorts, shaking his head. “You don’t. You’re just desperate.”
“Basically.” I shift.
He surveys my face, searching for what I don’t know, but the heavy attention is unnerving, and I fidget some more. “Yeah, fine, I’ll take you. But that’s not what got you so worked up, is it?”
