Too much of this made it difficult to swallow. The idea of trying, the idea of him not noticing, the idea that he was practically a different person now. I wasn't sure I was truly entitled to share the same air anymore. It wasn't that I was preoccupied with his fame, it simply felt like confirmation from the universe that he and I were not from the same galaxy. “I’m nervous.” I had hoped it would make me less anxious if I said it out loud. Now it was worse. Every skittish cell in my body had completed mitosis and split into two.
“Yeah. I bet. I would be, too.”
Gee, thanks.
Amy leaned back against the counter, still in her PJs, the nice ones from Garnet Hill with a colorful print of tiny Japanese fans. I was more of a sweatshirt and undies kind of girl. “I guess my question is, what exactly are you so worried about? What are you hoping to get out of this little exercise?”
I had no idea. It was the strangest feeling, being petrified by something you desperately wanted to do. I needed to see him and be alone with him, even when it brought back the butterflies. Mine weren't just regular butterflies, either. They breathed fire.
But what did I want to have happen? I'd thought a few hundreds times last night about what it would be like to have s-e-x with Eamon again. And was that what he wanted? Just an extra-hot trip down memory lane and nothing else? Or was there something important he wanted to say to me?
“Honestly, I don't know. I'm just going to go with it,” I said.
“You. You're going to just go with it? You haven't thought about what you'll do if he kisses you? What if you feel like kissing him? I mean, you told me how amazing it was when you two were together, but you didn't say if you wanted him in your life again.”
I wanted to laugh. That wasn't really one of my choices, was it? It wasn't even that I'd blown it with Eamon all those years ago. It had mostly felt inevitable. He and I were never meant to be together, and I didn't think we were capable of being just friends. That left us where we'd been before last night—two people walking the planet who managed to bump into each other, connected by a few hundred things we'd done together. It was a tenuous connection, those memories like the exhaust left behind by a spent tank of gas, or in our case, rocket fuel.
I stood there and stared at Amy, wondering how she always got me looking at things in a different way. Maybe it was the lawyer thing, turning an argument on its head. It was beneficial though, since I was chronically guilty of putting on blinders. She and I had only a few more weeks of these morning meetings of the mind. She'd be gone soon and I'd be forced to internalize my neurotic thoughts, and even worse, try to sort them out on my own. We would undoubtedly still talk every day, but it wouldn't be the same. It would be the way it was when I went to college, when the days and weeks apart started to dull the brightness of our sisterly bond.
“I have absolutely no idea whether I want him in my life again, but I'm sure he's just being nice. He probably doesn't run into old friends very often, especially not in the U.S.” I popped up onto my toes and pressed my lips together. “I guess I should get going, huh?”
“Take a cab. Nobody walks up to the Four Seasons,” Amy added as I reached for the doorknob.
I almost always did everything Amy told me to do, so I hailed a taxi out on the street. It made me feel more prepared, but as soon as my driver pulled up in front of the hotel, I learned the real truth. Nobody takes a cab to the Four Seasons. Everyone takes a limo, or at the very least a town car.
I climbed out and the doorman smiled at me thinly, like he knew I didn't belong there. Part of me wanted to pretend like he should know who I was, but I said thank you and shuffled through the revolving door. I pulled out my phone one last time to look at the text Eamon had sent last night. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't read it a few dozen times. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me nervous as hell.
I walked tall through the lobby, wearing my sunglasses. I didn't want to get stopped by security and have to explain that I was there to see Eamon. They probably wouldn't even let me explain. Between the cab and being there to see a rock star, I'd get shown the back door, where the bellmen took smoke breaks and homeless guys napped. Luckily, no one said a peep and I safely reached the elevator. Up I went, but when I arrived on his floor, it was only 7:58. I didn't want to be early, so I took half steps, like I was a teenager tiptoeing past her parents' bedroom in the middle of the night. One door away, I came to a full stop and waited for my phone to tick over to 8:00. I knocked. It was a heavy sound, definitive and final.
The door opened and Eamon poked his head out from behind it. “You're here.”
“I am.” I was just as amazed as he was.
He let me in and closed the door behind me. I then absorbed his state of dress. I wasn't sure what I'd expected Eamon to be wearing when he answered the door, but I had assumed clothes.
Nope.
“So sorry.” His voice was sweet and breathless, and he was all smiles and bare skin, clutching a fluffy white towel at his waist. A nice towel, the kind you only get at an expensive hotel. His hair was dripping wet, depositing droplets of water on his shoulders and chest. I knew every contour of his trim torso, not an ounce of body fat, right down to that narrow trail of hair leading beneath his towel. It was a miracle I didn't attack him right there. “I slept through my alarm.”
And I'm painfully punctual.“No worries.” I laughed it off, wanting to be carefree Katherine, whoever in the hell she was.
“Come on in.” He led the way, which left me to study his broad back and the way it narrowed to his waist, the way the towel hung loosely at his hips. Our coffee date might end up leaving a bigger scar than I'd anticipated. But that was Eamon—beautifully dangerous without trying at all.
His room was the uncommon meeting of pure luxury and a musician who wasn't keen on picking up after himself. Last night's clothes were in a pile next to the rumpled bed. I was foolishly relieved to see that only one side of the bed had been slept in. We hadn't really talked much last night, and I had no idea what the current state of his life was, let alone his love life. He could've had a girlfriend on the road with him and I never would've known. But he didn't. And I was stupid happy about it.
“So sorry. I really should've tidied up before you came.” He began plucking clothes from the floor while tugging back the duvet, still holding up the towel, his hair hanging heavy with moisture.
“Eamon. Eamon. It's okay. You don't have to make things nice for me.” I made the mistake of grabbing his arm, the one holding up the towel no less. We were mere inches from each other, nothing but white terrycloth and jeans between us. It took real, concerted effort not to touch more of him, not to rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, lean into his bare chest and let his wet hair brush the sides of my face. It took an iron will.
“I want it to be nice for you. And I'm pissed at myself for sleeping late.”
I shook my head and let go of him, as hard as that was. “You worked your ass off last night. I'm surprised you can open your eyes before noon.”
“You mean that? Did you really like the show? I couldn't tell last night. To be honest, I couldn't sleep because of it. I kept wondering if you were just being nice.”
Oh, good God. Nice? “Eamon. I'm almost never nice. The show was unbelievable and incredible. Truly.” I sucked in a deep breath, looking up into those cool gray eyes of his. Just watching the flutter of his long lashes as he blinked was so surreal. I was being pulled between two worlds—the past and the present. We could've easily been standing in the bedroom back in Ireland, talking about his show at the pub last night. He was ridiculously talented, but there was a very real part of him that questioned himself. It wasn't an act. He wasn't digging for compliments.
He smiled. “It only takes a few words from you and I feel better.”
