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“You don’t even know the half of it.” I groan, hanging onto my drink as if it’s my lifeline.
“Wanna talk about it?” He raises a brow with a sexy smirk plastered on his face. He knows the longer I talk, the more I drink, and the more money he makes. I’m no idiot, but I know the game.
Do I want to get into it with a stranger? There's no telling what he might think. On the other hand, I've kept Liam a secret for three months. No one knows who he is to me. No one knows how much I want to talk about him—but I can't. And here, with this stranger offering to listen, I don't want to let the opportunity slip by.
“There’s this guy I’m seeing that I shouldn’t be. If we keep the relationship going, it puts my job and my dreams at risk. But he’s so goddamn magnetic. I want to be around him all the time. I want to see him every morning, and I want to talk to him before I go to bed. I feel like I’m a schoolgirl again whenever I’m on the phone with him.”
The bartender smiles softly. “I think we’ve all been there before.”
“Not me,” I say. “I don’t get like this for men.”
“Maybe this is a sign then,” he shrugs. “Maybe this guy is special, and all the risks of what you two have are worth it in the long run. If he’s the only person to make you feel like a teenager again, I’d say that’s a pretty big sign that he’s not like all the others you’ve dated.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I say. When he slides another glass toward me, I throw it back and let the burn calm my nerves just a bit. “That’s my last one for the night. Thanks.”
“No problem. I figured you were going through some things anyway.”
I crack a smile. “That obvious?”
“We don’t normally get pretty women over here shooting hard liquor. You seemed way too stressed for the occasion.”
“Just a lot of things on my plate,” I laugh. “I appreciate you talking to me, though.” I didn’t spill everything to the bartender, but what we did talk about makes me feel better. I don't feel as weighed down. Yes, the risks and everything are still there, but I've started feeling less guilty. I deserve to be happy, and I know that Liam's the type to tell someone no when he means it. He would've told me he didn't want to see me if he wasn't feeling good about our situation anymore. But he didn't.
Instead, he fucked me in a hallway.
I shake my head at myself. Mom always told me I had a knack for getting myself into sticky situations, and I do believe this certainly counts as one of those.
Two days
after the party, I finally stop feeling so pressured by everything. I’m finally able to breathe. Liam’s still in town, but we haven’t talked much even though he’s called several times.
I’m still not quite over that jealous feeling when I saw him with Destiny and again when she swept him away, and it pisses me off that I can’t just move on from it. I’m a grown woman, not a kid in high school that saw her boyfriend talking to another girl in homeroom. I shouldn’t be acting like this. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.
But I am.
Rather than sitting and stewing over how upset I was that night, I decide to get proactive. I have two manuscripts to look over before Mom comes by for dinner, and I want to make sure everything is ready to go before she does. I know that she’ll want to stick around for hours, and if I don’t get the manuscripts out of the way now, I won’t have any energy left for tonight.
I sit down at my desk and open up my laptop, clicking on the Word file and getting down to work. I've gotten so used to Liam's excellent writing that it's almost frustrating that not everyone else writes at that level. I'm constantly going through and pointing out comma splices and dropped words, two things I never have to worry about with him. He's spent almost a decade perfecting his craft, and it shows when I look at our other authors.
Still, I do my best to leave supportive, constructive comments. The last thing I want is anyone feeling like I’m playing favorites or not giving all our authors the same attention. I’m certainly giving Liam more in other ways, but when it comes to the value of my work, I’m as fair and consistent as possible.
I’m editing the end of a chapter when I hear a knock at my door. She’s early.
Putting on a smile, I pull open the door and give Mom a warm hug. I haven’t seen her in person in a few weeks, and I figure now’s as good a time as any to have dinner with her. I usher her inside and help with her jacket and purse.
“It looks beautiful in here,” she says, looking around.
“Thanks. Only took five hours to make it spotless,” I laugh.
“Well worth the effort.” She smiles.
Mom likes to get on my case a lot, but I appreciate the times when we can be alone, not talking about the future or goals in life. Tonight is one of the nights when we're in the present, discussing things going on in our current lives. While we cook, she tells me she's been reading a lot of romance novels and that she wishes I worked at a place like Harlequin. If I worked there, I could sneak her all the books, and she wouldn't have to pay for any of them.
“I might get fired, but I definitely would,” I say with a giggle.
“So,” she says. “What’s his name?”
I stop chopping carrots and turn to her. “What do you mean?”
