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Birdie’s eyes turn hateful and glassy. “I’ll have no problem forgetting you, Liam. You just made that easy, at least. Have a nice life, asshole.” Then, she turns on her heel and walks away. As she does, I can’t help but think we just made a huge mistake. But Birdie Wilder is right about one thing…
I am an asshole. I never said I wasn’t.
Birdie squeezes my hands, bringing me back to the present.
“I hope you know I was lying that day, Birdie. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just hurt and confused.”
She smiles sadly. “I know, and I’m sorry I pulled away like that. I was so young and crushing so hard. I didn’t know how to deal with being around you when I knew how you felt.”
“I get that now. But Birdie, you weren’t a shitty person. You were a teenage girl with her heart broken and—” I tilt her chin up, “You were… no, you still are… completely unforgettable.”
She blushes, “And you’re not an asshole.”
I laugh, “That remains to be seen.”
She gestures toward the pancakes and coffee. “You’re thoughtful and sweet. You’ve been taking care of me this whole time, even when we didn’t like each other.”
I grin, brushing my thumb over her hand. “You deserve to be taken care of.”
Her cheeks turn red, but she doesn’t acknowledge my comment more than that.
“Liam…” she says tentatively. “Why did you quit football?”
My palms turn sweaty. Those memories still hurt. I don’t think I ever really mourned the loss of my favorite sport. I sometimes wonder if I could have gotten a scholarship or been somebody different.
“Dad’s drinking got worse. Mom started working more. Someone had to take care of him. I took more shifts at The Daily Scoop to help with some expenses.”
Birdie’s face morphs into sadness, not pity. Which makes me like her even more. I never want pity from anyone, even in my worst moments.
“I feel bad about last night now that I think about it. I forced you to drink that cheap vodka.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got my shit handled Birdie. I’m not like him.”
She exhales a breath. “Now I get why you were so concerned about me that night in Atlantic City. Every time I took a shot you looked upset.”
I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’d tell me if you had issues, wouldn’t you?”
She smiles warmly. “You don’t have to worry. I enjoy drinking sometimes to relieve a little stress now and then or to relax and have fun—not to get through my days.”
I nod. “I just needed to ask.”
Understanding is written on her face. “Thank you for being open with me about everything.”
I want to say, “not everything,” but again, it’s not the right time. Instead, I focus on her dusty pink lips and warm expression. After that, I can’t help myself. I kiss her. Hard. When I grasp the back of her neck, my other hand still holding hers, she moans into my mouth. That sound—I want to hear it every day. I want to bottle it up or have it as my ringtone.
Just as she reaches her free hand up to twine in my hair, there’s a loud knock at the door. Birdie jumps so violently it pushes me back a little.
“Hey, hey,” I whisper. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”
Her neck goes splotchy, and she turns her eyes to the ground. “Guess I’m still jumpy after yesterday.”
I tilt her chin up. I don’t want her to hide from me. “That’s understandable. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s a very scary thing you’re dealing with.”
She groans. “Don’t remind me.” The person at the door knocks again. “I guess the real world is calling.”
I stand to answer the door, but Birdie stands with me. “Make sure to eat your breakfast.”
“Yes, Sir,” she winks.
