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And it needs to be. I’m done with complicated and messy.
“We’re opposites, Prish.” I say into the camera. “Even if somethingdidhappen between us, it would never work out.”
“Opposites attract, my friend.”
“As if that’s true foryourlove life! Raj is literally you with a beard and a… male appendage,” I respond delicately.
“And I like it that way. But you, my friend, are different. You and Justin were so aligned in terms of your routines and interests. You were like a frappucino—all blended and icy and kinda overly sweet and icky after a while. You need heat. Someone who will be the peanut butter to your jelly. The Simon to your Garfunkel.”
“Simon betrayed Garfunkel,” I say grouchily.
Goodness, maybe all this time with Liam is rubbing off on me.
Prisha waves her hands dismissively. “Good thing that Liam is neither Paul Simon, nor Justin. So, do me a favor and don’t treat him like he is, okay?”
I nod. Because Liam’s not Justin, is he? Not even close.
“Okay.”
“That’s my girl.” Prisha lifts her wine glass in a toast. “Now go get ‘em, tiger!”
The doorbell rings downstairs.
He’s here.
22
LIAM
“Are you serious right now?” I hiss into the phone, blood heating as my wrath is met with laughter.
“As a heart attack,” Luke responds cheerfully.
“I am hereby resigning from my best man position at your wedding. I cannot, in good faith, be there when Mindy marries the likes of you.”
Luke laughs harder. “Oh, she was in on it, don’t worry.”
“You are both dead to me.”
“You’ll be thanking us later!” Luke crows as I practically punch the screen of my cellphone to end the call—the modern-day equivalent of slamming the phone down.
Luke is not only dead to me, he is actually dead. Or he will be, once I get my hands on him.
I’m still simmering when the front door opens. I try to adopt a mild, pleasant expression as I open my mouth to say hi to…
Good gracious, the woman in the doorway looks exactly like I imagine Annie will thirty years from now. Same round eyes, pale skin, auburn hair that looks like it’s been wrestled into submission. Though her mom’s is graying around her temples and looks more successfully smoothed into place than Annie’s ever does.
I mentally slap some sense into myself and pull myself together. “You must be Mrs. Jacobs.”
“Call me Edel,” she twinkles. Her lips—a darker, shinier red than the lipstick Annie always wears—stretch into a wide smile. “You must be Luke? Or Liam?”
“Liam Donovan, ma’am.” I stretch out my hand and she shakes it enthusiastically.
“Charmed, I’m sure.” She doesn’t let go of my hand once the shake is done. Instead, she pulls me over the threshold. “Please, Liam, come in. The ladies from my Rakish Rogues book club and I were discussing the plot ofPlundering Pirates,and we’d love a man’s opinion of—”
“MOM!”
The familiar shout makes me smile despite myself.
