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She laughs again. “Oh.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I can’t change my situation. I don’t want to be getting divorced less than a year since I walked down the aisle, but equally, I respect myself far too much to be in a marriage where I’m treated like I’m not worth the mat he wipes his shitty hunting boots on.”
“I get that. I just didn’t expect you to be so…bubbly.”
“Do you want the truth, Liv?” She twists her glass. “I don’t know if I ever loved him. Maybe I only thought I did. I’m certainly not heartbroken, and I’m not numb. I just feel…indifferent. And sorry for the poor bitch he was fucking on my sofa.”
Well, that’s one way to put it.
“Either way,” she continues, “I’m taking his sorry, cheating ass to the dry cleaners and I’m going to wring it out until he’s got friction burns on his dick.”
I clap my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from spitting out my wine. Yep. The British are definitely not reserved. In the slightest.
Tyler enters the bar and takes the seat next to me. He rests his hand on my lower back and splays his fingers. His pinkie finger creeps beneath the hem of my lower shirt to my bare skin, and I fight a shiver.
“Okay?” Tessa asks him.
“Yep.” He nods once and grabs my wine glass.
I raise my eyebrows. He grins in response and tilts the glass for another mouthful.
“I suppose I should be polite and ask how the business is,” Tyler says.
Tessa snorts. “That’s dinner conversation.”
“And since you spent dinner bitching at me, I’m asking now.”
“McDonald’s isn’t dinner,” she says, repeating her words from earlier. “Never mind…” She launches into a description of how their parents’ restaurants and hotels are running in the UK.
I tune out after a few minutes. They continue their conversation regardless, both of them fully versed in something I know nothing about. I can pour a pint and mix a margarita like a pro, but I couldn’t tell you how to run a huge business.
Instead of listening to their words, I listen to them. I observe the way they are together, how they talk, their body language. It’s a conscious move. I know I’m doing it as much as I know I shouldn’t be.
Adding Tessa into the mix is dangerous. She brings out a protective side of Tyler that I haven’t truly experienced yet. He’s turned toward her as she talks, but his eyes flick over her shoulders now and then, warning off any man who so much as breathes in her direction. She only has part of his attention as he strives to keep her from anyone who could put her through pain.
And it’s endearing. They bitch like cat and dog, but they care about each other so obviously. I can see how much he loves her—she’s an extension of him, almost literally.
I’m also jealous.
It’s stupid. But I see the way his lips curve as they talk, the way his eyes smile when she makes him laugh, and I want it.
I want him to smile whenever he looks at me and I want his eyes to laugh when I’m an idiot and I want to feel the strength of the love he has for her directed at me.
Do I want him to love me?
It burns. That question burns so harshly in my mind. Mostly because I already know the answer.
Yes.
I want Tyler Stone to fall in love with me. I want him to fall so far that there’ll be no chance of him ever getting back up.
More than that, I need him to. I crave the idea of him loving me. I want to know that his skin buzzes at my touch. That my kiss ignites a fire inside him. That my voice is a soother to him. That being without me for even twenty-four hours is a completely inconceivable idea.
Because I’m there. I’m teetering on the edge of the fall.
“Liv?” Tyler says softly.
I look at him. “Hm?”
“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at your empty glass for the last five minutes.”
