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“When guys don’t have sex for a while, it can have…less desirable effects. Like…not lasting very long.”
“Okay?”
“I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed. I thought that you were disappointed in the experience and I really didn’t want to relive it. So I made sure the conversation didn’t happen. Looking back, I wish I could do itdifferently. But there are a lot of things I did and said at twenty that wouldn’t even cross my mind at twenty-nine.”
Our room grows silent as Hannah and I stare at one another, our eyes long-since adjusted to the darkness of the room. The diffused light from the street filters through the curtains enough that I can see Hannah’s face.
Her adorable, broken expression.
I fucking hate myself right now.
Reaching forward, I grab her hand, sandwiching it between my own. I need her to hear this, even if it’s just to give me peace of mind.
“I liked you, Hannah. I did for a long time, but you never saw me like that. Ever. Not until I came back from college sophomore year after learning what the campus rec center was, getting on Accutane, and getting contacts. It sounds douchy, but I went from nerdy as hell to moderately hot in the matter of a year. I thought I finally had my shot, so when I blew it, I was so sure that I’d squandered it. Now I know I did, but not for the reasons I thought…which sucks.”
“You didn’t squander it…at least not permanently.” Hannah’s mouth curves upward into a gentle smile, the first sign of relief since we started talking. She quickly uses her knuckles to wipe away the last trace of tears from her soft cheeks.
I reach out and brush my thumb across the spot where her tears trailed, and she leans into my touch. “Come here.”
As she collapses into my arms, the panic from before and the memories that caused me so much shame finally expelled from the room, I know one thing with certainty.
I am in love with Hannah Thatcher-Miles, and that very well might kill me.
THIRTY-FIVE
HANNAH
Our cab skids and jolts its way through the bustling New York City streets, narrowly avoiding honking cars and weaving in and out of congested intersections. I have no idea where Liam is taking us, yet he exudes an air of confidence as he looks ahead, a small smile playing on his lips. As we pass through the dazzling lights of the theater district, I recall my audition earlier today, my last one on this trip.
I think it went well, and I genuinely mean that. Sometimes I convince myself it went better than it actually did just to avoid a nervous breakdown. This one, however, was exactly what I needed. It’s for a national tour and, while it sounds like a dream come true, it’s also a long shot.
“Where are we going?” I nudge Liam in the arm as he stares forward, but I don’t miss the way he bites back a grin at my question.
“Like the seventeen other times you’ve asked me since we left dinner twenty minutes ago—we’re almost there, I promise.”
The confidence he exudes should be irritating, yet I find it endearing.
Our yellow taxi speeds through the streets of Manhattan, dodging the other vehicles on the road with precision. The unmistakable sound of the brakes screeching across the concrete brings us to a halt in front of a grand theater with a brightly lit sign. The crowd of people gathering along the sidewalk buzzes with excitement, all vying for the chance to enter the illustrious playhouse and get to their seats as quickly as possible. I peer out my window, hoping for a better view of the marquee, but it is too far away.
Liam’s grin only grows as he hops out of our cab and rounds to my side, opening the door for me in a far more gentlemanly manner than I would expect from him. I want to bite at him with a quippy response, but it dies on my tongue as he reaches for my hand, pulling me to a standing position among the bustling crowd. Our ride pulls away almost instantly, leaving me standing on the curb in what can only be described as an overly extravagant dress for such frigid cold. Liam seems to notice and reaches around, wrapping his arm around me before pulling me to his side.
The line begins to move, but Liam appears to be conspiring with the security guard at the front. Either he is highly persuasive, or the crisp Benjamin I watch him slip the tall, bald man does its job.
Liam’s lips find my temple with a featherlight kiss. He’s been far more open with his affection in New York. While I am actively reminding myself not to read into it, I still ruminate on the idea that he might be embarrassed to be seen with me back home.
We step into the Richard Rodgers Theatre and I am immediately breathless. The stage design ofHamiltonisunmistakable, with its signature turntable center stage and a series of stairs and rafters weaving around the periphery to create an all-encompassing environment that brings the story alive. I’ve fixated on many productions over the years, but something aboutHamiltonmakes it impossible to be anything but awed by.
Jackson and I caught a show a few years ago while I was living in the city, but we were seated in the rear mezzanine, nowhere near where Liam and I are being ushered now. The half-filled theater is beginning to condense as we find the seats from which we’ll be enjoying the show.
“Liam, these tickets—”
“Don’t start.”
“They must have cost you a fortune!” I gasp.
“Sit down, Hannah.”
Something about the look he’s giving me causes me to sit down without further argument. My ass meets the upholstered seat, the velvet of my dress brushing along the grain of the synthetic pile.
