Footsteps pound on the other side.
Locks turn.
A barefooted Liam Kelly opens the door. Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips. I don’t want to look higher; from what I gather out of my peripheral vision it spells doom. But I very well can’t stare at his pants either. Swallowing back my nerves, I bring my gaze up, over the sleek lines of an Adonis V winking at me from above his waistband. In an instant, my ovaries commandeer Operation Look at Liam’s Face, and my eyes travel at an agonizingly slow speed up the rest of his bare chest. Deep shadows highlight his taut obliques and hard, tanned abdominal muscles in the low hallway lighting—like we’re in an outtake for some ridiculous action movie about Sparta.
I want to yell at the white T-shirt hung futilely over his shoulder.
You have one job!
But all words have dried up on my tongue.
“Evie?” A jet-black stare meets mine, threatening to devour me whole before his gaze slowly rakes down the length of my body, erasing any coherent thought I have in the process.
“I need you,” I blurt.
Liam blinks. Once. Twice.
And then promptly shuts the door in my face.
6
Hole in my Heart
“Seriously?”Ishout,staringat a wooden knot on the heavy antique door that was just mercilessly slammed in my face. After navigating a quiet life on the Seine for the past six years, strategically avoiding any of the drama I left behind, the avalanche of nostalgic turmoil in the past week threatens to bury me alive.
My brain is shoutingFor the love of God, woman, leave.
But it is no longer in control. The connection to the rational part of my mind snapped along with my last shred of hope, with the slamming of that door, leaving behind unfiltered access to the chaos gremlin housing a daily talk show in my brain.
Talk Soup with Gremmy, Live—In today’s episode, Evie officially broke and is in the worst place possible for it to all go down.
“Why don’t you give him a chance, Evie?” I say, imitating Clare’s sweet innocent tone out loud to no one in particular.
“I don’t know, Clare, maybe because I’ve been screwed over one too many times.”
“I think screwing Liam Kelly sounds nice. Maybe you should give it a try, Evie.”
“Uhm. No thanks, I’m sure he’s very selfish in bed, so I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, whatever would make your silly little head think that?”
“Great question, Clare. Well, this slammed door in my face is a great example. Would you like me to elaborate further?”
A click and turn of the doorknob followed by the whoosh of the door sliding open straightens my spine.
Liam peers down at me. A muscle in his jaw flicks angrily before setting tight.
“You know, call me old-fashioned, but for whatever reason, you having a fake conversation on my stoop where you insult my bedroom habits isn’t the charming conversation starter you think it is.”
Heat rushes from the base of my neck to my cheeks as reality comes crashing back over me in an unyielding tidal wave. I step back. I just—shit—did I word vomit all of that?
If he wasn’t already, I’m sure he’s very intimidated by how successful and together I’ve become.
He leans casually against the threshold of his apartment, studying a speck of dirt under his nails like he’s already lost interest in this conversation. “Although, you’re welcome to come in for a demonstration of how unselfish I can be,” he says, nonchalantly tossing the invitation into the void between us.
Unfortunately, my body hasn’t gotten thehe-doesn’t-mean-itmemo. Want gathers deep in the pit of my stomach, and heat stains my cheeks at the images his throw-away comment inspires.
With Herculean effort, I force my jaw out of its gaping position and manage, “It’s not a stoop.”
