Only one guy calls me that.
Lee drops the hand holding my face like it catches fire. His Adam’s apple works with a nervous swallow. “I-I said you’re beautiful.”
The butterflies swarming in my stomach from his compliment suddenly evaporate.
There was a sense of ease when I was talking to Lee—like I justknewhim from somewhere. Of course, I felt an irresistible attraction from the second I laid my eyes on him, but there was something more. I couldn’t place my finger on it until now…
“No. No.” I scurry back on the bench, creating distance between us. “You called meBel.”
I introduced myself as May. Not Mabel. And certainly not Bel.
“Listen, May, I—”
A final cog clicks in my mind. Before he can complete his sentence, I grab his left hand and twist it around so I can see his thumb.
I glare at the solid font tattoo that’s etched there in black ink.
IV
Liam got the roman numeral tatted a few months ago and sent me a picture of it. He said it was a tribute to me since I was born on the fourth of September and his tattoos were meant to showcase his favourite things and memories.
I’d recognize that tattoo anywhere. I’ve memorized it wholly. I cried when I first saw it. There was someone out there who treasured me so much that a piece of me was inked on their skin forever. I couldn’t believe it. My heart had nearly burst out of my chest.
Now I’m saved from addressing the elephant in the room when the bartender from earlier enters the quiet hallway. “Hey, Donovan is looking for you, Liam—”
Her sentence hangs in the air when she spots us sitting next to each other in stunned silence.
My suspicions are confirmed.
Liam.
The guy in front of me is not some bouncer I met at a bar on a chance encounter and flirted with harmlessly.
No.
The guy in front of me ismybest friend Liam.
“Liam?” I echo.
Liam’s skin has gone a ghostly pale. He still isn’t looking at me, his eyes fixed on the bartender as they engage in a staring contest that screamsyou’ve-really-fucked-up.
“Your name is Liam.” It’s not a question. It’s a fucking statement.
Something seems to dawn on the bartender and she lets out a low exhale. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Liam’s eyes close with a hint of defeat.
I’ve gone a little numb with shock.
“I, uh, I’m going to go now.” She cringes and scratches her pixie cut awkwardly. “Sorry for disturbing.”
She stumbles away with an apologetic glance.
Now it’s just Liam and me left, and this newfound revelation hanging over our heads like a bad omen.
The happiness at finally having what I want—seeing my best friend in person—is quickly overshadowed by the disappointment of him lying to me about his identity.
“Liam.” I hate the frail quality of my voice. “Why…didn’t you tell me it was you?”
