I still can’t believe I agreed to get coffee with him. There’s a version of me that wouldn’t have agreed to that if my hair was on fire, but something about the way our conversation flowed that night. The ease of it. The care he took with his attention. His words. I’ve always known about his little crush, but something about his presence at the party helped me feel so safe and calm—two feelings that have been hard to come by lately.
Alyssa apologized for interrupting us, but I brushed it off. It’s not like we were discussing anything monumental, although I can admit I did enjoy our conversation.
I haven’t had a deep conversation with someone in months. My mom has asked me a few times recently if I plan to start dating again anytime soon. My answer has been no every single time. But I will admit I miss having someone to talk to all the time. A constant ear at the end of the day. I guess I lost that long before I actually got divorced, though.
Despite the ever-present uninterested look on my face, I really do enjoy talking to people. I crave it, I think. But that isn’t the vibe I give off and I realize that.
I’ve had a fair share of people—particularly, men—tell me I look intimidating.
I guess looking unapproachable is nice when I don’t want to be bothered. But apparently I look unapproachable to everyone except Liam.
Once hair and makeup are done, I quickly get dressed. Pulling the black pants over my thighs and buttoning the white blouse. A black and white combination is my favorite and I’m thankful my stylist knows me so well.
“This hair is every girl’s dream.” Cheryl approaches on my left as she examines my curls one final time.
“That’s definitely not what I thought at fifteen. I ran a hair straightener over this for so long.” I pull at a curl between my fingers. “I’m surprised they’re still around.”
She takes the makeup poof and gently pats it against my chin, careful not to let anything drop on the white blouse I’m wearing.
As I’m standing in front of Cheryl as she takes one more look over my face, the door of the conference room opens, and a deep, charismatic voice instantly greets everyone.
Glancing over, I smile professionally, but Liam makes a beeline directly for me and extends a small brown bag. His forearm flexes as he holds it up, and I tilt my head in confusion.
“What’s this?” I take the bag from his outstretched hand, and he shoots me a quick, direct reply before he shifts his attention to my producer.
“Eat.”
My fingers grip the bag as I stare blankly at the back of Liam now that he’s turned away. He brought me food?
I peek in the bag, smiling down at the empanada and cup of fruit along with a smiley face on the sticky note. It’s very sweet.
But I pull my lips in, tuck my shoulders back and regain my composure—except not before I pop one of the giant green grapes in my mouth.
He catches my eye from the corner of his, and I mouth a silentthank youas he nods. I probably seemed awkward two minutes ago when he first walked in, but to be fair, who expects the quarterback to show up to an interview with a brown bag of food for the reporter about to conduct their interview?
“Are we ready?” I ask, confidently placing myself between all the men in the room.
“I’m ready.” Liam’s deep voice runs through me.
A grin spreads across his face the moment I turn toward him, and it’s incredibly obvious that he knew my question wasn’t directed at him based on the twinkle in his eye. I’m tempted to roll my eyes at him, but remember I’m standing in front of seven other men as well.
“Well, we’re here to talk about you.” I turn to him and whisper, “And I know that’s your favorite subject.”
Greg gives me a nod, and both Liam and I take our respective seats in the room.
Interviews with Liam are always really well received by fans. There’s a lot of interest in a thirty-something quarterback with stats like his. He’s exciting to watch and fans love his story.
Liam hums to himself as he sits. His long legs spread slightly and his hands come together in his lap. The dark blue pants and white polo he chose today are complementing him and his sun-kissed skin well. There’s a mossy green to his eyes today, and I’m starting to think I’m getting a different version of them every time I look lately.
“Would you like to hear about other subjects I’m interested in?” He leans toward me with a whisper.
I fan myself quickly with the papers in my hand. “No, thank?—”
But he rattles some things off.
“Puzzles. Anatomy. The Roman Empire. Anything Demi related, really…”
I huff, sitting back in my chair as I shake my head at him spewing off a list.
