I even thought I was starting to get over him. Starting to… Until he called.
Just the sight of his name on the screen of my phone was enough to stop my heart. His husky hello jump-started it again, a rapid tattoo I was sure he must be able to hear through the connection.
“Toby? Toby?”
I swallowed thickly. “Hey.”
“Hey. Um… I was wondering… Do you fancy doing something tonight? We’ve not seen each other in ages and, well,”—he cleared his throat—”I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” The words slipped out, too keen and too honest. “But what about Viv?”
“We, ah, um, we broke up.”
“I’m sorry.” A small part of me probably was, even if the rest was doing a happy dance.
“Yeah, well, turns out she wasn’t the one for me after all.”
I could have told you that! my inner voice screamed, but I bit down on actually speaking the words.
“Water under the bridge.” I could practically see him shrugging, the shoulders of his beautifully tailored suit rising with the rippling movement. “So, tonight? You doing anything?”
You. “No.”
“The Village?”
“Really?”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed? “I’ll meet you there.”
I spent forever getting ready. The dress code for the Village is generally lax, but that didn’t mean nobody made an effort. Liam would be in jeans and a black, close-fitting T-shirt if I knew him, and my own attire was similar, although the dramatic graffiti-style wings stencilled onto the back of my top added a splash of colour. It was early June so I left my jacket at home, the short capped sleeves of the T-shirt showing off the new tattoo an old uni friend had talked me into getting a few weeks earlier. The itching had finally stopped, my skin healed, and I wanted to show it off while it was still new and vibrant.
Liam noticed it immediately, grabbed my arm and shoved my sleeve up over my shoulder to examine it.
“What changed your mind?” he demanded. I’d been talking of getting it done for months, but had always put it off.
I shrugged. “Just seemed time to bite the bullet.”
Liam nodded, frowning in concentration as he traced the outline of the dark blocks of colour.
I waited with baited breath for his response. He wasn’t tattooed himself, but several of his exes had been. I wished I could have had some gorgeous twining, tendriled thing, but I lacked the definition in my biceps to make such a design work. Instead I’d opted for a more Celtic, tribal theme, large blocks of blue-black covering my upper arm and shoulder with stripes of unmarked flesh forming striking geometric patterns through the ink.
“I love it.” He released me with a broad smile that I returned in kind, secretly relieved, even though I hadn’t got it for him.
I made tentative enquiries, as the night passed, what had gone wrong with Viv. Personally, I thought any twenty-something woman named Vivian was bound to have been born with a stick up her arse, but Liam had seemed to really like her. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about what had gone wrong, although I had my suspicions cemented when he insisted on acting—in his own words—as queer as he possibly could.
For the record, Liam doesn’t flame. By appearance alone you’d say he was a quiet, staid, nice boy you could take home to meet your mother. Only those closest to him knew he’d probably promptly seduce her, and your father, too. He was irresistibly attractive, smart, wealthy, softly-spoken and unfailingly polite. Who would suspect that beneath such a polished exterior lurked a playboy party animal with a wicked—in every sense—sense of humour? Certainly few people would guess his sexuality was as fluid as the fine-spun silk from which his suits were tailored.
I loved that I was privy to those details, that I alone knew every facet of his complex personality, and loved him anyway. Loved him because of all the things he was, not despite them.
I stood at the crowded bar and simply watched him. It was three in the morning and he was dancing at the front of the club’s raised stage, surrounded by a host of squabbling admirers. The music had turned hard and heavy, mirroring the atmosphere, the dirty bass dripping down the walls. Liam was lost in a tangle of limbs, some Hindu god come to life. Hands were groping, hips slamming, bodies writhing as Liam ground against the guy next to him, their faces close. My heart thudded in time with the slowing bass and the room began to tilt sideways as they danced closer, arms snaking around each other, and Liam crossed the last of the distance between them to claim a hot, sweaty kiss.
I was across the club in a trice, elbowing revellers out of my way left and right, spilling drinks and getting shoved back as I shoved them. I didn’t care who I trampled in my haste to get to the foot of the stage. Not so long ago I’d have sighed to myself and let Liam get on with it, but not this time. He wasn’t doing this to me again. We’d been best friends since we were four years old, lovers for half our lives and dammit, it was about time he gave me a chance for more. I was done passively letting him use me, letting him think he could pick me up and drop me whenever a better offer came along. I might not have the muscles or the looks of the guy currently slathered all over his face, but I must have something to offer, some worth. Liam was always telling me I’d make someone a great boyfriend. It was time he put his money where his mouth was.
The stage being some four feet high, I was at knee-height to Liam when I stood on the dance floor in front of him. Any other time that might have seemed a disadvantage, but I was not in the mood for feeling daunted. I slapped his legs and tugged on his jeans until he finally surfaced for air and decided to investigate. Looking down and seeing me, he dropped his new friend and crouched, our faces close.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“What?”