Once he’s gone, I slump onto my stool.
I know I shouldn’t be hurt Liam didn’t tell me, but I am. The flirting. The touches. The overwhelming connection. I thought we meant something to each other. I’ve even entertained fantasies about what it would be like to have him as my boyfriend. Wandering the theater district, going to see shows and arguing about which we liked the most. Or walking through Central Park, holding hands. Maybe sitting on a bench and making out in really obnoxious, inappropriate ways.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My headache is back, with a vengeance.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I sigh. Even if he did, what would I say? “Don’t go”?
I couldn’t. He has to do it. Of course he does.
But I have a terrible feeling if he goes, it will change both of our lives forever. And not in a good way.
SIX
THE CONSEQUENCE OF WANTING
On the closing night of the show, it’s near midnight when Josh and I arrive at the after-party. As soon as we emerge into the uber-trendy warehouse space, our Benvolio, Andy, rushes toward us with a tray of shots. He has the bright-eyed fervor of someone who’s already three drinks over the limit.
“Guys! You finally made it. You need to try these.”
I pick up the bright blue shot glass. “What is it?”
“I have no idea, but knock it back fast, and try to keep breathing.”
I throw back the shot without hesitation. When I swallow, my whole body shudders. “Jesus!”
Andy laughs. “Awesome, right?”
I grab another and knock it back, too. Josh joins me. The impact of the second isn’t any less forceful than the first.
“Fuck me.” Josh coughs. “It tastes like battery acid mixed with plutonium.”
Andy nods. “Yeah, but in a couple of minutes, you won’t care. Trust. Oh, and Elissa? Liam’s been looking for you. Like, a lot. Just FYI.”
He stumbles off to peddle his wares elsewhere, and Josh and I move farther into the party. Behind a gauze curtain, a large group is dancing to the bass-heavy music. I start to feel a little buzzed as I watch them.
“So, you and Quinn going to finally seal the deal tonight?” Josh asks. “Because God knows, if I have to witness one more second of you two panting over each other, I’m going to lock you both in a room until someone comes.”
I shake my head. “You know why I can’t go there.”
“I do. But I also saw the look in his eyes when he left the theater tonight. The man was wired. And determined. He knows you’ve been avoiding him. And let’s be honest. If you were truly serious about not getting involved, you wouldn’t have come to this party.”
I’d like to be strong enough to stay away from Liam tonight, considering our situation, but I can’t deny that the past couple of months have taken their toll. I want him. Desperately. Even if it seems as though I can no longer have him.
Josh stumbles and leans against me. “Whoa. Those drinks were strong. Want me to get us a couple more?”
“Most definitely.”
He heads off to find Andy, and I loiter at the edge of the dance floor to avoid seeking out Liam. Everyone’s hugging, and kissing, and some are even touching each other in ways that warrant a little more privacy.
My God, theater folk are a horny bunch.
I lean against a post and watch. Whatever was in the drinks is making me feel hot in inconvenient places.
As I look around, I spot Liam across the room. He’s surrounded by a group of girls, all trying to get his attention, but it’s clear he’s not listening to a word they’re saying. He scans the crowd and sips a beer. As soon as he spies me, his posture changes, and the sudden intensity in his expression makes every hair on my body stand on end.
Without excusing himself or taking his eyes off me, he passes his beer to one of the girls and crosses the room. All of the women he’s abandoning deflate with disappointment.
As he approaches, his expression is so primal I have an urge to flee, but I’m so frustrated and horny, I force myself to stand my ground and see what happens.
When he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything. He just takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
Several people stop and stare as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. After so many weeks of denial, the feel of him pressed up against me makes my head spin. I grasp his shoulders, and he tightens his arms.
“Liam—”
“Don’t say it.” He gives me a look that shoots sparks straight down to my toes. “Don’t you fucking dare. The show’s over, so I’m done staying away from you.”
He moves his hands over my back, which makes my heart pound and my brain go fuzzy. The alcohol is making me feel like I’ve done ten shots instead of two, and I’m in no condition to be this close to him, let alone try to deny my feelings.
When he pushes under my T-shirt and grazes the base of my spine, I close my eyes as a shiver runs through me. It feels like my skin is extra-sensitive.