I look down at a scratch on the table. “I did believe it. That’s why I said it back to you, even though falling in love with you was never a part of my plan.”
He looks up at me before he swallows the last of his drink and puts the glass down on the table. “See, that’s the problem. Love is an asshole. It doesn’t care about people’s plans. It’s never convenient. It crawls inside of you at the most ridiculous times and makes you feel, whether you like it or not. And even long after the time when you should have learned to stop loving someone, it just keeps holding on to them. Doesn’t it?”
I avoid his eyes and drink the remainder of my wine.
“Liss?” When I look over at him, the intensity of his expression makes my hair stand on end. “Do you still love me?”
Goose bumps break out all over my body. This whole conversation is getting out of control. It’s dangerous territory, especially because some part of me is loving the adrenaline rush.
“You know I’m not going to answer that.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. The soft brush of his thumb makes tingles break out all over my arm.
“If you asked me the same question,” he says as he looks down at my fingers, “I’d answer it in a second. And I suspect you already know what I’d say.”
He brings my hand up to his mouth and presses his lips gently against my skin. The contact makes me inhale. His lips are warm and soft, and the shock of them leaves me breathless. He’s about to say something else when his gaze flickers over my shoulder, and within a second, his expression goes from affectionate to thunderous. “Un-fucking-believable. Prick.”
“What is it?” I look behind me.
“Don’t worry about it. Wait here.” He gets up and stalks over to the man at the end of bar, who’s studying his phone. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
The man looks at him in confusion. “What? No. Why would I take a picture of you?”
“I’ve seen you before,” Liam says as he towers over him. “You a reporter? A pap?”
“No. I’m an accountant.”
“Then show me your phone.”
I walk over and put a hand on Liam’s arm. “Hey. Come on. Let’s just go.”
“No,” Liam says. “If this guy has nothing to hide, he’ll show me his picture roll.”
“I’m not showing you my phone. I don’t even know who you are.”
Liam goes to snatch the phone, but the guy draws back to keep it out of reach.
“Give me the fucking phone!” Liam’s voice echoes through the whole room, and everyone turns to look.
When he grabs the guy’s arm, I step between them. “Liam, stop.”
“Hey!” The bartender strides down to where we are. “No trouble in here. Take it outside, all of you.”
The accountant backs away from Liam and hightails it to the door. “You’re crazy, man. You stay away from me. I’ll call the cops.”
“Good. Then I’ll report you for stalking, asshole!” Liam kicks the bar stool the guy was sitting on. It teeters but doesn’t fall. “Son of a bitch!”
“Hey, calm down. He really didn’t seem to know who you were.”
“He was taking pictures of us while pretending to look at something on his phone. It happens all the time.”
I look to where the door has just closed behind the guy. “And maybe he was just looking at something on his phone and all the stuff with Jamie has set you on edge.”
He drops his head and sighs. “Maybe. I swear to God, being stalked all the time can make a guy paranoid as hell.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He gestures toward the bar. “Do you want one more?”
“Yes, but we have rehearsal tomorrow, so we should get out of here. Also, people are staring. Come on.”
I tug on his arm, and after we grab all our gear, I push him toward the door. He doesn’t resist.
When we get outside, the humid spring night has given way to a heavy downpour.
Liam turns to me. “Don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”
“Don’t suppose I do.”
“Dammit, Liss. I thought stage managers were like Boy Scouts. Always prepared.”
“In a theater, yes. Outside a bar that probably has Nickelback on the jukebox? Not so much.”
He looks both ways and then shrugs. “It’s only a few blocks to my apartment. Run for it?”
“Okay, but not too fast. Your legs are twice the length of mine.”
We rush down the slick pavement. Within a minute, we’re soaked to the bone. A minute after that, my shoes are making disgusting squelching sounds every time I take a step, and I squeal when I hydroplane across a particularly slippery piece of cement.
“Wait up,” I say, and stop at a small alleyway. “I’m going to kill myself in these things.” I walk a few steps into the alley before bending over to pull off my shoes and socks. I know walking barefoot on New York sidewalks is gross, but at least I won’t fall and break any bones.
After I shove everything into my bag, I look up to find Liam staring at me.
His posture is rigid, and his face is the very definition of lust.