It sounds like he’s asking if I have a terminal illness. I guess if stubborn singleness were a disease, I could be said to have a chronic case.
What do I tell him? That since our time together, I never go out with a man for more than a couple of weeks? In general, men disappoint me. Yet another thing for which I blame Liam Quinn.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” I say. Several someones, really. None worth mentioning.
His stare is intense. Like he’s trying to see straight into my soul. “Does he treat you well?”
I almost cave and tell him the truth, but my pride takes over my mouth. “Like a queen.”
The tension in him gives way to something else. Relief, perhaps. “Good. You deserve happiness. You deserve . . . everything.” When he looks back at me, there’s such raw longing there that all the air in the room disappears, and for the first time in my life, I feel claustrophobic. I lean back against the wall, and hope he can’t tell.
“Was there anything else before you go, Mr. Quinn?”
“Yes. Stop calling me Mr. Quinn. Everyone else can call me whatever the hell they like, but not you. Please, Elissa.”
“Okay, Mr. Qu—” I take a breath. “Sorry. Liam.”
The second I say his name, something shifts in the air. My skin prickles and his entire posture changes. In that moment, he’s not a movie star, and I’m not his stage manager. We’re the same two desperately connected people who fell down a rabbit hole years earlier and climbed out forever changed.
He takes a step forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to touch me. But after looming over me for several long seconds, he turns on his heel, opens the door, and strides down the corridor.
When he’s out of sight, I collapse into my chair and drop my head onto the desk.
So, yeah.
That went well.
THREE
PAST TENSE
If sitting on the couch eating cheese were a sport, right now I’d be the Olympic champion.
Our first day of rehearsals has left me drained. The thought of enduring another few months of controlling my reaction to Liam has led me to being pantsless in my favorite nightshirt as I inhale a wedge of Jarlsberg.
“Wine?” Josh calls from the kitchen.
“If you have to ask that question after the day we’ve just had, then we’re no longer friends.”
I look up to see him in the doorway holding a wineglass so big, it could be seen from space. I suspect it’s holding an entire bottle of wine.
“I was being polite, loser. I already knew the answer.” He has a six-pack of beer in his other hand. “When we’ve finished this lot, I vote we move on to the bourbon.” He passes me my wine, and then flops next to me as he uncaps a beer. He takes a long drink before letting out the world’s most resonant burp.
I groan in disgust. “You’re a class act. You know that?”
He holds up a fist. “Word.”
“Still pissed about your reaction to Angel?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. You talk a good game when you’re trying to get a woman into bed, but as soon as you meet someone you actually feel something for, you get all irritated. You did it last year with Lara, and you’re doing it now with Angel.”
He leans back and shoves his hand in the waistband of his pants. “Hold that thought while I go get some toilet paper, because what’s coming out of your mouth right now is total shit.”
“Okay, fine. Live in denial. But you’re still going to whack off to pictures of her, right?”
He shrugs. “Probably. Mike’s a total slut for leggy redheads.” He picks up the remote and starts flipping through channels.
“Remind me again why you named your penis Mike?”
“I didn’t. You did.”
I frown. “I did not. I don’t make a habit of naming penises. Especially not those belonging to my best friend.”
“Wrong. You once referred to my dick as ‘magic.’ Hence, Magic Mike.”
I laugh before taking a giant swig of wine. “God, you remember that? I was joking.”
“Sure you were.”
I smile as I put my feet up on his leg. He halfheartedly gives me a foot rub.
Josh and I have been living together for just over a year, and I never expected to enjoy living with a straight guy so much. After cohabitating with my brother for so long, I was relieved to get away from him. I mean, I love Ethan, but he was pretty high-maintenance. I suspect he’d be more bearable now that he’s sorted out his life and gotten back together with his one true love, but still . . .
Josh and I sit on the couch and drown our sorrows for almost an hour before I excuse myself and retreat to my bedroom. My head is all over the place right now, so I figure I should just call it a day and hope tomorrow is better.
After I crawl into bed and close my eyes, thoughts of Liam push back in.