Page 29 of Flirtatious

“I see. You probably had a terrible relationship with your mother growing up and think all women are a hassle. I can definitely see you as one of those guys,” I say, more than a little disappointed he’s that type of man.

But he laughs at my characterization of him, which makes me smile. “Not at all. I love my mother. She’s an incredible woman and one of my biggest fans. I have no deep-seated problems with women. Just haven’t found anyone I want to be serious with, especially since I’m often away from home.”

Happy to hear he isn’t some troubled guy with mommy issues, I probe a little more about his life, curious about the man who didn’t leave when I didn’t open the door before and didn’t leave when I fell apart a minute ago.

“I bet she’s tall like you with legs that go on forever and dark hair with blue eyes that make her look exotic, right?” I wonder aloud, imagining a woman similar to him.

That’s probably why he hasn’t found the woman he wants to be with. He’s looking for someone like his mother.

I secretly sneak a glance down at my legs and wonder if he’d consider them long. That’s how they’re usually described, but damn, if his mother is over six foot tall, her legs would be crazy long compared to mine.

Leaning off to the side, he takes his phone out of his sweatpants back pocket and brings up a picture of a tiny blond woman and a man who looks like the spitting image of him, just older. “The exact opposite, actually. Not tall. No dark hair. Obviously, I take after my father.”

He hands me his phone, and I study the picture for a few moments. Nice couple. Very attractive. Liam comes by his good genes naturally. His father looks so much like Liam that I might get them confused from a distance. His mother looks sweet, like the kind of mom everyone would like but she’s still really cool.

Turning to look at Liam, I say, “You really do. Did you get any of your mother’s genes? She’s beautiful, by the way. Really beautiful.”

As he takes his phone back, he shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing physical, but I think I get my need to want to protect people from her. She loves to take care of everyone around her.”

“Did you have a nice childhood? She’s gorgeous and I’m sure all your friends had huge crushes on her at one point or another, but did she bake cookies and cut the crust off your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” I ask, imagining him as a little boy and the apple of his mother’s eye.

Laughing, he answers, “She did, but don’t go thinking everything was perfect because it wasn’t.”

“I don’t believe for a second that those two people and you weren’t perfect together. No way. They have perfect written all over their faces.”

Before I say the same thing about him, I stop myself. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

Liam nods, but I notice he doesn’t smile when he answers, “One sister. Annalea is older than me. And one brother. Wilder is one year younger.”

Now I understand. Liam’s the middle child. That’s why he doesn’t think his childhood was perfect, even though he had a mom who baked cookies and cared enough to cut the crusts off his PB and J sandwiches.

“Ah, I get it. You’re the middle child. It’s the Jan Brady Syndrome. So which one was the bigger pain, the older sister or the younger brother?”

That brings a smile back to his face, and his eyebrows shoot up into his forehead to show his disbelief in my psychological diagnosis. “The Jan Brady Syndrome? What’s that? I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Now it’s my turn to look at him in disbelief. “The Brady Bunch? You know, the middle daughter was named Jan and she always felt left out. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia! Everything is always Marcia!”

By the look of complete confusion on his face, I see he has no idea about Jan Brady or her family’s TV show from the seventies. What kind of person doesn’t know about that?

“Well, now I know your childhood wasn’t perfect because you’ve never seen the Brady Bunch. Dude, get some culture in your life.”

With a chuckle, he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So you didn’t answer me. Which one caused you more grief, the older sister or younger brother?” I ask, pressing him for information even though I sense he doesn’t want to talk about this subject.

He gives me an answer, though, so I have to give him credit for that.

“Younger brother. I’m curious. How did you know one of them gave me a hassle? Just a guess, or are you secretly a psychologist on the side?”

I point at his mouth and arch an eyebrow. “You didn’t smile when you started talking about your brother and sister. Just a little tell.”

Liam nods, clearly surprised I didn’t just guess. “I’m impressed. Where did you learn to pick up on people’s tells?”

“You learn to figure people out when you’re the one they all depend on.”

Even as I say those words, I feel like a complete fraud. I never figured out Jonny or Michael, so my track record on being able to figure people out is pretty damn sad.

He falls quiet for a long moment before he asks, “So no baking or cutting off the crust on your sandwiches from Andrea?”

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