Page 23 of Summertime Friends

He finishes pulling out the chair and sits down. The table shakes under his touch as he pulls himself up against it, as close to it and me as possible.

I run my tongue over my top teeth, not breaking our stare.

“So you are stalking me,” I say.

“You didn’t show for dinner.” He pretends to sound wounded.

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Your mistake.”

I laugh. “I’ll make sure not to make that one again.”

He lets out a small but full-body laugh. I can see it reverberate through his shoulders and chest. Places I don’t need to be watching and ideas I shouldn’t be thinking about. My imagination is becoming without restraints for this man. Never in my twenty-two years has anyone consumed this many of my thoughts.

“Updating that mental picture you took earlier?” He smirks, as if his plan is working perfectly. “You’re cheekier than I thought. I like it.”

“And you’re cocky.”

“Ah. You noticed.”

My cheeks heat the way my core does at the memory.

“How do you know I’m from the States?” I ask as a way to steer the conversation—and my brain—in a different direction.

“Thought I was stalking you? Perhaps that might be something I would know then.” He’s baiting me.

With my mouth in a line, I pinch my eyes as if I’m a cat figuring out its prey. He isn’t prey, heavens no, but he could be—rather delicious prey, too.

“Right.” I play along even though I deduce the actual answer, which is the café. I’m realizing we are alike; he is observant, too. “You ruined my afternoon. Are you planning on ruining my night, too?”

“States, let’s get one thing straight. You’d know if I was ruining you—”

I can see where he is going, and that’s not what I meant. Cutting him off, I lean slightly forward, clarifying, “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Wasn’t assuming that.” Yeah, right. “I’m Liam.”

“And I’m leaving. Enjoy the table.” I throw back the remainder of my wine. “Thanks for this.”

I set the glass on the table and, with a flick, push the glass toward him. I get up and pass by him, close enough that our shoulders brush. Before I can get away, his arm reaches out and captures my elbow. My head jerks over my shoulder and down at his hand on me.

“I won’t enjoy it unless I’m enjoying it with you.” He looks up at me, his eyes hypnotizing. Despite the terrible pickup line, I get this strange feeling that he might be sincere. “One more drink and I promise to—”

“Leave me alone,” I finish the statement for him.

“Wish that was possible,” he mumbles to himself. “It’s just a drink, States,” Liam says with more oomph this time.

Our eyes are locked. A non-existent staring contest that neither of us wants to be the first to break. Everything in me wants to leave, shake off his touch, and walk out those doors. But everything in me also wants to sit back down.

Because I don’t think it’s just a drink.

“One more drink won’t hurt you,” I hear Natalie say in the back of my mind, like she’s watching me on a secret camera. I know shewouldn’t walk away, nor would she let me if she were here. She’d be living for all of this.

You promised her you would enjoy yourself. And what could go wrong with spending an hour with him?

“Fine. One drink.”

He drops his hand from my arm, and I take three steps backward, sliding back into the booth side of the table.

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