Page 34 of Summertime Friends

Moving around the room stealthily, I find my clothes folded and on the dresser instead of on the floor in the pile I had left them in last night. The butterflies that have burrowed themselves in my stomach flutter their wings at the small but thoughtful and unnecessary gesture. Before joining me in bed, he took the time in the middle of the night to fold my clothing. You’ve got to be kidding me, I sigh.

From the top of the pile, I grab my leather skirt and step into it, trying to be quick. The metal zipper gets caught on my underwear and a bit of skin.

“Shit. Ow!” I say out loud. My eyes flash to the bathroom door, hoping that the volume of my voice won’t trigger Liam to rush to my rescue. He would, I have annoyingly no doubt.

Tugging on the zipper in an upward movement, it doesn’t budge.Just leave it, I tell myself. The skirt is tight enough on my waist that it won’t fall.

I debate removing his shirt or not. It would be the most interestingsouvenir I would bring home.

He won’t miss it anyway, will he? Or maybe it’ll force us to see each other again if he wants it back?Yeah, I’ll keep this.

I style his shirt into the skirt.

There is a creak of a door opening as I buckle the black strap of my heels.

“Well. . . this is a first.” His voice is still rough, but his tone is now. . . disappointed? Did he expect me to stay? “Never not slept with a girl and had her scurrying to get out of here.”

Shit.

Operation get-the-hell-out-of-here is a total failure.

His disappointment clings to me, and I hate it. I hate thinking that I’ve somehow hurt him after his kindness and respect last night. In a matter of minutes, I made him feel like I’ve felt too many times before. I can’t bring myself to look at Liam, knowing what I’d witness all over his face.

My brain is fighting to recover from the worst he has to be assuming of me.

“I was only kidding, States.” He’s leaning against the frame in gray sweatpants, no shirt, and an audacious smile forming across his face. “You sure enjoying. . . leaving?”

“No, I was going to get a—”Think quickly, Em!“—us coffees.”Coffee? That’s your grand excuse?“You don’t want to see me without coffee in the morning, and I uh. . . probably shouldn’t go out in only this.” I pinch his shirt. “Ha.”

“I’ll come with you. Let me change.” Liam glances down, my eyes following his lead.

Remember all those muscles in his back? Multiply them by about one hundred, and you will get the picture of the feast of his abdomen. He looks like Michaelangelo’sDavidandThe Thinkerhad a child and decided to chisel out a few extra muscles for funsies.

“Do you want your shirt back?” I gulp.

Liam glances back at me and licks his lip. “Keep it. Looks better on you,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Moments later, he returns in a pair of black cargo shorts and a vintage graphic Beatles concert t-shirt—a complete contrast to the more sophisticated attire from last night. Both are just as appealing. He could wear a burlap sack, and I’d want to rip it off him.

He runs a hand through his bedhead. “Ready?”

***

We ended up at the same place where we first saw each other only two days ago. He pays for our coffees before we grab a table in the window.

“What brought you to Lisbon?” Liam asks me while blowing on the steam coming from his hot, black coffee.

“How long did we spend talking last night, and this never came up?”

“I know.” He laughs.

“Celebratory end of college trip with my best friend.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “But you were by yourself last night?”

“Long story short. They”—Liam’s shoulders tense—“had to go home for a family emergency but convinced me to stay. So here I am, solo in Lisbon, finishing the last few weeks without her.”

The brief rigidness in Liam’s body is gone. “You don’t appear too sad about her being gone.”

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