Page 12 of Liam
She shakes her head. “Not that time. But it’s on my bucket list. Have you done much traveling?”
We spend the rest of our time swapping travel stories and recommendations. For the first time tonight, I find myself disappointed when the bell chimes, signaling the end of our round.
As I move to the next table, my eyes lock with a familiar pair of hazel ones. Aleria sits across from me, her wild curls even more disheveled than last time, as if she’s been running her hands through them all night. There’s a smudge on her chin, and she’s wearing a blouse that I’m pretty sure is inside out. Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I notice how the soft lighting brings out the flecks of gold in her eyes. How delicate she is.
We both turn to the host, protests forming on our lips.
“We know each other, we can’t—” Aleria says.
“You know the rules,” the host says, her tone brooking no argument. “No skipping. You have seven minutes. Use them.”
The silence between us stretches, thick and oppressive. Aleria’s fingers dance along the hem of her shirt, twisting and untwisting the fabric. Her eyes dart around the room, landing everywhere but on me. I open my mouth, then close it, words evaporating on my tongue. My mind, usually a well-oiled machine of witty remarks and business strategies, sputters to a halt.
I’m Liam Valeur, for God’s sake. I negotiate multi-million dollar deals over breakfast. Why can’t I string together a simple sentence in front of this disheveled scientist?
“So,” she says, her voice strained, “how’s your night been going?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’ve learned more about snakes than I ever wanted to know, heard a comprehensive history of Karen’s failed marriage, and discovered that the earth is flat. How about you?”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I had a guy try to convince me that quantum physics is a government conspiracy to hide the truth about alien abductions.”
We both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking through our usual hostility. It’s strange, seeing Aleria like this—relaxed, smiling, her guard down.
“Oh, but the best one,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes, “was the woman who told me my vintage car socks were, and I quote, ‘a crime against fashion and humanity.’”
Aleria’s eyes widen. “You’re wearing car socks?”
I nod, lifting my pant leg to reveal the colorful classic cars peeking out above my shoe.
“They’re actually pretty cool,” she exclaims, her face lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. “How can anyone not appreciate classic cars? I used to help my dad restore—” She catches herself, as if revealing too much.
“You worked on cars?” I lean forward, intrigued.
“My dad owns a garage,” she says after a moment, her voice softer. “I grew up there, basically lived in coveralls. We restored this beautiful old Mustang together.”
“I never knew that about you.”
“You never asked.” There’s an edge to her voice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I rebuilt a ‘67 Camaro after college,” I say, watching her face. “Started working on it right after Stanford. Drove mybrother Lucas crazy with all the parts scattered around the garage.”
I trail off, and something shifts in her expression.
“A Camaro?” She says, filling the awkward silence. “You? Mr. Computer Science turned CEO?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dr. James,” I say, echoing her words, our eyes meeting.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with unspoken words. Then she swings her hand too wide during a point about engine specs, and her water glass tips, sending ice-cold liquid cascading into my lap.
I leap up with a startled yelp, the shock of cold water seeping through my trousers. “Shit!”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Aleria’s words fade off as she snatches a fistful of napkins and drops to her knees. Her hands press against my thighs, dabbing at the spreading stain.
The world narrows to the pressure of her fingers through the damp fabric. My breath catches in my throat.
“Aleria...” Her name escapes my lips, barely audible over the room’s chatter.
“Just let me clean this,” she mutters, her brow furrowed. Her hand moves higher, tapping against my crotch as she tries to soak up the water.
