This is too confusing.
I want her.
I can't have her.
She's the only thing that makes sense.
I have to stop myself from grabbing on to the only thing that makes sense.
"Your hair looks good." I stand. Smooth my slacks.
She tries to hide the confusion in her eyes.
"You touched it up last night, yeah?"
"I did. Thanks."
"I'm sorry if shit got weird."
"It's fine."
"It was… I said something to my friend. Something I shouldn't."
"About us?"
"About Simon keeping secrets."
"Oh?"
My eyes flit to the clock. "What time is your class?"
"Soon."
"You have to change?"
"At the studio."
"Since when do you dance?" I ask.
"Since Danielle invited me."
"She's still here?" I ask. "In the city?"
"Adam went back last night."
"Trouble in paradise?"
"No. She's hanging with her brother."
"Intentionally?"
"Crazy, I know. Who would choose to spend time with a sibling?" she teases.
It's almost normal.
Then my eyes go to her chest.
And her eyes go to my tie.
And it fills the room, the knowledge we're picturing each other naked.
"What, uh… what did you say to your friend?" she asks.
"I asked him if he could find out what he's keeping secret."
"Right. That's what their company does."
"Corporate espionage."
"You make it sound exciting," she says.
"The guy's basically James Bond. He's former Mi6."
"He is not."
"He is."
"And he ran around foreign countries sleeping with beautiful women, drinking his martinis shaken?"
"Gin and tonics, but yeah."
"You're full of shit."
"Ask him."
"I don't need to ask him. If you're saying it, it must be bullshit."
"It's not. And he got with his girlfriend in a real fucked-up way, too."
"Why'd he tell you that?"
"He didn't."
"Who did?"
"Someone who had a little too much to drink," I say.
"How do you know it's true?"
"It's too specific to be made up."
She shoots me that same bullshit look.
I press my hand to my heart. "On my hatred of dirty martinis."
"What happened?"
"He was secretly reading her online journal for months. He fell in love with her wit, then, when she confessed she was thinking about selling her virginity…"
"He just happened to fall in love with a hot, young virgin? For her wit? Please. You think I've never met a man before?"
"You're young and hot."
"Three years younger than you are. And I'm not a New York ten."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't bullshit me, Liam. We both know appearances matter."
"I'm sorry? Is feminist icon Briar West judging women on a ten point scale?"
"I'm referring to other people—"
"You're going to lose your card for that."
She laughs. A real, full laugh that fills the room.
A normal fucking laugh.
"There's no card," she says. "But… you might have a point."
"Me? Really?"
"Yes. It is a silly scale… I just mean, I'm not the kind of woman men consider top tier."
"Top tier?"
"You know what I mean!"
"I know you sound like a stock bro."
She flips me off.
"You're hot, Bri. You can claim whatever you want—say the purple hair turns guys off, even though that's bullshit—but don't try to tell me you aren't hot." My eyes go to her chest. "And don't pull any of that 'my boobs are too small' shit. They're nice."
Her cheeks flush. "Is his girlfriend young and hot?"
"He loved her before he knew what she looked like."
"Uh-huh."
"And she's… she's like you."
"Not a New York ten?"
"I would never rate women. That's terrible."
She flips me off again.
"Sexist trash, really."
"Ha-ha."
"She's not model perfect."
"And she's how much younger?"
"A lot."
She raises a brow.
"Half his age."
"See."
"What are you looking at me for?"
"You've never slept with an eighteen-year-old?"
"I was eighteen once."
"In the last two years?"
Have I? Fuck, I don't know. It's too hard to think about other women with her so close. "I didn't card."
"Exactly."
"He's in love."
"Of course. She probably thinks he's smart and worldly and—"
"He has a British accent."
"Hmm. That's true."
"And rich."
She nods.
"You don't think he's handsome?"
"Do you?"
"Yeah. Of course."
She smiles. "You have an easy time calling another man handsome."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"A lot of guys are weird about it."
"They're insecure."
"Yeah, but I like that you aren't."
"You don't think he's hot? Really?"
"He's hot, yeah."
"So there you go. She's hot and young. He's hot and rich. Everyone wins," I say.
She laughs.
"And maybe… maybe he really does appreciate her intellect. And she adores his—"
"Wallet?"
"Dick."
She laughs.
"Ability to make her come?"
"Well, yeah, if she's a teenager, she probably doesn't know better."
"Do you want to meet her? Explain that?"
Her blush deepens. "That will go well. Hey, friend's girlfriend, let me pull you aside and ask if your hot, rich, older boyfriend gets the job done?"
"Is that not appropriate?"
Again, her laugh fills the room.
Again, it warms every fucking molecule of my body.
I need to make her laugh.
I need to keep her mine.
If it's my friend, so be it. But I need her to be mine. I need to hold on to this.
The way she looks at me. Oh, Liam, you're an idiot, and I love it.
"You really don't believe they're in love?" I ask.
"I haven't even met her."
"But you don't?"
"I'm doubtful."
"Do you think anyone is?"
Her eyes fill with surprise. "Huh?"
"Do you believe in any couples you know?"