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“I think they’re insane,” he says shortly, and when he looks back at me, the corners of his eyes aren’t pinched. “Why would they put their bodies directly in the way of moving cars?”

I burst out laughing. “I can understand that.”

“Eating ice cream during the winter,” he continues, clearly on a roll now.

“People who eat dessert before the main course. Wearing a lot of rings. I will never trust anyone who doesn’t like music, people who wear socks with sandals, boats,” he finishes, with his eyes wide open and his mouth twisted in a disgusted snarl.

“You have a pet peeve about... boats,” I summarize, trying to see if he’s serious .

“Yes,” he cries. “I understand they were necessary not that many years ago, but nowadays if you’re not going scuba diving or trying to clean up the ocean, then no one should have boats.”

I can only stare for a full thirty seconds, and his perpetual frown appears again, but then I burst out laughing.

“Dear Lord, Liam. I’d never thought about that, but it makes some actual sense.”

“It makes all the sense,” he corrects me, just stiffly enough that I know he’s not actually offended. “Anyway, what are your pet peeves?”

“Being barefoot. Anywhere but the beach, the bed, the bath, and the shower is unacceptable.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, looking like he’s memorizing every word. “What else?”

“Nose picking, nail biting, people who demand I share my food.” He nods along. “I think that’s it.”

“All right, what else is on that list?”

“Favorite things,” I tell him. “That’s easy for me.

If I have a day off, then I’ll probably go to the park for a walk and end up at the Met where I could spend a few hours going from painting to painting.

My favorite food is Chicken Tikka Masala, my favorite dessert is chocolate cake, my favorite snacks are those Mexican chips, Takis. ”

“The super spicy ones?” he asks, lip curling.

“Exactly those.”

“I can’t handle a lot of spice,” he confesses.

“That’s fine, it happens. I just had an Indian father and Pakistani mother, so it’s what I was used to before I went to boarding school. ”

“That’s so much culture in one family.” He says it wistfully, and I have to take a deep breath to control myself.

“Well, your mother is from the south and your father from Liverpool, so that’s also a lot of culture, right?”

“I guess. Though Mom’s parents were dicks—maybe they still are, we don’t know—so I never knew them. Dad’s parents are great, though. We visit them twice a year at least.”

“That’s nice,” I tell him, my tone sounding clipped because I don’t want to lose control of my emotions.

“What about your grandparents?” he surprises me by asking.

“Oh, well, Dad’s parents are still in India and I met them a few times growing up, but they were really against my father marrying my mother and living in England after college, so they’re not a part of our lives anymore.

My mum’s parents lived in London until they passed away when I was still in school. ”

“Okay,” he says simply, and I find it refreshing, freeing, that he doesn’t offer condolences or false sentiments. “Mom’s parents wanted her to give me up for adoption and keep it a secret forever,” he says softly. “That’s why I never met them.”

“That’s sad,” I say, and mentally roll my eyes at myself, so sophisticated and smart.

“She was sad a lot when I was little, but not anymore.”

“That’s good.” I clear my throat and shift in my seat, looking at my phone again. “All right, what’s your favorite color?”

“Black,” he says instantly and I look up quickly.

“Black isn’t a color,” I point out.

“I know,” he says, unbothered. “It’s the absence of light, but for me black is like silence and stillness and I like that.”

“All right. ”

“What about you?”

“Blue,” I tell him without having to think about it. “I like all the shades of blue. Next is sports. Which sports do you like?”

“I like watching hockey, football, and baseball. All on mute and from my home.”

“That sounds about right. I like football. I root for Manchester City, and with American football I have to root for my friends whenever they’re playing, so I have Kings, Rogues, Warriors, and Sharks jerseys.”

He nods a few times as I list them.

“They’re all good teams but I root for the Kings in sports, actually all the New York teams, so Empire for hockey, and the Brooks for baseball, of course. What’s next?”

“Movies and TV shows. I like all kinds of movies except for horror. And my favorite TV show is Ted Lasso, of course.”

“That is a good show,” he says excitedly, sitting up slightly. “I think that would be my favorite too. The How to Train Your Dragon movies and Star Wars , the original trilogy, are my favorite movies, though Rogue One is amazing as well.”

“Agreed,” I tell him simply, then I take a deep breath. “There’s something I have to confess,” I start out, knowing this could pose a big complication with this plan.

“What is it?” His eyebrows are raised and he’s looking at me with his version of puppy dog eyes.

“I’ve never been in a serious romantic relationship.” I speak quickly. “I feel like a bit of a loser for it.”

“You’re not a loser,” Liam says softly. “I’m pretty sure if I’d lost my parents after graduating college, I would’ve lost all sense of reality.

” I know it shouldn’t—since I’m coming to realize Liam is a lot more perceptive than I gave him credit for when I first got to know him—but I’m surprised he deduced that’s the reason why I haven’t been in a serious relationship.

“A loss like that changes everything, and you not having a relationship wouldn’t be a bad thing regardless of your circumstances.

Look at me. I had a long-term, serious relationship with a man who turned out to be evil incarnate, so maybe you’re better off? ”

A tiny snort leaves me at that.

“That’s a good point,” I mumble. “Anyway, I just don’t have that experience, so I’m not quite sure how to act like I’m part of a couple.”

“Well, let me explain something that I think will help you.”

“What is it?”

“I met Dirk when I was eighteen.” That’s not the direction I thought this was going, but I keep my mouth shut and listen intently.

“We started at Juilliard at the same time and he took an interest in me.” He shrugs like it couldn’t be helped, like attention was all he needed.

“I’d never had a friend my age... or otherwise, really.

I never went to a regular school, so it was nice having someone to talk to and someone who seemed to want to know everything about me.

Two years after we met he kissed me. I’d started to feel attracted to him way before but couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.

“In any case, we became a couple. He was trying to make it on Broadway when I decided to go to Harvard, and after a few months he moved to Boston since things weren’t working out here for him.

He found work in a few different productions there over the years.

He was my world, and I thought everything was fine.

I was in the middle of my PhD, doing my best to keep the research going and getting grants to expand it, when I came home to find him fucking another man. ”

A growl leaves me but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear it. He’s lost in the story.

“I kicked him out that day, and then my father called Dirk to remind him of the NDA they made him sign when we became a couple.”

“That was smart,” I point out.

“I guess it was.” He shrugs again. “My parents never liked him, but I only realized that after... after. The point I’m trying to make is, we should’ve been in a place in our relationship where trust and love were a given, but they weren’t.

I suspect now that he targeted me from the start just to try to get ahead in the industry.

He said things that alluded to that during our last fight?—”

“And at the restaurant yesterday,” I interrupt him.

“Yeah...” That’s all he says for a long moment, but then he inhales sharply.

“So every couple is different. You can act with me whichever way you want as long as you’re confident next to me.

Act like you’re comfortable, you know? That’s something I’ve always noticed couples look like when they’re together.

The one thing that will make Dirk realize I love you, is if I let you touch me, and. .. if I touch you.”

“Wha-what do you mean?” I can’t help but stutter, nerves getting the best of me. This right here is really out of my comfort zone.

“I’m not a tactile person by any means, but with Dirk I used to be.

With people I love ,” he emphasizes. “Those people, I always have to be touching. It can just be holding hands, or having an arm around your waist, but yeah, that’s something I’ve only ever done with him, and if he sees me do it with you, then he’ll know it’s true. ”

“Okaay,” I say, drawing out the word. I close my eyes for a second and breathe deeply to remind myself of who I truly am.

I might be straight, but all my friends aren’t.

They’ve never been overly affectionate with me, though.

Not because I’m not queer, I know that’s not something they would single me out for, but because I’m well.

.. very British in that sense, I suppose. It’s just not the way I am.

But this act I’m going to put on will not only be of someone who’s attracted to other men, but also of someone completely devoted and protective of Liam.

I already feel protective of him.

Faking the rest shouldn’t be so hard now, should it?

When I open my eyes, I’m faced with the full force of Liam’s bright blue eyes.

I swear they’re almost hypnotizing, but nothing could make me forget what needs to happen now.

“I’ve not held a man’s hand or hugged him for a long time. Not since I was a kid at least, and my Dad would hold my hand when we walked.”

“If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him with as much certainty as I’m able to muster. “It’s just, I’ve never been the hugging sort, you know?”

“I think I do,” he murmurs, still looking right at me. “My dad’s father also never hugs anyone, so maybe it’s a British thing?”

“We definitely wouldn’t be described as being open about our affections.” I snort forcibly, trying to bring some levity to the situation so my damn nerves will settle down. But they won’t, and I know I just have to get this over with. “Okay, come on.” I gesture with my hand and stand.

He does too, right in front of me, less than a foot away, facing me.

I take a step and breathe slowly again. He’s barely an inch taller than me, probably the same height if you count my hair which always stands up straight.

I look down and offer him my hand palm up.

“Hold my hand,” I whisper.

Slowly, really slowly, he lifts his left hand and places it palm to palm with mine. The contrast of our skin distracts me for a moment, creamy white against caramel brown, looks like the little figures some baristas paint with foam on coffees. Then I focus on how it feels.

Soft, warm, strong.

Those are all, at the same time, words I’d use to describe Liam, so I guess that makes sense.

I lift my other hand between us and we repeat the process with me looking down. Once I know I’m not going to freak out, I look up to check if he’s freaking out.

He’s looking right at me, breaths even, not even frowning that much.

Those damn eyes, they’re so pretty.

“I think we should hug now,” I whisper, not wanting to spook him. This has to be hard for him too, I realize, and that helps me relax just a tiny bit.

“Okay.” He nods .

“Take your time, and if you want to stop, we stop.” He has to be the one to do this, to touch me and get used to me. I might be a bit frigid, but I don’t really have a problem if someone hugs me for a short amount of time to greet me.

That’s not the case for Liam, so I’m giving him the reins and letting him get used to... me.

Liam barely smiles, but it’s there. Then he’s focusing fully on his hands.

Again, slowly, his hands trail from my palms to my wrists, up my forearms to my biceps and shoulders, then down my back until he stops waist high, both his hands splayed across my back. Every millimeter of movement is precise, and this time he does put me in a type of trance.

He’s hugging me but with us still staring at each other.

It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or even an hour, I can’t know.

What I do know is that when I hear the front door open and then a lot of voices inside the house, it feels like I just plunged into the arctic sea.

“Carter?” I hear CJ’s obnoxiously loud voice.

I stumble back from Liam’s embrace with a jolt.