He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Read online

  “Too bad that can’t happen to men in real life,” I muttered.

  Laura shot me a look, but soon we were overtaken by the rest of the wedding party. Jenna and Sam hadn’t skimped one bit on this wedding: each had ten attendants, and apparently there were close to three hundred guests.

  Sam’s family came from money—something to do with creating the first mechanical litter box—and this was the most extravagant wedding I’d ever attended. The thought that a box that scooped cat poop had financed this Vegas wedding never failed to make me giggle.

  Soon we were seated for dinner, the groomsmen and bridesmaids sitting next to each other. I was next to Jenna, who sat at one end of the table; across from me was Sam’s college roommate, Mac. Mac was charming and, according to him, “gayer than rainbow sherbet with rainbow sprinkles on top.”

  To my left was an empty chair—apparently the best man had yet to show up. I’d never met him, but according to Jenna he’d been Sam’s best friend since they’d been kids.

  It didn’t matter, though. I wasn’t here to sleep with a groomsman. I mostly wanted to forget that I was supposed to already be married by now. I’d almost thought about telling Jenna I didn’t want to come, but she’d asked me to be her maid of honor for a reason. I couldn’t flake just because David had broken my heart, stomped on it, and then ground it up in the food processor he’d bought on sale at Kohl’s last Christmas.

  Mac and Jenna chatted while I popped olives into my mouth, watching water drip from the naked ice sculpture. Currently, the statue’s butt was dripping water, as if his cheeks were sweating from the desert heat.

  “Is that statue’s arse melting?” said a voice over my shoulder.

  “Liam! You’re here!” Jenna launched from her chair, a little unsteady already from her wine consumption, and waved to Sam. “Look who finally showed up!”

  To my annoyance, Liam wasn’t some troll like I’d hoped: he was handsome. His features included a sharp jaw, dark hair, and wide shoulders.

  I was glad, in a shallow way, that I’d worn my favorite dress—a black number that showed off my legs and shoulders—and had done my sultry, violet makeup look that made my green eyes pop.

  Makeup had always been a creative outlet for me since I was a teenager, and I wasn’t above using it to my advantage. In this case, I wanted to feel like I was on the same playing field as this godlike, male specimen. Makeup was like a suit of armor: it could cover up my flaws and vulnerability and transform me into a different, stronger person. Or at least a more attractive one.

  Once upon a time, I’d wanted to become a makeup artist, but I’d put that dream aside. I preferred practicality over dreams. It was always the safer bet.

  “Liam, you’ll be right here. Mari, this is Liam. She’s the maid of honor,” said Sam after he and Liam had hugged.

  “Pleasure,” Liam drawled as he took my hand. His grip was firm, his hand much bigger than mine. He was so big, yet somehow managed to move with surprising grace as he pulled out his chair and sat next to me.

  “I know you probably would’ve liked to sit by Sam, but we wanted everyone to talk to someone they didn’t know,” said Jenna in a rush.

  Liam slanted me a glance. “It’s not a problem.”

  Not only was he handsome, but his voice was tinged with an accent that I wish didn’t make me melt. But I was human, female, and American. God knows we love a good accent.

  And now I was supposed to talk to Liam? I was supposed to chat with Mac. Not this man who was clearly not married and not gay, based on the way his gaze raked me. Although I wore a dress that hardly showed any cleavage, he looked at me like I had my breasts out on the table for everyone to see.

  I wished I was still engaged. That always made men leave me alone. It was like I’d had a sign on that said “property of another man.” It was archaic and vaguely insulting, yet I wished for that protection right now. I was exposed. I was in a place of limbo in my life. And I was very, very unattached.

  You want Liam to see you as attractive, but not too attractive? I thought. Yes, I’d admit that sometimes the most confusing person I knew was myself.

  But I also couldn’t be blatantly rude, so I said, “Do you live in Seattle, too?”

  “For the moment,” was his bland answer.

  “I grew up there. I’ve never lived anywhere else. It’s a great place to raise a family.” I was chattering. Blushing, I forced myself to stop talking.

  I was grateful when the first course arrived. I could focus on the scallops, not on the man to my left.

  Liam’s elbow brushed mine as he began to eat, which was the usual hazard when you were left-handed like me. Yet instead of feeling annoyed at the contact, I felt…excited. Get it together, Mari. Are you seriously getting turned on brushing elbows with a guy?

  “You’re left-handed?” said Liam.

  “What?”

  He looked at me holding my fork. “Switch seats with me.”

  “Oh, it’s fine—”

  “Switch.” He pulled out my chair, and I could’ve sworn his fingers brushed my shoulder. On purpose? Or an accident?

  “Oh, Mari, I forgot. I’m sorry,” said Jenna.

  “It’s fine.” Liam handed me my wineglass, our fingers definitely brushing. His smile was slow and knowing, like he knew how easily he could get a woman to toss her panties in his direction. Like I needed to throw my underwear at any man’s head right now.

  “So, Mari was it? Tell me about yourself,” said Liam.

  He rolled the r in my name, making it sound more exotic than it was.

  I considered the question. “Like I said, I’m from Seattle. I work as a technical writer. That’s about it.”

  “That’s it? You don’t do anything for fun?”

  “I’m too busy to have fun these days.”

  He looked me up and down. “That’s a damn shame, then.”

  “Thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you always insult people you’ve just met?”

  He smiled, his teeth flashing. “Are you always so uptight?”

  “Now you’re just being rude.”

  “I prefer to say I’m honest. Besides, I doubt you’re telling the truth. I’m sure you do fun things sometimes. You just won’t tell me.”

  “No, I never have fun. Ever. I’m normal and boring and not worth talking to.”

  He chuckled, the sound dry and raspy. “I doubt that. I’ve never met a redhead who was any of those things.”

  I snorted. I’d always resisted the idea that since my hair was red, then I should be feisty and fiery and all number of things that didn’t describe me at all. I was serene, capable. Level-headed. I sorted my books by genre and then by author. I always made my bed in the morning. I never left dirty dishes in the sink. An orderly life was a happy life.

  “How about you, then? You’re obviously not from around here,” I said after our plates had been removed for the next course.

  “How about you guess where you think I’m from.”

  “The sixth level of hell,” I deadpanned.

  “My Catholic grandmama would agree, but I prefer the second level.”

  I remembered enough Dante from college to know which level that one was for: lust. The sixth was for heresy. I rolled my eyes. “Of course you would.”

  “I didn’t grow up in hell, but close enough,” said Liam, his accent lengthening. “I grew up in Ireland. Near Dublin, but I moved to the States when I was twenty.”

  So that was where his accent was from—no wonder I hadn’t been able to place it. Sometimes it sounded pure Irish like right now, while other times it sounded almost American. I wondered if he tried to suppress his Irish accent just to avoid the inevitable where are you from questions. Which I’d just asked, I thought in dismay.

  “I’d love to go to Ireland,” I said. “I’ve never been out of the country. I was going to go to Paris this spring, but—” I could’ve bitten my tongue in half right then. I’d been planning a trip to Paris with David.

/>   “But?” Liam prompted.

  “Does it matter? It’s not happening now.”

  “Don’t get your feathers ruffled. It was only a simple question.”

  “My feathers have nothing to do with you.”

  Liam tipped his beer back, and I couldn’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He even managed to drink beer suavely. Why couldn’t he have the manners of a chimpanzee on a bender?

  “So uptight,” he said. His eyes sparkled. “I wonder what would happen if somebody could get you to unwind for once.”

  “Liam,” interrupted Jenna, “we’re so glad you were able to be Sam’s best man. He didn’t think you’d agree, but I knew that once I talked to you, you couldn’t say no.” Jenna looked toward me. “Liam hates weddings.” Her eyes widened, like he’d told her he ran over puppies for fun.

  “What do you have against weddings?” I said.

  “What’s the point of spending money on something that’ll end within five years? Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

  “Wow, what a chip you have on your shoulder. How do you manage to walk around when it probably weighs five hundred pounds?”

  Jenna clucked her tongue. “Mari, you won’t convince him. He thinks love and romance and weddings are stupid. He’s only here because Sam and I made him.”

  Strangely enough, despite David’s betrayal, I still believed in love and romance and weddings. I still wanted all three. I didn’t know if I’d ever get them now, though. I didn’t know if I could let myself be vulnerable like that again. Maybe twenty years in the future. I’d enjoy the spinster life for now. I could get a cat or ten to keep me company. Really put in effort to be a true spinster.

  I shot Liam a look, assessing him now that I knew one of his hang-ups. “So do you think love is just a fantasy?”

  “Fantasy, hormones, load of bullshit. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “You don’t love anyone, then?”

  He just shrugged.

  “No one. Not even Sam?”

  “I’m not in love with the groom, no.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You can love someone platonically. You mean you don’t love your parents, or your friends, or—”

  “What’s with the inquisition? You’re upset about something that has nothing to do with you.”

  Liam’s cold, dead heart had nothing to do with me—he was right about that.

  I was about to say as much when the ice sculpture began to collapse from the heat of the chandelier right above it.

  The statue’s butt had been melting and dripping onto a metal pan, sounding like faint rain, when suddenly, one of the statue’s ankles gave way.

  “Man down!” Mac hollered.

  Liam jumped up only a second before the statue would’ve crashed into Laura’s plate of mushroom risotto on the other side of me. Bridesmaids screamed; groomsmen swore. Liam caught the statue like it was a baby just in the nick of time, his jacket and shirt getting instantly soaked.

  In the melee, a few glasses had been knocked over, and Jenna’s mom had swooned at the end of the table. Waitstaff and employees hurried around us and apologized profusely.

  “Will you take this damned thing?” growled Liam, still cradling the dripping statue.

  “Of course, sir, so sorry, sir, this has never happened before, sir.” A harried waiter took the statue, glanced in two different directions, and apparently decided to go into the kitchen with it.

  In Liam’s hand, though, was a piece of ice. A rather cylindrical piece that looked almost like—

  “Oh my God.” I said.

  Liam held it up. “I’m holding a fucking cock, aren’t I?”

  “Looks like it.” I was wheezing now.

  Mac had come around to our side of the table. He slapped Liam on the shoulder as he passed us by. “Welcome to the club, my man.”

  Chapter Three

  Liam

  I hadn’t planned to sleep with any women at Sam’s wedding. Bridesmaids weren’t my kink. They usually had their minds on marriage and had a bit of a chip on their shoulder because of the whole always a bridesmaid, never a bride bullshite.

  The last time I’d fucked a bridesmaid she’d got drunk afterward and had cried over how her eight-year relationship with her boyfriend had ended and she’d die an old maid.

  Nah, that wasn’t my speed. Besides, it was the twenty-first century. Who gave a shite if they were married or not? You didn’t need to put a ring on someone’s finger to get awesome, sweaty sex with a willing partner.

  I hadn’t had awesome, sweaty sex in… I winced inwardly as I began to swim the next lap in the hotel pool. Way too fucking long. Three months, if I were being honest. My photography business had blown up. Which was great for my bank account, but not great for picking up chicks.

  Right now I lived in Seattle, but I was dying to get the hell out of Dodge. I’d lived in so many places—Dublin, Los Angeles, Atlanta, London, and now Seattle—that it felt strange to live in one place for more than one, maybe two, years.

  Cities got stale. People got stale. Nothing about being tied down appealed to my wanderlust soul. The only reason I hadn’t left Seattle sooner was that my little sister, Niamh, lived with our aunt and uncle in Olympia, two hours west of Seattle.

  My sister was the one person who could get me to stick around. Once she turned eighteen and received her inheritance from our judgmental, conservative arse of a grandfather and started college, I wouldn’t have to stick around. She’d be an adult on her own.

  I’d always taken care of Niamh, even after she’d gone to live with our aunt and uncle.

  I kicked off the wall, letting the warm water flow around me. I’d loved to swim ever since I was a kid living outside Dublin. I’d go to the community pool with Niamh every day during the summer, our mom always busy or not around. She always had to wear those bright orange floaties at the pool. She’d scream and cry when she’d first get into the pool, but she’d quickly ended up loving it.

  Da had still been alive then. That first summer Niamh ever swam was the last one Da would be around for.

  It was also only back in Ireland that people knew how to pronounce Niamh’s name. Here in the States? Apparently that was too much to ask. I could hear Niamh in my mind saying to some stranger, “It’s pronounced Neev,” and then rolling her eyes when that person still mispronounced her name five minutes later.

  I came up for air, slicking my hair back. It was late—close to midnight. After the dinner tonight, I’d needed a breather from the wedding talk.

  Then again, maybe I needed a second to cool off from meeting the one bridesmaid I’d be willing to fuck senseless.

  Mari. It was too plain a name for someone as vibrant as her. Red hair, red lips. That dress she’d been wearing had been smoking hot. When she’d stood up after that statue fiasco, I’d also realized how tall she was. Slender legs that just begged to be wrapped around my waist.

  As if I conjured her from my thoughts, Mari appeared. She came toward the pool, wearing a blue cover-up that failed to hide the string bikini underneath. Damn, she’d been hiding a body that was made for wet dreams under her dress tonight.

  She stopped in surprise when she spotted me.

  “You,” she said accusingly. She crossed her arms across her chest. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you Americans say? ‘It’s a free country?'” I waved an arm. “Unless you’re going to tell me the Irish have been banned from swimming in the hotel pool.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. It’s late, so I didn’t think anyone would be here.” She turned to leave, but for some stupid reason I didn’t want her to. I lifted myself out of the pool, water streaming off of me. I couldn’t help but grin when she eye-fucked me as I walked toward her.

  Yeah, sue me. I wasn’t against using this body of mine to get women to notice me. Women might act like looks didn’t matter, but their own bodies betrayed them. Based on the way Mari’s pupils had expa
nded, she wasn’t immune to me.

  Game, set, match.

  If I didn’t have Mari under me tonight, then I’d completely lost my touch.

  So much for not sleeping with one of the bridesmaids, I thought.

  “Why should you leave? You came here to swim. Or to get in the hot tub,” I said.

  She swallowed. “It’s late,” she repeated.

  “Not that late. Besides, you’re in Vegas. Time doesn’t matter.”

  “How existential of you.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I raked my gaze down her body until I reached her toenails that were painted purple. I couldn’t help but imagine what she’d look like behind the lens of my camera. Her skin peachy pink, her hair that deep red. Would she look at me like she was now, with a combination of wariness and lust? My body stirred at the thought, but I tamped it down.

  As if something turned on inside her, Mari stepped back and walked around me. “I’m going for a swim,” she said, so primly that I had the ridiculous desire to pull on her ponytail just to get a rise out of her.

  “I’ll race you.”

  She snorted. “Seriously?”

  I waited for her to put on her swim cap and goggles. The combination of her bug eyes and bald head was almost enough to kill my horniness. Until she pulled off her swim cover-up to reveal that tiny bikini she was wearing.

  I let out a whistle.

  “Did you just wolf whistle?” she accused as she got into the pool next to me.

  “Just appreciating what I see. Although the cap and goggles ain’t too sexy, babe.”

  She gasped. “I’m no longer sexy to you? How shall I ever recover?”

  I wanted to spank her for being such a smart-ass, but soon I was too caught up in winning this impromptu race with her. We soon agreed on ten laps.

  The race began. She could swim, that was for sure. I hadn’t expected her to be so fast. Her body was long and lean, and she gave as good as she got. By midway, she was ahead of me by one lap. When she turned, she flashed me a sassy grin and then dove below the surface again.

  I pushed myself harder. Soon I’d caught up with her. By the last lap, we were neck and neck. My muscles screamed at me. My heart pounded.