Catching Liam (Good Girls Don't) (11 page)

“The devil?” I offered. She had gotten a booty call from Trevor. I would place money on it.

Cassie winked at me as she typed a quick response. “Something like that. Trevor wants me to come over.”

“Okay.” I tried to keep my tone even like I was totally cool with this, but my heart sank. I hadn’t spent an entire evening with Cassie since she started seeing Trevor last May.

“You should call Liam.” Cassie thrust her hips a few times suggestively.

“Maybe,” I said, laughing her off. “I have some stuff to do anyway.”

“Sure, you don’t mind?” Cassie asked, her eyes still glued to her phone.

“Absolutely.”

She threw her arms around my neck. “Thanks for coming with me, and wish me luck when I show Trevor.”

“He’s going to love it,” I called after her as she practically skipped down the sidewalk toward Elm Street.

My iPhone stayed in my pocket, even when I felt it vibrate. Did being in a relationship mean constantly bailing on my friends for my boyfriend? Jess wasn’t nearly as bad as Cassie, but they’d both done it multiple times in the last few months. It was no big deal if we were somewhere like Garrett’s, but Cassie had made a fuss over spending time together tonight only to dash off the second Trevor called her. Love was like a disease creeping into her and slowly brainwashing her. Spending a little time together, then more and more, until she never saw her friends outside of class—but maybe that was bitterness talking. It was Cassie’s life and as one of my best friends, I needed to respect that. Besides Trevor wouldn’t last forever, regardless of what Cassie thought right now. He had no sticking power, as my MeMa would say. According to MeMa, one person had to have sticking power to make a relationship work, because love wasn’t all picnics and blow jobs. Those were her actual words. I loved MeMa, despite her questionable taste in crocheted decor, because her advice was never lofty or condescending.

I wouldn’t be like that, I promised myself. If MeMa was right about relationships, that meant there should be some boundaries. Having time with my friends was one thing I wasn’t about to give up, not even for Liam or his waffles. I pulled out my iPhone and responded to Liam’s message with a quick: “I’m with friends.”

His response was lightning quick, and I felt a small pang. Was he sitting around hoping I would call him? I hoped not. But all the message said was “Cool. Maybe tomorrow?”

Tomorrow I could commit to.

chapter eighteen

My phone rang as soon as I walked into the apartment. Jess looked up from her textbook and made a kissy face, but when I pulled it from my pocket, the number flashing across the screen wasn’t Liam’s. I’d spent the day floating on Cloud Nine, so trust Tara to sense that from hundred of miles away and ruin my high. I considered not answering it, but I’d avoided most of her calls the last few weeks, which meant I had to give in eventually or risk her wrath.

“Hi Mom,” I said, taking the phone into my room and shutting the door.

“You answered! It’s a miracle.” The tone of her voice said differently.

“I’ve been busy with midterms,” I explained, which was mostly true. I didn’t add that I’d also been caught up in a significant amount of extracurricular activity.

“That’s why I called. Your father and I will be arriving at eleven a.m. sharp on Saturday,” she said. “So make sure you’re caught up with homework by then.”

“Saturday?” I repeated.

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Parents’ Weekend.”

How could I have forgotten that was coming up? My father insisted on coming into town each year for the football games and other festivities, meant to attract alumni and parental donations to the school. It normally wasn’t too bad.

“Bring that boy you’re seeing,” Tara instructed me.

I froze, grateful we were on the phone and she couldn’t see my reaction. “What boy?”

“You know very well what boy,” she said. “Jess mentioned him.”

“She did, huh?” If I came with a warning indicator, it would be blinking red.

“Remember eleven sharp, and don’t dress like a hoochie.”

I hung up before I could ask Tara how a hoochie dressed, just so I could get it right to piss her off. Slamming my door behind me, I trudged into the living room. Jess stared up at me.

“Your mom called me,” she confessed. “I didn’t get a chance to warn you.”

“And you told her about Liam?” I asked, planting my fists on my hips to reinforce the glare I leveled at her.

“I accidentally said ‘I think she’s with Liam.’” Jess chewed on her lip. I knew she was sorry, and I knew it was a mistake, but she certainly hadn’t made my life easier.

“Actually I was with Cassie, getting a tattoo,” I said. I dropped onto the couch beside her and hugged my knees to my chest.

“Hold it,” Jess said. “You got a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I got a huge ‘Loose lips sink ships’ tat on my ass,” I said.

Jess smacked me on the arm. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Cassie got a tattoo. Some picture Trevor drew.”

“Well, there goes their relationship,” Jess said, shaking her head.

“Mine will be over this weekend.”

“What? Why?”

“Parents’ Weekend,” I reminded her. Jess’s parents never bothered coming in, so last year she’d endured four hours of the Nichols family’s two favorite activities: torture and interrogation. Tara should work for a BlackOps devision—she could wear anyone down.

“Oh.” Her response was as small as her voice, confirming my suspicion that last year had been as terrible as I remembered.

“And she wants me to bring Liam,” I added.

“Maybe he could come down with the Plague or something?” Jess suggested.

“Do you have access to the Plague? He’d probably have to be quarantined to keep Tara away.”

“Good point. I do not have access to any pandemics,” she said. “Maybe it will be fine.”

Jess tacked on the last part for me, because I knew she didn’t believe it. I’d gone to college a thousand miles away to get away from Tara. There was a damn good reason for that.

Ever since Tara called to say she would be coming for Parents’ Day, my medications felt like were doing nothing. My hands were weak and I caught myself trembling several times. I’d become practiced enough at calming myself that I could usually handle it, but the thought of Tara sent my nerves into a frenzy. And thanks to Jess, she expected to meet Liam, too. He had been a good sport about the whole thing. He even sounded a little excited, and apparently no amount of forewarning could scare him off from coming along.

If there was one person in the world who would disapprove of me being in a relationship more than myself, it would be my mother. She was such a giver, after all. I’d spent all Friday night cleaning and organizing the apartment. Thanks to Jess’s OCD tendencies, it never got that bad, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to make sure that there was nothing controversial around. I made sure my stash of condoms and my birth control were tucked safely under some papers in my bedside table, knowing Tara would open it the second I wasn’t looking. She was a self-proclaimed snoop, a habit she blamed on me. Since I “refused to tell her about my life,” she apparently had the right to turn my room into a CSI scene.

In the living room, I caught a
Playgirl
, a birthday gag gift from Cassie, tucked in with our
Cosmos
. I even sprayed down the kitchen counters and rewashed my bed sheets, sure she would be able to smell sex all over the place. I lined up my medications facing out in the bathroom cabinet. Tara would check to make sure I was using them. She’d look for any excuse to pull me out of Olympic State and take me home to California.

Liam stayed away per my instructions, but when I opened the door on Saturday morning, I found him standing there, holding a bouquet of daisies. Tara and Dad would be here any minute, but looking at him in a white button-down shirt with carefully combed hair, I had the strongest urge to throw him on the floor and mess up that neat hair and ironed shirt.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for the flowers and trying to keep myself in check. It took considerably more effort than I expected.

Liam caught me around the waist and kissed me slowly. “They’re for your mother, actually.”

“My mom hates daisies,” I said without thinking.

“Oh.” Liam’s face fell and he looked down at the flowers.

“She’s allergic,” I lied. I couldn’t stand to see that look on his face. I hated Tara a little for her stupid flower prejudices.
Only accept expensive flowers from men, or they’ll think you’re cheap, Jillian.
That was her idea of dating advice. “But I love them. Can I put them in water?”

“Of course, chicken.” But before I could take them into the kitchen, his mouth found mine again. I ran my fingers down his chest and hooked them over his belt, tugging at it playfully.

“We might have a few minutes,” I whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said with a groan. “I’d like to make a good impression on your parents, and,” he added in a low voice, “the next time I get you in to bed, I don’t want to rush.”

My breath caught in my throat. Liam had been very carefully tiptoeing around sex since we agreed to slow down. “Is it too late to cancel on my parents?”

A knock on the door answered my door. I whimpered a little. On the list of ways I would rather spend a Saturday than going to Parents’ Day activities was getting beheaded, walking across coals, and being stung by a thousand bees. I couldn’t see a way this wasn’t going to be painful.

Liam released me, squeezing my shoulder as I turned to open the door. It swung open to reveal my parents, who both looked like they were in some stage of constipation.

“Ta…Mom,” I corrected myself immediately, but the flash of annoyance in her eyes showed she heard me. “Mom, Dad.”

There was an awkward hug, full of limp arms and too much space. As soon as they came in, my mother stopped and ran her eyes up and down Liam. He was still holding the inferior daisies, and when neither of my parents spoke, Liam dropped the daisies on the bar and held out his hand.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, it’s nice to meet you.” My father shook his hand and muttered something similar, but my mother just stared at him.

“This is Liam, Mom,” I said, hoping to break her icy stare.

“He’s Scottish,” she said. “You didn’t tell us he was Scottish.”

She might as well have said
He’s a leper. You didn’t tell us he was a leper.

“Liam is studying in America this year,” I explained.

“And how did you meet?”

Apparently, the interrogation was going to proceed immediately. I had hoped they would wait until we were at the stadium or the club. In other words, until we were somewhere public. I was fairly certain I was less likely to kill them in public.

“In class,” Liam said. His lie was smooth. It hadn’t even occurred to me that lying was an option, but it was the perfect story. We could have met in class. We would have met in class. There was no reason to mention that we’d actually met the night before at a bar.

“It’s nice to meet you, Liam.” My mother sounded like it gave her physical pain to utter these words. But now that she’d momentarily paused her interrogations into Liam’s life and motives, she turned on me.

“You look tired, and your hair isn’t behaving. We should get you an appointment at the salon. Have you thought about cutting it?” She spoke so quickly, bombarding me with so many ideas, that my head was already spinning. I took an unsteady step forward to put the daisies in a vase but stumbled. Liam caught me and steadied me.

“Okay, chicken?” he whispered. I gave him an annoyed look, but the concern didn’t vanish from his face.

Tara followed me into the kitchen. “Have you taken your medication?”

“Yes,” I hissed. Her eyes flashed to Liam and back to me, narrowing in the process.

Great, now she knew that I hadn’t told him anything yet. It would be just like to her let it spill before the weekend was over. I felt the familiar rawness of tears creeping up the back of my throat, but I pushed it back. I wasn’t going to let her make me cry. But when I couldn’t find a vase for the flowers, I just felt worse.

Liam was talking football with my dad and didn’t seem to notice Tara grilling me.

“We need to talk about this boy,” she said to me.

“Not now, Tara,” I said, shoving the daisies so roughly into an old Quiktrip cup that I broke some of the stems.

“Mom,” she corrected me.

“Ladies, we should be going,” my father called in to us.

Tara straightened up and ran her hand over her slicked-back hair. It was darker than normal, almost black, so she must have gotten desperate to cover the gray. Despite that, she looked like the essence of the upper-middle-class in her carefully assembled Talbots outfit and pearl earrings. Next to me in my jean skirt and an Olympic State hoodie, she looked like she was going to watch a polo match at the country club. Not that we’d ever belonged to a country club. My mother’s sense of style was heavily influenced by what I liked to call wishful thinking. She came from money. Something that stressed my dad out so much that he’d placed most of her money in a living trust and forced her to live a more middle-class existence. I’d never bothered to ask if I was the beneficiary of the will because, other than to pay for school, I didn’t want her money.

“We really should do something about your hair,” my mother said as Liam held open the door for us.

I turned to lock the door. Liam’s hand softly smacked my butt, and he leaned in once she had redirected her nit-picking at my father. “You look so hot, chicken.”

I couldn’t quite help but smile and since my parents’ backs were turned, I kissed him swiftly. For a split second, I considered forcing Liam back into my apartment. I could just lock my parents out. Eventually, they would have to go home. Liam’s hand cupped my chin and he raised an eyebrow, trying to guess what I was thinking.

A cough startled us apart, and his hand dropped from my face. My parents were both watching us. Dad looked bemused, but Tara was unreadable.

“Are you coming?” she asked. “We’ll never get a parking spot if you two don’t stop necking.”

I tried so hard to smash a laugh that I snorted instead.

“Coming,” I said. I took a step forward, and Liam’s hand tangled into mine. His strong warm hand sent a tingle running up my arm, and the familiar pressure in my chest increased.

The car ride was an awkward five minutes of Mom trying to find a “decent” radio station before she gave up and launched into a tirade about the rental car not having satellite radio. Meanwhile, Liam’s fingers brushed carefully against my thigh in slow, absent-minded strokes. His touch calmed me enough that I was able to ignore Mom’s crazy diatribe.

Because my dad had attended Olympic State, we had access to the alumni parking section as well as a reservation at the Alumni Club where we could watch the game in style. Which meant that at least there would be booze.

My dad had reserved a viewing box. The restaurant was built on one side of the stadium, and the viewing boxes were the best way to watch a football game if you, like me, hated watching football. I could eat and drink. There was alternatively air-conditioning or heat depending on the weather. This would be the first year that I had brought a boy with me though. Cassie and Jess had both done me the honor of attending the most awkward lunch of the year the last two years, but my mother had demanded I bring Liam this year.

Despite her insistence that I bring him, she seemed intent on punishing both of us for his actual presence.

It started with the drinks. As soon as I ordered, she shot me a disapproving look.

“Jillian, darling, you shouldn’t be drinking beer. Don’t you think that’s a bad idea, Liam?” Tara asked him.

“Jillian can make her own decisions.” Liam said it with extra charm, almost as if he’d managed to deepen his accent to sound even more Scottish, which I’m sure pissed her off more.

When my beer arrived, I left it on the table. Tara wasn’t going to let up on this, and I knew it. It was careless of me to order a drink in front of her.

Our table was arranged so that we could watch the game while eating, but the restaurant was abnormally busy given that it was Parents’ Day. Conversation lulled between Tara and I while the guys discussed today’s starting line-up, but as soon as salads arrived, Tara dug her claws into Liam.

“What are you studying while you’re here?” she asked as he lifted a bite to his mouth.

Liam set down his fork and folded his hands on the table as though he knew he might as well give up on food now. “General studies for the year. Coming to America was more about the experience.”