Liam

 

It’s ten at night; I’ve been up since three this morning, and I should be following Guinness’s example and sleeping, but I’m wide awake.

Staring at the dark ceiling.

Thinking about the afternoon.

After I walked Kensley and her girls to the car, after I watched Kensley buckle them in and close their doors, I stood with her at the trunk, holding both of her hands.

Told her I had a good time and thanked her for coming out.

I’d so badly wanted to kiss her, take her lips with mine, but I recognized her walls.

She wasn’t ready.

And if I was, if I was planning on doing the whole shebang, I was going to have to let her get ready.

If that meant she never was, well, that was something I’d have to come to terms with.

Eventually.

Right now, though?

Right now, I can’t stop thinking about her.

About lunch.

About her girls.

Fuck it.

I blindly reach for my phone on its charging plate and open Facebook. I start typing her name in the search bar, and by the first ‘e’ her name pops up.

Do I friend request her?

Send her a message and hope she sees it?

What’s the correct way to go about this?

Because using the phone number I…borrowed…from the station isn’t exactly the way to go about things.

Friend, then message.

Message, then friend?

Which first?

Which should I do?

Friend request.

Nodding, I hit the button, fighting the momentary panic that says, “Cancel, you dumb ass.”

But I don’t.

I let that friend request sit.

The moment I close the app and replace my phone on the plate, the phone jars in notification.

Probably something to do with the station, so I let it sit.

I don’t have to be Liam Hardt, radio personality, until at least Sunday night, prepping for Monday morning.

But then a second notification comes in.

Now I’m just curious.

And a little annoyed I didn’t think to turn off the sound on my phone.

I pick it up again and unlock the screen, but before I can open my notifications bar, another pings through—this one with a Messenger preview.

My eyes immediately focus on the profile picture.

Kensley.

I probably have the sappiest grin on my face right now, and I don’t give a damn.

I open the message and see that all three notifications were from her.

Hey.

Followed by, Sorry. I didn’t mean to send that. Not then anyway. I wanted to thank you again for today. For all of it. Sawyer hasn’t stopped talking about you, and I know she’s talking about you because when I asked who ‘him’ was she got frustrated. Not ‘him’ but ‘Liam’. You’re a natural. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong and then I meet people like you who can do it so easily. Anyway. We go to the park every Saturday at two. Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.

The last message had me laughing, causing Guinness to startle awake and stare at me in the dark. More like, glare...for waking him up. Hey now.  Dog knows better than to sleep in my bed but…

It isn’t like I’m enforcing the rule.

Shoot, she wrote. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m so sorry if I woke you up. Three times.

First, my very male thought was she could wake me up as many times as she wanted. But I wasn’t going to tell her that. Not now.

The little green light shows she’s still online though, and I want to tell her something.

The bro-code thing to do is let this sit overnight; respond in the morning at the very earliest.

I’m over the douche bro thing though.

I was still awake but you can wake me up anytime ;) I had a good time. Thank you for agreeing. Guinness and I usually run around that time. I’ll be sure he stays close by tomorrow. Would hate to ruin what little leeway I made with London.

I read it over after sending it, groaning when I see that I indeed did tell her she could wake me up whenever. So much for playing it easy and without innuendos.

Under my message, the ‘sent by Liam’ turns to ‘seen’ with the tiny circle containing Kensley’s picture, moved next to the message. Not much later, the bubbles appear on her side of the screen. I roll to my side, keeping my phone in front of me.

The bubbles stop.

Then her green light goes away.

Oh, hell no.

Shit.

Why didn’t I ask for her number?

I roll to my back and suck my lips in between my teeth.

But I have her number.

I have it, and…

I blow a breath out, puffing my cheeks out to capacity in the process.

Leave it alone, Liam. Leave it…

Maybe one of the girls woke up. Yeah. That could have been the reason.

But to go from typing, to gone?

That sounded more like someone who was going to say something, stopped, and turned it all off to avoid going through with it.

Besides.

Say I did call her.

Who was to say she’d pick up? There wasn’t some rule that said she had to.

It was ten at night.

She wouldn’t pick up.

Then what would I do? Leave a message that said, “Yeah, I stole your number from the station.”

I shouldn’t do it.

I shouldn’t.

…It’s only a matter of seconds before the phone is ringing in my ear.

I have zero willpower when it comes to this woman.

I’m staring at the ceiling again, counting the rings.

It’s only the middle of the third that she picks up.

“Hi.” Her voice is soft and almost spoken on a whisper.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You’re not going to ask how I have your number?” I shouldn’t have said it, but I really don’t want anything between us. That’s how far gone I am with this girl.

“You probably stole it from the radio station.” She sounds like she’s smiling though, so that’s good, right?

“I’m sorry. It’s probably against every radio protocol—”

“I’ll forgive you. This time.”

We’re both quiet for what feels like a minute but probably isn’t that long at all.

“What were you typing?”

“I wasn—”

I grin crookedly. “Don’t lie to me, Kensley.”

She sighs, and I hear movement. Where is she? Is she in bed too?

How does she sleep? With kids, I’m sure she isn’t a nude sleeper—the thought kind of disappoints me—but is she a pants and shirt girl? Nightgown?

I could honestly see her in either.

Her small baby belly protruding against the cotton of her shirt, or the silk of her gown…

I’m getting hard over the thought.

I lift my knee and shift my hips, readjusting myself without my hands.

It’s no use though, because her voice, the soft way she speaks into the phone, is causing all the blood to rush to my cock. “I was going to thank you again.”

“Again? Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who says ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ for everything?” I tease, releasing my knee and stretching my legs out, trying to relieve the tension through my quads.

“No, not for the girls. For me.”

“For lunch? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted to spend the time with you,” I say, a little confused.

“No, no. I don’t…” I can hear her getting flustered. Or maybe it’s embarrassment. “For not saying anything really, when I mentioned Mark and the girls.”

“He’s their dad.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t really act like it.”

“It’s not my place to say anything,” I say softly.

“I know, but…” Her sigh is heavy. “It’s silly. I have this need to tell you things, and you probably don’t want—”

“Kens?”

She pauses a moment. “Yeah?”

“I want to know whatever you have to tell me.”

“You just met me,” she whispers again, and this time it’s clearly the unsure whisper.

“I could say that I have a sister and am a pro at listening to women, but that’s only a partial truth. I want to listen to you, Kensley.” I let that sink in for a moment before adding, “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

“So you say now.”

Lady has trust issues but from what I know? Can’t say I blame her.

“How about this. Let’s make a compromise,” I offer. When she doesn’t say anything, I continue, “Let’s do this a day at a time. Saturday, tomorrow…I’ll meet you and the girls at the park. I’ll have Guinness, which will hopefully make London happy.”

“She likes you,” Kensley interrupts and I grin.

“It took some time.”

“It’s wasn’t you, it was—”

“The Mark thing. I know, Kens. Someday, you’ll be comfortable talking to me about all of it.”

“I want to, I just think it’s too much, too soon.”

“You keep interrupting me,” I joke.

“I’m sorry.”

“Never sorry, Kensley. I was joking. So, we do Saturdays.”

“Every Saturday?”

I don’t even tease about the interruption. “As many Saturdays as you’ll have me. And anytime you want to talk to me… Any. Time, Kensley. Six o’clock in the morning or two o’clock in the morning, you can call me.”

“I won’t call you at two!”

“I’m usually waking up at two for the station.”

“God, how do you function?’

“Coffee. A lot of coffee.”

She laughs but sobers quickly. “Do you only do the show during the week? Like, I’m not keeping you awake when you have to wake up in four, three and a half, hours, am I?”

“No, I don’t work in the morning, but even if you were keeping me up, I would not care. I promise you that.”

“You say that now.” There’s jest in her tone, but there’s also hesitation. What the hell did Mark do to her?

“I’ll mean it then,” I promise.

“Alright. Well, I guess I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you for messaging me,” I tell her, meaning it.

“Thank you for…everything. Again.” There’s a smile in her voice again, so I’ll take the thanks.

“Good night, Kens.”

“Good night, Liam.”