Page 17

“Is there a bar around here?” I asked the driver, pulling cash from my wallet.

He pointed across the street. “Beer’s good, but don’t eat anything.” Right.

The smell of the pub when I walked in told me they never mopped the floors. The man behind the bar looked like he was pushing ninety, so I didn’t hold it against him. I slid onto a stool, and he dropped a coaster on the bar top.

“And what’ll you be havin’?” he said with a brogue I’d recognize anywhere. His accent was slightly different—maybe a Dubliner—but it plowed into me regardless. I laughed to myself. Are you there, Dad? It’s me, Liam. I swallowed the emotion down and smiled at him.

“Ah sure, I’ll have whatever you think is best,” I said, leaning into my father’s cadence like I always did whenever I spent quality time with my parents. It made the old man chuckle.

“Yer mam or yer da, lad?” he asked when he put a Guinness down in front of me.

“Both, actually, but my mom’s still alive and well,” I said, smiling now. He nodded.

“Anythin’ you needed to hear him say before he went then?”

“No,” I said before taking a sip from the pint. “No, he always said everything I needed to hear.”

I was three beers deep into a story I’d heard Dad tell countless times when Lou stepped through the pub doors with her coat thrown over one arm. She scanned the clientele, no doubt searching for my ass, and I held my beer up to catch her attention. I didn’t go to her. There was something about watching a woman like that come to you that felt satisfying in the most primal way, and if this was all I’d ever get, I was going to take everything.

“Right,” one of the patrons said, chuckling when he saw where I was looking. “I guess we’ll hear the rest another night.” They took turns good-naturedly patting my back as they walked back to their tables, and I gave myself permission to let my eyes wander over her as much as I wanted until she made it across the room.

The satin of her dress was a shade or two lighter than the color of her skin, and it was cut modestly across her chest, just below her collarbone. As she drew nearer, I noticed it was two pieces and spied a sliver of her waist peeking out between them, right where it was the smallest. The skirt flowed over her hips and hit just below her knees, showing off strong calves. As much as I thought I’d memorized her body, I’d never seen this part of her legs.

She was so beautiful it felt almost painful.

Red lips formed a wry smile as she stepped up to my chest, like we were about to dance. She took the pint glass from my hand.

“Are you getting drunk without me, Mr. Hawkins?” she asked before taking a sip and setting it on the bar top beside us. She wiped the side of her bottom lip delicately to avoid smearing her lipstick. I wanted to smear it everywhere. Leave a ring around my cock.

“I didn’t want to rush you.” I shrugged. I licked my lip in the same spot and let my eyes run all over her. “You look like you’re gonna break my heart, Louisa.”

“That’s what they all say,” she quipped. I slid one hand over her hip. Her throat moved and I squeezed.

“There you are!” Has called out. I let my hand drop from her body and stepped back, fist clenching. I felt the bartender track the shift, his gaze lingering on me—steady, sharp. I recognized it instantly and met his eyes. He lifted a shot glass, and I tipped my chin to him before he downed the amber liquid and plopped it rim-down on the bar. Not judgment, exactly, but a warning. He nodded and threw his towel over his shoulder as he shuffled away. I hear you, Dad.

9

Louisa May Ford

New York City, NY

Will

The three of us piled into a taxi and headed to the library where the event was taking place. I had next to no intel on this evening and was surprisingly content to be along for the ride. Lou didn’t strike me as the kind of person I would generally follow, but there was something undeniably compelling about watching her do her thing that quieted the call to order I usually felt.

Her thigh was pressed alongside mine, and she smelled like cinnamon sugar.

“What perfume are you wearing?” My voice was low.

“Lou never remembers to wear perfume,” Has said. “It’s Eau de Churro. She ate a dozen from the food truck down the street when we split up to look for you.” He shot her a teasing look.

“I’m paying the price. My hands are sticky as fuck, you guys,” she giggled.

I caught his eye over her head, full of mirth. I turned toward the window and looked out beyond my smiling reflection for the rest of the drive.

When we arrived, the cocktail hour was already swinging. I didn’t know what I was expecting from an event for foster kids, but it definitely wasn’t this level of glamour. Hasan was similarly baffled and looked to Louisa for an explanation, but she was immediately mobbed by a group of tween girls. We stood back and watched them interact. Too-adult dresses, clumsily applied makeup—they reminded me of my sisters a few years ago. I loved that Louisa spoke to them like peers. It probably meant the world to them.

Hasan threw a big arm around my shoulders and grinned wide for a photographer snapping photos of guests. I had to hand it to him—he looked sharp as hell in his fitted black suit with a floral-patterned shirt and pocket square.