The Ending I Want
Page 9I wind my arms around his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair. It’s softer than I expected.
Liam’s hands leave my hair and move down my body. Finding my ass, he grabs it and lifts me. My legs come up around his waist.
And, now, his impressive erection is pressed right up against my aching clit. Only our stupid clothes are in the way.
I want more. I want all of him.
There’s a solid knock on the door behind me, frightening the shit out of me.
“Jesus Christ!” I jump.
Liam chuckles. His mouth still against mine, his lips brush over mine as he speaks, “It’ll be Paul with our luggage.”
“I’m guessing he needs to come in?” I stare into his eyes.
“Yeah.” That’s all he says, but he doesn’t move.
I don’t want to move either, but we can’t leave Paul out there all night.
“Okay, well, you let Paul in, and I’ll go freshen up.”
With some reluctance, I notice, he lets me down to my feet. “Guest bathroom is down the hall, second door on your left,” he tells me.
I slip off my shoes, not wanting to walk across his nice hardwood floors in them, and then I retrieve my bag from the floor. Hanging my bag off my shoulder, I pad barefoot across the living room and down the hallway to the bathroom, my legs shaking the whole time.
I let myself into a plush bathroom and lock the door behind me. I put my bag on the vanity counter and stare at myself in the mirror.
My hair is all mussed up from Liam’s hands being in it, and my cheeks are flushed.
I can’t believe I’m here, doing this.
Crazy but amazing.
Well, I wanted to live before I died. Do those things on my list.
Tonight is the start of that.
I feel the rumble of it coming before it hits. I should have expected it. All that traveling, it was inevitable.
The pain strikes me hard. I clutch my head in my hands, crying out. I have to bite my lip to stop from being too noisy. I don’t want Liam to hear.
It feels like my head is splitting open.
Then, the nausea hits.
I make it to the toilet just in time before I throw up the contents of my stomach.
Arm on the edge of the toilet, I rest my head against it, praying for the pain to pass soon.
Please stop. Please stop.
But this is the price I have to pay for all I’ve done. The price I pay to be able to die.
As soon as I feel able to stand, I get up and get my pain pills from my bag. I shake two out and swallow them down with water from the faucet.
I’m sweaty, and I have vomit breath. Great.
Then, I decide to take a quick shower. Tying my hair back into a ponytail, so not to get it wet, I turn the shower on and wash my body, using the shower gel in there.
Having the shower makes me feel a lot better.
I grab a towel from the rack and dry off. I get out the clothes that I packed in my carry-on—clean panties, bra, leggings and tank top—and dress in them. Not exactly seductive clothing, but it’s slightly better than the yoga pants and T-shirt I was wearing.
I decide to leave my hair in a ponytail. I put my dirty clothes away in my bag, hang it on my shoulder and let myself out of the bathroom, heading back to Liam in the living room.
He’s not there, but my suitcase is. It’s sitting by the front door.
“Liam?” I call out.
“I’m in the kitchen.”
Having no clue where the kitchen is, I head in the direction of where I heard his voice coming from.
I easily find the kitchen. It’s really nice with glossy black cupboards and work surfaces.
Liam is in there, his back to me, standing at the stove, wearing a T-shirt and running pants. His hair looks damp. He must’ve had a shower, too.
“I took a shower,” I tell him. “I was feeling gross after the flight. Hope that was okay.”
He smiles at me from over his shoulder. “No problem at all. I thought you might be hungry, so I made food—chicken stir-fry. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
He cooked.
“No.” I smile. I’m not actually hungry after the headache and vomiting, but he went to the trouble, and I don’t want to seem rude.
I walk over and sit up on one of the stools. I watch while Liam dishes the stir-fry into two bowls. He brings them over, putting one in front of me. Then, he gets two forks from a drawer and hands one to me.
“This looks really good,” I tell him. And it does. Smells good, too. My stomach rumbles in appreciation, which surprises me, as I normally struggle to eat after I’ve had an episode.
“Do you want something to drink?” Liam asks me.
“Water would be great.”
He goes over to the refrigerator and gets two bottles of water. Taking the seat beside me, he hands me one of the bottles.
“Thanks.” I unscrew the cap and have a drink. I put the water down and start in on my stir-fry. “This is really good,” I tell him around my first mouthful.
“I’m glad you like it.” He smiles over at me.
“You like to cook?”
“I do.” He nods. “I just don’t get a lot of time to do it.”
“You should make more time. You’re really good.”
“Wish I could, but work takes precedence. I find it hard to delegate. So, cooking, like everything else, goes by the wayside.”
“But you make time to pick up strange women on airplanes and bring them back to your place?” I raise my brow, smiling.