Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(34)

As I head toward the lake, “I’m Too Sexy” blares out of my phone, and even before I answer it I’m smiling.

“Madam Elissa’s House of Snark. How may I help you?”

“Move to L.A. Right the fuck now,” Josh says.

“Certainly, sir. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Don’t mess with me, woman. I’m homesick, and haven’t been laid in over a week. I’m in a very vulnerable place right now. What are you doing?”

“Walking through Central Park. Heading to my reading tree.”

“You back home for the weekend?”

“Yeah. I had a few days off in between Grove shows, so I’ve come home to recharge.” I reach my reading tree near the lake and drop my bag on the grass before sitting. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to talk to my bestie. How’s your love life? Found anyone interesting at The Grove?”

I lean back against the tree and stretch my legs out in front of me. “Nope.”

“Aw, come on. It’s an arts college. There has to be a decent quotient of hot men.”

I pick at the grass. “Oh, there are lots of hot men, but it’s a drama school. It’s full of damn actors.”

“Okay, then branch out. There are also musicians and artists, right? Find a hot rock god. Or a sensitive painter. I know for damn sure you could get a date with anyone you liked if you just tried. At least have some meaningless sex. You’re wasting your college experience.”

The thing is, as much as I’d like to use sex to blow off steam, I’m just not interested in any of the guys at The Grove. I’m only interested in the man who’s closer to Josh than he is to me.

Josh clears his throat. “Aaaand we’ve reached the part of our conversation where I mention sex, and you go quiet so you can daydream about Liam Quinn.”

God, am I that predictable? “Sorry, Josh.”

“Don’t be. It’s just crappy he’s here instead of there. Did you see him in the latest Coke ad?”

“Yeah. It’s hard not to see him.” Shirt off, body glistening with water. A perfect-boobed blonde hanging off his arm as he smiles and embodies a man loving his life.

It makes me so jealous, I have to change the channel whenever it comes on.

“At least he’s getting work out here,” Josh says.

“Of course he is. He’s a casting agent’s wet dream.”

Josh pauses for a few seconds, then says, “You know, if you came out here to visit me, you could also see Quinn. I hate saying that because the risk is you’d fall into bed with him and not have time for me, but still. It’s a thought. I predict that if you and him were in the same city, your no-sex embargo would vanish in a puff of very horny smoke. Might do you some good.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. God, what a thought. Seeing Liam in the flesh. Touching him. Kissing him. It would be amazing.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Godammit. Just thinking about him is making me miss him even more. My chest actually aches.

I lean back against the tree. “Can we not talk about this anymore? Don’t you have to go to class?”

“Only if I want to graduate. So, yeah. Call me tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

“And, Lissa?”

“Hmmm?”

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will. Love you, Josh.”

“Love you, too.”

I hang up and sigh. Thoughts of seeing Liam wind around in my brain. It’s tempting. Very tempting.

I go to my contacts and pull up his number. Next to it is the picture he took the night we met. The one where he’s kissing me so deeply, I felt it in my toes.

When he first left, I sent him text messages now and then, just to check if he was okay. I tried to keep them casual and friendly, but it somehow made me feel closer to him.

He’d never reply. Not with texts, anyway. The first time he called me, I panicked and let it go to voice mail. He left a message. Just listening to his voice made missing him both easier and harder.

I punch in the number for my voice mail. I’m embarrassed at how often I play these messages. When I hear them, I can almost imagine he’s with me.

“Hey, Elissa. How’s it going? Got your texts. I’m not great at replying to those things, so thought I’d call you instead. I made it to L.A. safely. Although after nearly six hours on a plane, I wanted to murder someone. Preferably the dude who made sure anyone over six feet tall would have to bend themselves like a pretzel to fit into those stupid economy seats. I suspect the asshole was a sadist. It’s the only logical explanation. Anyway, I’m going apartment hunting tomorrow. On my budget, I’ll be lucky to get something with running water and electricity, but I’ll do my best. Are you at The Grove yet? Surviving living with your brother? Okay, better go. Hope you’re well. Give me a call sometime, okay? I’d love to hear from you.”

A week later, I called him back. He didn’t pick up either, so I left him a voice mail. I told him about my course, the torture of living with Ethan. Everything and nothing.

After that, we fell into a cycle. Phone messages became our way of staying in touch without the pressure of an actual conversation. It worked for us. It took away the temptation of saying things in real time that would make our separation even more painful.