Until There Was You(46)

The words had the effect of ice water. “Actually, yes, Liam. Why? Do you think your mere presence is enough? Because I have to tell you, God’s Gift, you’re not really all that anymore.”

Slowly, slowly, his mouth pulled up on one side, and Posey could feel those treacherous parts about to stage a mutiny. “What movie would you like to see?” he said in a scraping, low voice, and the effect was the same as if he’d said, I am going to smear you with honey and lick you clean, Posey Osterhagen.

“I…I don’t know…what’s, um…playing?” she muttered.

“Have you seen blah-blah-blah?” Liam asked. There was a roaring in her ears that drowned out his actual words. She couldn’t take her eyes off that mouth. That was a really good mouth, that was. Oh, yeah. His upper lip was just a little fuller than his lower, and she wondered what kind of kisser he was, what it would be like to have that mouth on hers…or any part of her, really, her elbow, her toe, because she had a feeling that Liam’s mouth would make her—

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

Oh. Apparently she’d just agreed to go out with Liam Murphy. Liam. Declan. Murphy. Had. Asked. Her. Out. Holy Elvis Presley. Was this a date? An actual romantic date? Or was this two old sort-of friends just hanging out? Should she ask? Did it matter? Could she shove him to the ground and eat him for supper?

“Bye,” she muttered, then fled before she did something utterly stupid.

CHAPTER TEN

“THAT’S GOING TO fall down and kill you someday,” Henry muttered, staring up at the belfry. He looked at Posey and sighed, then jumped back abruptly. “Oh, God! There’s a cat. I forgot you had cats.” Henry was afraid of cats, something Posey and Jon found hilarious. “Why am I here again?”

“You’re not here. Jon is here,” Posey said. “I need advice. And the bell is safe. Mostly. But don’t stand under it, okay? Mom and Dad would kill me if their precious perfect got a boo-boo at my house. Shilo, you move, too, buddy.” They went down to the kitchen, where Shilo collapsed at Henry’s feet with a thud that shook the room, then stared up at Posey’s brother with adoring, red-rimmed eyes.

Henry sighed, picked up a bottle of wine, shook his head and replaced it, as if deeply saddened that his sister bought such uninspired booze. “You’re welcome to buy me better stuff, Hen,” she said.

“I should buy you a better house. This place is a death trap. Could you move this cat?”

“Meatball, go. Henry doesn’t like you. And this place is not a death trap! It’s great! It has character.”

“And too many animals. How many do you have, Posey?”

“One dog, three cats. They came with the church, like angels, right, Sagwa? Try not to show fear, Henry. They feed off it.” Posey giggled as her brother’s face paled.

“Can we stop talking?” Jon asked. “We’re getting ready for a date, and your sister’s hair is a challenge to even the most gifted hair gods. Thank you. Now. We want to look nice, but not like we’re trying too hard. Good thing I brought my tools.” He unpacked a blow-dryer and rounded brush from his little case.

“So, who is this guy again?” Henry asked.

Jon sighed dramatically. “Do you listen to nothing I tell you?” he asked. “His name is Liam, he’s a widower, totally hot. Better than that poser you were dating a while back, sweetie.”

“You were dating someone?” Henry asked.

Jon looked at Posey and shook his head. “Ignore him. Now. I’m thinking sort of a Natalie Portman look, right?”

“What does he do for a living?” Henry asked.

“Motorcycle mechanic. Custom bikes, repairs, all that manly stuff we know nothing about,” Jon answered. “Posey, tilt your head, honey.”

“Motorcycles are good for my business,” Henry said. “I did the coolest amputation on a Hell’s Angel last week, did I tell you, Pose?”

Jonathan turned on the blow-dryer to full power. “La la la la, don’t tell amputation stories, honey, how many times have we discussed this? Posey, what are we wearing?”

“Does everything have to be first person plural?” Henry asked. “Is that in the manual for how to be g*y?”

“Well, sweetheart, if there’s a manual, you should read it. You’re g*y, after all. Not that you can tell, sadly. Posey, he dresses like a straight, color-blind computer programmer, and it breaks my heart. Tilt.”

Tonight wasn’t a date, of that Posey was pretty sure. Or maybe it was, and she just didn’t know it. If he’d said, “Posey, I find you very attractive and would like to spend more time with you,” then she’d know. If he’d said, “I’m bored out of my skull and I asked you because you were standing in front of me and I have no feelings for you whatsoever,” then she’d know that, too. If only men were more straightforward.

The heat of the hair dryer was making her ears itch. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea. She wasn’t sure she even liked Liam. Lusted after, yes, she’d covered that. So did every female around, clearly.

But.

You don’t turn down a date with a guy who makes your knees buzz just by looking at you. The guy who held your heart in his fist for two formative years.