by Claire, Ava
But I knew that smile. That was her ‘water under the bridge’ smile. It was the smile she flashed after losing her shit on the producers and was a hop, skip, and cuss word away from being banned from the set. She’d whip out the molars and charm and all would be forgiven.
I knew she was playing them like a fiddle, but did she really think it would work on me? Unbelievable.
Her arms were outstretched, and they stayed that way as I ignored her and dropped unceremoniously into my seat. The waiter let out a nervous little chuckle.
“Anything to drink?” he asked me with a smile as big as my mother’s.
“She’ll have some water.”
“Actually, I’ll take a Sprite, a mocha with extra whipped cream, and a glass of your most expensive pinot noir.”
He hustled away, probably sensing my mother was dangerously close to vetoing most of it.
I snapped my napkin open and dropped it in my lap. When I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s, I smirked. Not out of amusement – there was nothing amusing about this – I smirked because I knew the tiny gesture drove her crazy. For all her tantrums and hijinks, the one thing she wanted most was respect. And as far as she was concerned, I was fresh out.
“Wine?” she said with a frown of distaste. “It’s barely noon, dear.”
“I took a taxi,” I answered simply, then smiled widely on the inside. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do today.”
She pursed her tomato-colored lips. “And whose fault is that?”
Anger clawed at me, its talons shredding me to bits. “Mine, of course.” I sighed dramatically. “If only I’d let Solomon Cole bend me over his desk and fuck me.”
The stars aligned and all the conversations around us seemed to lull just in time for me to drop the F bomb. Mom glanced around us nervously. It would have been hilarious if it didn’t hurt so freaking bad. Even now, with the truth out in the open, she cared more about what other people were thinking than the damage she had done. If the waiter hadn’t come back with our drinks, I had no doubt that she would have made the rounds, telling each one of them that I was rehearsing a script under a lot of stress. Career first, being a human coming in second. I brought my wine glass to my lips. I wasn’t even sure being a mother was on the list.
She took a sip of her latte, sighing with pleasure even though the thing was so nonfat and sugar free that it was impossible for it to taste that good. When she lowered the cup, all evidence of her panic was erased. “So, your sister’s spread in Maxim has led to an audition! It’s a comedy, and they think Jenna is perfect for...”
“How is Jenna?” I cut in. I knew the answer. Bulimic, and desperately trying to gain my mother’s approval. If she answered my calls, I could have told her it was a losing battle.
Mom raised an overplucked eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You know, how is she?” My voice was tight. Painfully high – and it was painfully obvious that I was no good at pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t. I wasn’t my mother.
Mom gave me a strange look. “She’s fine, of course. Mia, you’re shaking.”
“Shaking?” I repeated. I glanced down. I wouldn’t have even noticed the tremor if the burgundy liquid wasn’t trembling. There was an earthquake inside me, a natural disaster years in the making. And the cause was sitting right in front of me.
“How do you sleep at night?” Her eyes immediately shot to the table beside ours, but I slammed my wine glass down, sloshing the dark liquid all over the pristine ivory tablecloth. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”
She huffed, raising her chin. “Just who do you think you’re—”
“Talking to?” I finished, chewing every word and spitting it out. “To be honest, I have no idea. You’re not a mother. A mother would never have taken her daughter to a known asshole and left her alone with him. A mother wouldn’t let her troubled, underage daughter pose in lingerie. A mother would see that her daughter is so fucked up that she can’t handle stress without pills and when things fall apart? She needs even more pills and alcohol.” I pushed my chair back from the table. If I didn’t move, run away from her, I’d really explode. There were too many sharp objects, too much hate boiling in my veins. “Jenna is not fine. I am not fine. And you...you’re a monster!”
I was out of the cafe, tears of anger hot and boiling as I hailed a cab. My phone was in my hand, and my finger lingered on Scott’s name, but I remembered Liam and scrolled back up to his letter of the alphabet.
It only rang twice before he answered.
“Hey you.”
Just the sound of his voice made me feel better.
“Hi,” I bit my lip. “Can I see you? My mother...I...I need an escape.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The question was obvious, hanging unspoken in the air between us, but Liam didn’t push. I went up to his apartment, a tiny one bedroom apartment over a Laundromat. Apparently my timing was perfect. He was wearing the last few pieces of his clean clothing, a chocolate shirt and a pair of black slacks that made me think dirty thoughts. When I realized he was going commando and I could make out everything he was working with down south, my mother was already a distant memory. When he caught me ogling him, I covered up the offense by offering to help him with his laundry.
After stepping into the sweltering Laundromat, I had second thoughts about my (mostly) selfless gesture. I placed the basket on the table and followed him with my eyes. He dug a fistful of quarters from his pocket and slipped them into the vending machine. He came back with two sodas, holding one out for me.
I took it gingerly. “Thanks,” I mumbled, cradling the cool drink. “I can’t remember the last time I actually drank a soda. I mean, I ordered one at lunch, but that’s because I knew it would drive my mother insane.” I answered the silent question he asked with his eyes. “Empty calories. ‘Your body’s your temple’, she always said.”
What she really meant was my body is a commodity. If I didn’t stay thin and perfect, what would my fans aspire to? The temple stuff and the health BS was just a cover. The only temple she cared about was the Temple of Wealth, and her god was the almighty dollar.
“Your mom’s...quite something.” His wording was cryptic, but his face was anything but. He found her disgusting.
You and me both, I thought bitterly. Discussing just how hard my mom sucked seemed like a cathartic exercise, but the thought of talking about her gave me an itch for the very thing I called him up to avoid. I almost wished he’d take the edge off and ask me the question that raced across his face and stalled on his tongue before he started separating his clothes.
Wait – he separated his clothes? I knew that was the proper way to do laundry and it lowered the chances of colors bleeding, but the few memories I had of doing laundry consisted of just stuffing clothes in the tub every which way and hoping for the best. It was so cliché, but watching a muscled, tattooed guy being all domesticated was bringing needs inside me to life.
After he separated the last two items, he glanced up, his eyebrow a dark question mark. “What?”
I almost told him that watching him separate laundry was making me want to hump him then and there, but I toned it down. “I just realized that I barely know you even though I’ve already seen your underwear. I actually want to know more.” I exhaled when it was all out, the shackles I put around my heart slackening. Just a little bit. There was no harm in telling him I liked him. And when his eyes sparked with confirmation that he liked me too and his lips teased into a lazy smile, I realized just how much I liked him...and just how devastated I’d be when things inevitably went south.
He lined up his remaining quarters. “You know the highlights. My name, the tragic story of my short-lived fame—”
“Morbid fascination with washed out former child stars,” I finished for him. I’d meant it as a joke, but my voice was dark and bitter.
“Don’t do that.” The timer was going on the machine and he hadn’t even loaded it, but
he held my gaze steady like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t cheat yourself. You’re not washed up, you’re growing up. People might think that they watched you grow, but there’s no such thing when you’re in the public eye. You’re not allowed to screw up and make mistakes because you’re publicly flogged if you show any sign that you’re too human to live up to the standards fame puts on you. You’re not washed up, Mia. You’re beautifully flawed, just like the rest of us.”
Heat stabbed my cheeks. I could count the number of times I saw a therapist on one hand, and she'd said a variation of the same thing. I was acting out because I never got to as a kid. There were always people watching. Expectations. I let her words go in one ear and out the other, mostly because she spent eighty percent of our appointment looking at the clock. I didn't feel her words or that she cared about me. But Liam...his words washed over me and dove into my chest, clutching my heart tight. He cared...and he meant every word.
I shied away from the moment, gesturing at the machine. “I'd throw your stuff in before the cycle locks the door.”
He tossed the load in and leaned against the machine, a curious look on his face. “You do a lot of clothes at the Laundromat?”
I didn't do any clothes, period, but with his surprised reaction, I didn't want to state the obvious – that I hadn't washed or folded my own laundry in years. Instead, I vaulted up onto the folding table. “I wasn't always Mia Kent.” I made a sweeping gesture. “Once upon a time, I was just a kid stuffed into the back of my mom's van and driven across the country, starving for my big break.” I remembered nasty McDonald's salads and cups of ice water, staying at low budget motels and washing clothes in the bathtub unless we were lucky enough to grab a hotel not too far from a Laundromat. We'd lug our clothes over and Mom would grill me on everything from my lines to my smile. Maybe that's why I hated doing the laundry now, because there was some psychological link between washing and drying and my mother berating me.
I shrugged away the memory and focused on Liam. Focused on keeping my mother out of this. “You're not getting off that easy.”
He chuckled. “Well, shit.” He pushed away from the machine, stretching his arms above his head. Twisting his waist to the left, then the right. Was he going to tell me about himself or run a marathon?
“I grew up in the Bay Area,” he said finally. “Nothing too exciting. Dad worked in the financial district. Mom stayed home to raise me.”
I swung my legs, picturing the Golden Gate Bridge, the biting chill of the cold. “I went to a couple of auditions in San Fran. I remember the city being...” I searched for the right word. “Colorful.” Another word popped in my head. “And expensive.”
“Yep.” One syllable, and he was suddenly avoiding my gaze. I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't look upon my childhood with fondness.
His biceps flexed as he crossed his arms against his chest. “If my dad had it his way, I'd be working at his firm as we speak. He didn't mind the 'singing thing' when it was a hobby, but when I dropped out of college and packed up my Volvo with dreams of making it big in LA—” He winced, like he was reliving the memories in bitter, vivid clarity.
I knew there was rarely a happy medium. There was my mother who forced voice, piano, and dance lessons that we couldn’t afford down my throat. She was going to make me a star by any means necessary. And then there was the other side of the spectrum, parents so violently against their children’s dreams that they threatened to disown and cut off their children when they needed their support the most.
“He went through every stage of grief before my very eyes.” Liam raked a hand through his dark locks, holding it at bay as he recounted his father’s meltdown. “Denial – he laughed in my face, like I’d just told him some gut-breaking joke. When my mom and I didn’t crack a grin, he stormed into his office. He was gone for maybe five minutes and picked up where he left off. He was furious. Angrier than I’d ever seen him, face so fucking red I didn’t say a word because I was genuinely worried he’d have a stroke or something. Then he tried to buy me off. Told me I could take some time off from school, see the world and find myself and come back next semester ready to focus on my studies. When that didn’t work, he started drinking, and finally, he said if I wanted to ruin my life, who was he to try and stop me.”
“Ruin your life?” Not even thinking, I leaned over and nudged him with my shoulder. “Clearly he’s never heard you sing.” I realized the nearness of him when his eyes shifted to me, and I battled the urge to move closer and kiss him.
“You’re sweet.” His gaze smoothed over my lips like they were luscious ripe fruit that he was dying to taste. “But talent has nothing to do with it.” His eyes turned back to the machine, watching the soapy water as if hypnotized. “My dad is old school. All about duty and honor. He had expectations of me, and anything less means I’m a failure.” He blinked. “I just had the misfortune of proving him right.”
Considering he got offended the last time I attempted to be optimistic about his career, I tried a different approach. I told him something I had never told anyone. “I flubbed my Carolina, California audition.” I kicked my legs wildly for a moment, like I was trying to escape. His hand covered mine, and I could breathe again.
I wet my lips, the words easier to let go. “Of course, it didn’t matter. They loved that I screwed up, called it endearing and exactly what they were looking for. But when I walked in, I decided to throw it. I forgot my lines, I barely smiled, and I was as awkward as I could possibly be. I wanted to fail.” My legs stilled. “It wasn’t a commercial. At least with commercials I could still have a normal life. If I got the lead for Carolina, California, it would be my life. I’d never be able to escape my mother...and to me, that was a fate worse than death.”
“But you got the role.” He searched my face, searched for the appropriate words to say. “I’m...sorry?”
“Don’t be,” I laughed. “Being on that show was a great experience. Without it, I never would have realized how much I enjoyed acting. I would have just lumped it in with things my mother loves, and I would have hated it by default.” And we were back on my mother. Everything always circled back to her, whether I was trying to or not. I might as well just get on with it and tell him why I called him. “I made the mistake of thinking she spontaneously grew a conscience about what happened in Sol’s office. Or all the things that have happened over the years.” I suddenly felt itchy, unable to sit still with the nerves terrorizing my insides. I launched from the table and started pacing. “Now that I get to choose what’s next and I get to decide what kind of career I want to have, there’s this...longing inside me. I want, no, I need her to be my mom. I know I’m 21, but I’ve spent most of my life being who she wanted me to be.” I stopped, posing questions that no one could answer but her. “Is it too much to ask? Haven’t I earned it? Can’t she at least try?”
The Laundromat was deserted except for me, Liam, and an elderly woman that might have her clothes folded by 2016 judging by her slow, precise movements. Still, I looked around, mortified. I wanted to fade into the yellowed linoleum. Just disappear. Had I really gone that far? Let out all the shit that countless therapists had tried to cajole out of me to a total stranger? But he wasn’t a stranger. When I leaned into him as he tilted my face towards him, I knew that as surely as I knew that the Earth was round and my mom didn’t have a single mothering bone in her body.
That, and Liam had the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen.
“I wish I could take away your pain,” he murmured, his voice rich and low. Naturally, my inner horniness was being all kinds of inappropriate and tainting what could be a sweet moment. Because I was wondering what his moans sounded like. How it would ripple over the syllables of my name as I took my lips and ran them up and down his muscled chest.
I took a step backward, but he followed me. I tried to erase my naughty thoughts. He wanted to take this slow and romance me. He wasn’t running for the hills after seeing me a
t my worst, and wooing me was the only thing he asked of me – and all I could think about was fucking him.
I took a cautious look into his eyes and nearly came on the spot. We were on the same wavelength. I could feel the lust radiating from him. It was more beautiful than roses or sonnets or a song written just for me. Being wanted, desired – that’s what made my heart sing.
I gave him the option to turn back. I was against the washing machine, the whirring thing sending vibrations through me that magnified my need to feel him inside me. I held out a hand, finding what was left of my strength. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
He pulled me to him, his mouth ravenous and delicious. I melted into him, pausing long enough to take his earlobe between my teeth.
“Alright,” I whispered, voice thick and hot. “You asked for it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I wasn’t totally sure that we’d actually make it back to his apartment before he put his dick inside me...and that suited me just fine. Our lips had barely left each other’s, hands wild and roaming, until I missed a step and almost got a face full of concrete. Liam did the only logical thing: he scooped me up into his arms.
I squealed, asking him to put me down like he was calling my virtue or modesty into question. Since stroking him behind his jeans was the reason I almost face planted, it was a little late for that. And the fact that he didn’t put me down until he was ready to made my blood pressure spike and desire coat my panties. I was wet, wetter than wet, and all we’d done was some hardcore kissing and heavy petting. I foresaw a multi-climax situation in my future.
The elevator doors opened and a woman with her nose in a book eyed us. Me, panting in Liam’s arms. Him, standing there with his obvious and prominent erection. When he put me down, I assumed we would postpone the naughty until we were alone, but he pinned me against the wall. Both arms locked me in, his face wild and hungry for me. His eyes glittered like emeralds and he flashed a grin that made me weak in the knees.
