Not The One (London Lovers #4)

by Amy Daws

  I sniff hard trying to ignore the painful look in his eyes that reaches me on a level I’ve never been touched before. He looks completely bereft and ruined and I am the cause. These emotions, this angst…it’s uncharted territory for me and it’s frightening as hell. The crushed look in Liam’s expression, and the thought of never telling Marisa what happened, hurts more than the fear I have if I do tell her.

  “I can’t lie to her,” I say finally after mulling over Liam’s words.

  He closes his eyes and nods like he knew that would be what I’d say. A fleeting look of relief washes over him when he adds, “I’ll tell her with you when she gets back tomorrow.”

  The sun is shining bright and beautiful as I sit atop a hill overlooking the Clarke’s home in rural Essex. A makeshift wooden swing sways from a nearby tree, blowing in the light breeze.

  “You’re here,” I say feeling her arrival behind me like a light sand storm with no sand.

  “Turn around and see.” Her voice is cheery and excited.

  I turn and lay eyes on Marisa. Her luminous blonde hair is long and blowing in the wind. Her cheeks are rosy, matching her pink lips as her face splits into the widest, most welcoming smile. She’s wearing a beautiful yellow sundress. It’s so her.

  “You have new ink.” She gestures to a huge sleeve tattoo on my right arm. There’s a large sugar skull tattooed over top of my tricep. It’s colored with a deep emerald green and sits as the focal point amongst a bed of sunflowers swirling all around it. I look down at it confused. This is the first time I’ve seen it. It’s stunning.

  “Do you like it?” I ask nervously, holding my breath.

  “I do.” She smiles again as a halo of sunlight shimmers all around her. “But do you like it?”

  I stroke it affectionately. “I love it. More than you know.” A knot forms in my throat.

  Her smile turns sardonic. “How do you know what I know?”

  That elicits my first half smile. But it’s a sad smile. “I’m terrified of what you know.”

  Her head tilts to the side and she eyes me curiously. Her long, blonde lashes fan the tops of her cheeks. An eerie silence grows between us and I feel the need to fill it.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” I take a tentative step towards her. “It feels like the worst two words I could ever say to you, but if I don’t, I think I could die.”

  “Death would not become you right now.” She takes one step closer to me. Her brown eyes gleam.

  “I’m not so sure about that. I feel like death most days as it is.” I wipe the path of an errant tear that escapes quickly down my cheek. I hate crying in front of Marisa. She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve to watch me cry.

  “Why did you do it?” Her eyes are still smiling but her lips are pursed as if she’s deep in thought.

  More tears fill my eyes. “I wish I knew.”

  “I think deep down, you already know.” Before I can ask her what she means, she adds, “I have something for you.”

  She takes another step closer to me and holds her hand out. Nestled between her two fingers is a diamond engagement ring. I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s the same diamond Liam showed me that he was going to give to Marisa after graduation.

  My heart sinks. “That’s not for me.” I take a step back.

  “I know. I need you to return it.” She steps toward me again.

  None of this is making sense. How does she even know about the ring? “I don’t think I should.”

  “You must. You need to tell him I’m okay.” Her tone is more urgent and serious now. “You need to tell him everything is okay. I need you to return this.”

  She moves to hand me the ring and I step around her away from the hilltop toward the wooden swing. “I don’t want it, Marisa!”

  “Well, are you sorry or not?” she snaps and her cheery face morphs into anger. A rare sight that I only ever saw when she and I disagreed over music.

  “Of course I’m sorry! I can’t begin to explain to you how sorry I am!” I scream loudly in her face.

  Her face remains stiff. “If you tell me you’re sorry I’m going to believe you. You don’t lie, Rey. You’ve never lied to me. I know this about you. Perhaps you lie to yourself.” She brushes her hair back and her eyes flash with determination. “So tell me then…Are you sorry for what you did?” she repeats again. “Are you sorry? Are you sorry!” she screams the last question and grabs my hand, slamming the ring down into my palm.

  Like a gun went off I shoot up in a cold, dripping sweat. Panicking, I kick all the covers off my legs and shove myself up against the metal arm of the futon, panting heavily. I look around to get my bearings and find myself in my dorm room. The exterior security lights stream in through the curtains, barely illuminating the scary darkness around me. I wipe off huge, fat tears mixing with my sweat-slicked face. Mid-swipe, I pause as I realize my fist is clenched tightly like it’s holding something.

  Gasping, I look down at my hand, willing myself to open it, one terrified finger at a time. Blood rushes in my head as my final digit lifts and reveals my fist to be empty. No ring.

  Releasing a huge gust of air, I whisper softly, “Just a dream.” Just a horrible, sick dream.

  An icky sensation roils over me as I recall the image of Marisa’s normally sunny face, screaming. Reality settles over me at the fucked-up insanity of that dream and the tears overcome me again. I frantically pat all over my bed, searching for my phone. Finally my hand clasps over it and I go to dial the only person I want to talk to in this moment.

  Marisa’s voicemail chimes on. “Hey, this is Marisa. Miss me already? Leave a message!”

  I click END and dread washes over me at what I know is to come later today when she returns.

  Stepping foot into Club Taint for my first night has my nerves on edge. I was certainly rocking a fierce version of resting bitch face on the Tube the whole way here. I have no idea what to expect with Liam. Going three whole years without seeing him and then having every gamut of emotion pummel me with Frank watching wasn’t exactly the first impression I was looking for at this job.

  Yes, this may be just a bartending job, but it’s a business. And there’s still pride to be felt in doing a job well. I may be overqualified with my education, but a job’s a job and I intend to give it my all. The past three years I’ve been sponging off of my mother and doing the odd medical transcoding of her and her staff’s audio tapes. It was something I could do from my flat and required zero human interaction—a necessity at the time.

  But, now I’m ready to get out from my mother’s continued, unfailing support. I’m not far from thirty-years-old. It’s past the time for me to get my shit together. My life. My everything. Hayden and I are still a horribly dysfunctional situation, but I’ll tackle one task at a time. One day at a time. And right now, Club Taint is priority number one.

  As I stride toward the bar, a few random employees are hauling boxes of bottled beer from the hallway and stocking the coolers behind the bar. Suddenly Frank’s face pops up from behind the bar and stops one of the employees.

  He aggressively rips open the box and grabs a bottle as the young twenty-something-year-old guy stares at him in confusion.

  “Don’t fuck with me! I’m in a very fragile state!” Frank shouts at the boy who then scampers away once Frank begins chugging the beer. He stops drinking and pants heavily, attempting to catch his breath.

  His eyes land on me and roll briefly before walking in my direction. “Lariza actually thought I could run this bloody club. What the bloody hell was he thinking? I’m not equipped for this. I can’t handle the stress! These bottles weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow and we don’t have the cooler space! This was supposed to be a new product I brought into the club to surprise Lariza with when he returned. It’s going to be a hit, but it has to be served cold! The delivery bloke said since they are being delivered cold, they have to remain cold or they taste like shite. We’re fucked up the arse we
are! Though Christ, a good shag sounds like a bloody lot more fun than this drivel.”

  I glance back at the stacked boxes. “You open in two hours?” I ask. Frank nods, his face crumpling in worry. “What’s CT’s Facebook following again?”

  “What the fuck are you going on about?”

  “Club Taint. You guys have over a million followers last I checked.”

  “Get to the point, Oxford!” he snaps, the mirror S’s between his brows crinkle into tight Z’s.

  “Open early. You have the staff, it looks like. Send out a social media blast, pay to boost a post to increase your reach. Call it…” I pause and grab the bottle out of his hand to view the label. “Ginge on Top, Early Bird Premiere.” I pause and read the slogan below it: Always just the right amount of red head. I conceal a snort at the suggestive bubbling head of foamy beer on the label and continue, “Make a flashy graphic with a decent price point and a giveaway drawing for the first thousand that share or retweet the special.”

  Frank blinks at me slowly, clearly computing everything I spewed at him. “That’s bloody brill, Oxford. Can you do it all?”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “Erm, considering I don’t know half of what you just said, I think you have a better shot at getting it done than I do.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  I make busy work of directing the staff—whose names I forget as soon as they’re told to me—to take the beer that doesn’t fit into the cooler down into the basement. If they place it by the water pipes or on the concrete, it’ll keep it colder than if it were left sitting next to the hot exterior of the cooler behind the bar. I also direct them as to where to station the portable coolers. If we set up two flashy stations at the entry and get a couple of outgoing bartenders over there, Ginge On Top will be all anyone buys when they come in the door.

  Frank then sets me up at Lariza’s desk where I’m pleased to find Photoshop and the Facebook page open. After browsing through the analytics on the page, I get the demographic that primarily follow Club Taint and use that information to select the ad photo. A sexy, muscular, shirtless, male ginger with a few quick graphics and we’re in business. I add a carousel ad with a sexy, redhead female to try to pull in the straight men as well. It’s not the primary clientele at CT, but it’s good to expand the reach and put the message out there that this isn’t a gay bar.

  “Now what?” Frank asks with wide eyes.

  “Now we wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “If you build it, they will come.”

  “What are you going on about?”

  “Field of Dreams?”

  He shakes his head still clearly confused.

  “It’s an American classic movie about an Iowa farmer who builds a baseball field because he hears voices.”

  “We don’t have baseball here. We have cricket! Come off it, Oxford! How the bloody hell is baseball going to save my Ginge On Top?”

  I bite my lip to stop from laughing at his worried state. “Look.” I point to the screen and see that in only five minutes we’ve already received one hundred and nineteen shares. “They are coming, Frank.”

  His eyes light up. “Let’s get out there, then!”

  We head out to the bar and I’m pumped to see a few people coming in the door already; Ginger word travels fast apparently. They’re all huddled around the Ginge on Top stand that’s set up and looking awesome.

  “Here,” Frank chucks a black tank top at me as I follow him behind the bar. “Uniform.”

  I hold it up and in bold, white lettering, it reads, “Taint isn’t for the Faint.”

  “Nice.” I chuckle softly.

  “Thought you’d like that. Go on, strip. We don’t have much time.”

  I hesitate at first but shrug my shoulders and peel my black tee off. I’m wearing a pretty scandalous lacy black bra, but since I’m not Frank’s type anyway, it seems pointless to be shy. A voice clears from behind me and I swerve to find Liam staring right at me with his mouth hanging open.

  “Liam, my boy! What brings you here?” Frank crows from beside me. He’s completely oblivious to Liam’s scorching brown eyes locked on my chest.

  My skin heats as Liam’s gaze runs up the length of me and lands on my mouth. “Saw the Facebook ad. It looked exciting.” His voice is hoarse and he swallows uncomfortably.

  “That was Oxford’s doing! Isn’t she brill?” Frank roars proudly.

  Liam finally snaps himself out of his obvious state and looks down smirking. He pulls his lower lip into his mouth and nods in a knowing way like he’s sharing some private joke with himself.

  “Did you get a Ginge On Top?”

  Clearing his throat, he replies, “Not yet.”

  “Bloody hell! I’ll hook ye up, mate. The salesman’s name was Lionel…He wasn’t even a ginger, but I got wrapped into his boyish charm, hook, line, and sinker! Wait’ll you try this. Sit tight.”

  Frank strides around the bar and up to the entrance while Liam and I stand, staring at each other. A slab of stainless steel is all that separates us.

  “You going to put that on or use it as a rag?”

  My eyes widen in horror as I realize I’m still standing in my damn bra. I glance over to the doorway and see one of the younger guys looking my way now, too. I mumble some obscenities and turn my back, throwing the small tank top over my head and yanking it down to cover myself. Nice greeting, Reyna.

  “How have you been?” Liam asks as I turn back around and find him perched on the nearest stool. He’s dressed in a fitted white T-shirt and his hair is thicker and wilder on top than I remember it ever looking back at Oxford. In the three years since I’ve seen him he’s only gotten hotter. His muscles are larger now too, more defined. And his face appears different somehow too. Less innocent and young, more chiseled and sexy.

  All of it is making me positively sick to my stomach.

  “I’ve been okay,” I reply finally, squelching my desire to run. If I would have run into Liam a year ago, I would have bee-lined away from him so fast. No two week notice, no excuse, nothing. I would have run to Hayden, drank my weight in alcohol and fucked the pain away. But I can’t run anymore. I have to start dealing with life again. “How about you?”

  He nods thoughtfully, then looks down at my mouth and back up to my eyes. “I’ve been okay, too. I’m working. That’s pretty much it.”

  Damn, he’s still doing that mouth glance thing that he did in Oxford. Whenever he does that, it reaches a place in my lower extremities that makes it difficult for me to think straight. “Do you like your job?” I ask, my voice a bit huskier than I want it to be.

  “Not especially, but it’s a good company. I’m a controller for a medical supply company. Good benefits. All the good, boring, grownup stuff that you’re supposed to care about when you’re approaching thirty.”

  “I missed that memo,” I say gesturing to my Taint covered chest. Somehow it seems so utterly frustrating that he’s sitting here looking like a damn Men’s Health magazine model and I’m here behind a bar. A pang of sadness hits me at the idea of our own dream jobs never being acted upon.

  “Seems like you’re impressing Frank. That’s certainly no easy feat.” His mouth curves up into a half smile that’s genuine and sexy without even trying to be. Damn, I wish I wasn’t noticing how much more handsome he’s gotten since I last saw him three years ago.

  I’m pleased at the compliment but I quickly shake off the warm and fuzzies as reality settles back in. “It’s still bartending. Let’s not disillusion ourselves into thinking it’s something special.”

  He frowns. “We all do what we have to…whatever works for our own self-preservation.” His eyes are piercing and knowing and I fucking hate it. Reading between the lines of that statement is far too painful.

  “You still friends with Theo?” I ask, trying to test the waters and see how he responds.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  I nod,
unsure what to say next. “You guys have been friends a long time now.”

  “About three years.” He watches me carefully like he wants to say something more but decides against it. “Theo’s a great mate.”

  Silence grows between us as the last time I saw him flashes in my mind’s eye. The words I spoke to Liam when I last saw him were so awful, so cruel. I was in hell at the time and leaving carnage all around me. Not wanting to be fake anymore, I ask the question I’ve wanted to know for the past three years. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  His eyes bolt up from the spot on the bar top that he’s been staring daggers in to. He cocks his head curiously to the side, and I instantly wish I could take the question back. “No. I’m not having the best luck there.”

  “Why’s that?” God, Reyna. Shut up! Why are you pressing this? He has every right to tell you to fuck off.

  Pursing his gorgeous lips together, he eventually replies, “My best guess is that I seem to find the girls who are broken and in need of fixing. Which isn’t all bad. They do need fixing, but I’m not the man for the job. Someone else already is.”

  His candid reply shocks me. “Sounds familiar.” Our eyes lock for a heated minute, saying so much more than words ever could.

  Resolution flickers over his face. “I heard you were hanging out with Hayden a lot.”

  This feels like a bucket of water thrown in my face and that painful longing between us is immediately doused. My protective guard shoots up. “It’s not a lot. Let’s not go there, please.” I busy myself with a rag on the bar, attempting to ignore his penetrative gaze on me.

  “Why not?” He stands from his stool and I look up and Liam’s face is wide and curious.

  “It’s nothing. Why do we need to talk about it?” I snap defensively.

  “Why do we not?” Liam’s arms cross over his chest in that annoyingly intimidating way he has about him. It’s alpha and it’s hot, but right now, it’s just annoying.