Free The Art of Hero Worship by Mia Kerick Page A

apparently now doing—leaving this pub together,
arm-in-arm?

9

     
    Sitting in Liam’s car in the Beachcomber Bar
and Grille parking lot, both of us are staring out open windows in
opposite directions.
    “I’m sorry. I was totally out of line back
there.” As usual, Liam speaks first. He is definitely the
icebreaker in this relationship.
    “How do you mean, out of line ?”
    “Maybe you wanted to get busy with Lady Lola
of Trash-Mouth Mountain, and I blew it for you.”
    I laugh. “You didn’t blow anything for me,
Liam. Lady Lola actually scares me. But hot little Missy Rose… she
sure has a thing for you. I think you were destined for an evening
of wild fun and games… but you had to step in and save my pearly
white ass.” I lean toward him so that I can nudge him with my
elbow. “Not that I’m counting, but now you’ve saved me three times,
huh?”
    “Missy Rose isn’t my type.” Liam doesn’t
laugh, and he’s more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. “Let’s
get outta here.”
    He starts up the car and speeds south on
Shore Road.
    “I had a vision of Ginny when we were in the
pub,” I tell him as he drives.
    “You did?”
    “Yeah. And she wasn’t pleased with the
quality of the girl who was trying to hook up with me.” Liam cracks
a smile, and I’m relieved. “Ginny thought she was the only one
allowed to get away with excessive profanity.”
    He is starting to relax. “I thought I ruined your chance of getting laid.”
    “Really, Liam? You know me by now. Does Lola really seem like my kind of girl?” I’m truly interested in
his answer.
    He doesn’t hesitate. “Not at all.” He’s
blushing. “She’s pretty much the polar opposite of how I see
you.”
    “And how do you see me?” I can’t
believe I ask him this, and from his stunned expression, neither
can he.
    He doesn’t say anything until he pulls into
the first casual restaurant we come across. “Let’s see if there’s a
long wait for dinner.”
    I can’t believe he ignored my question
because he’s not a mean-spirited man, and I want to know why. But
I’m not one to push an issue, so I decide to bide my time. “Sounds
good to me.”
    Once we’re settled on the bar stools, I wait
for him to start explaining. Why did he need to go on this
trip with me, like he said on the day he invited me to come along?
And what does he see when he looks at me? These questions fit
together well, and the answers would clue me in on Liam’s strong
motivation to help me. But Liam voluntarily explains nothing and we
end up talking about the big problems that the Red Sox must
overcome if they want to be contenders next year.
    I’m an avoider of all things painful and
Liam is a secret-keeper. Neither of us seems particularly willing
to change this status.
     
    ***
    Back at the cottage, we grab a six-pack of
beer, snap on the television, and again retreat to the oversized
floral couch, tonight sitting shoulder-to-shoulder rather than on
opposite ends . Is this an instant replay of last night? I’m
not sure if that’s what I want.
    After forty-five minutes of small talk and
beer-drinking—favorite pro sports teams, bands we’ve seen live,
dorm room assignments for next year—we’re both buzzed and starting
to relax. And I feel daring.
    Daring is not an adjective I’d normally use
to describe myself. The most daring things I’ve ever done actually
all involve going along with the grand schemes of other people. Following them . Daring is simply not how I’m
programmed. But tonight I step out of my comfort zone, and I’m not
sure what I hope to accomplish by doing this. But strangely, I do
it anyway.
    “You never told me if you have a
girlfriend.” The skin on my face burns with embarrassment at having
made such a bold statement.
    He turns and looks at me very directly. His
high blond spikes are doing that slumping-to-the-left thing they do
at night, and his expression has lost some of its sharpness. “You
never