How to Steal Your Best Friend's Fiancé - London Casey Page 0,34

tell everyone you saved someone from drowning.”

I laughed. “And here I was worried for a second it was going to look like I pissed myself.”

“At least your coffee didn’t get ruined,” Emily said.

I looked over my shoulder and saw my coffee was balanced on the sink, untouched.

I looked at her again and started to laugh.

What a way to kick off spending time together.

Chapter Sixteen

Emily

Be there in thirty

I took a deep breath and my teeth suddenly began to chatter like I was in the center of a field in the middle of winter.

My eyes looked around the kitchen, then the apartment.

I cringed.

I didn’t exactly live in a fancy place.

My apartment wasn’t like Liam’s.

Er, Miranda and Liam’s.

Not that it should have mattered one bit at all, but I found myself looking at every mark on the floor and searching for every possible crack in a wall. Or standing at the window, knowing my view was crap.

I smelled the air, wondering if I was just used to the apartment.

My neighbor - Mr. Anderlees - cooked nothing but soup. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. This guy literally made soup every single day. And sometimes that soup had a salty and oily smell to it.

Me being the hardcore romantic I was, I had zero candles or air fresheners in the apartment.

I soon convinced myself my apartment smelled bad.

My nose tingled, telling my brain there was a nice layer of cat pee mixed with a touch of mold and a dash of rotting onion.

Of course none of that was true.

But for me… as I searched under the bathroom sink for something with a hint of cinnamon or lavender, I stopped myself.

My left hand grabbed my right hand as though I had two brains.

Stop, Emily. It’s Liam. It’s freaking Liam coming over. There is no chance he would ever judge you. And on top of that, he’s coming over to talk about planning his wedding. And he’s not marrying you, remember? That ship was never even built, let alone having a chance to sail.

So the reality of my life washed away all those fake smells but replaced it with a real sense of depression.

I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked a mess.

I reached back and let my hair down.

There was a bump right at the back of my hair.

After a minute of fighting with it, I just let it go.

I turned my head left to right, checking my reflection.

“The hair’s gotta go back up,” I whispered.

I put my hair right back up, just in a cleaner version of the classic messy bun.

I was sure for Liam - or any other guy - it was as simple as putting on a fresh t-shirt.

For women, we had to make messy look not too messy but clean. If you really were messy then that’s not a good look. But clean and messy together did work…

I left the bathroom and slammed the door.

I half considered pouring cinnamon on the floor and then sweeping it up so the place would smell like-

Buzzzzz!

My eyes went right to the door.

Liam was here.

It had been years since I’d seen Liam in jeans and a t-shirt.

I stepped back and held in my gasp at the sight of him.

He stuck his right hand out, offering me a bottle of wine.

“Not sure if I’m supposed to bring something over or not,” he said. “But what the hell, right?”

“Right,” I said. “You look… never mind.”

I started to turn and he jumped into the apartment and touched my arm. “What?”

“Liam in jeans,” I said. “It’s like stepping back in time.”

He shut the apartment door and laughed. “Thanks. I’m not always into the whole suit and tie thing, Em. It’s just my job requires it. And from there…”

“Liam,” I said. “I was just teasing you for a second.”

“Right,” he said. “Sorry. I’m just used to defending myself in a court of law.”

He winked.

I knew what that comment meant.

Liam’s court of law did not involve a judge and jury.

It involved one person.

Your friend. Your best friend. Remember?

I swallowed hard and walked to the kitchen.

I put the bottle of wine on the counter.

I started to study the label when Liam laughed again.

“Yeah, sorry about that too,” he said. “I think it’s written in French.”

“Oh, so you just grabbed a bottle of wine from home?” I asked. “You couldn’t even stop and get a bottle for me?”

“Don’t start again, Em,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for this abuse.”

“Yes you are,” I said. “You don’t even know what kind