Chapter 19

19

Will and I end up hanging out for most of the afternoon. There are a few more glasses of Pimm's. By the time evening is drawing in, the crowd has thinned and the drinks flow a little more freely. Most of the interns are still here, although Elaine, Freya, and Burnley went home a while ago. Lloyd has been busy charming his audience of Arrowmile employees. I wonder if it's starting to wear on him, if it ever does. There's a chance he's so used to it that it's become second nature and he doesn't even notice he's doing it anymore.

"You know," Monty slurs, clapping a hand on Will's shoulder and giving him a playful shake, "you're a really cool guy. Like, proper cool. We thought you were gonna be some really stuck-up weirdo."

"You thought he was, like, twelve years old or something," Tasha points out with a scoff, just as I think "stuck-up" is rich coming from Monty, with his super posh accent and lofty attitude.

"Well, yeah, but that's only 'cause nobody talked about him much. Our man of mystery here, huh?" Monty ruffles Will's hair before slinging a heavy arm around his shoulders enough to knock the wind out of Will.

He coughs, trying to recover, and manages, "Uh, thanks? I think."

"Say something in Latin again, mate. Go on."

Will rolls his eyes, but it's good-natured. He's flushed, a little sweaty, and even less steady on his feet than usual, but he seems to be having a great time. Enjoying a little of the spotlight for once, maybe.

He thinks about it for a moment, then lifts his glass, declaring, "In vino veritas!"

"In vino veritas!" we all chorus, lifting our own glasses, sloppily clinking them together.

"Technically, I guess it's ‘in Pimm's veritas,'? " Will tells me in a low voice, snorting at his own joke and dissolving into giggles. Monty, who doesn't even hear the joke, joins in the laughter. Tasha gives a thin "ha-ha" so as not to be left out and stands impatiently, her gaze flicking over her shoulder as she debates leaving. I wouldn't be sorry if she did. I'd love to know Will's take on her.

Verity and Izzy are heading toward us, arms linked and eyes bright. They lean on each other slightly for balance. They're chatting animatedly about something and flag us down, even though we aren't going anywhere.

"Settle a debate for us," Izzy calls. "What's the best tree?"

"And you can't say Christmas tree," Verity says, leveling each of us with a stern look in turn. "Because that doesn't count."

"It absolutely does," Izzy grumbles, pouting, and everybody is suddenly busy debating different kinds of trees—the most inane thing turning very quickly into an intense discussion. Tasha rolls her eyes, but is quick enough to lay down her argument for lemontrees.

Behind her, I notice Lloyd stepping away from a few people. Taking a breather, maybe. He rolls his shoulders and stretches a little, rubbing the back of his neck before taking a swig of his drink. His face tilts up toward the last of the sunlight before it vanishes completely behind a nearby building.

While the others are distracted ("Who's ever actually seen a fig tree?" Verity wants to know), I excuse myself and slip away. Lloyd doesn't seem to notice me until I'm almost within arm's reach. He blinks in the golden, hazy summer evening light and turns to face me. A toothy, lopsided smile peels across his face. Each move is leisurely, deliberate. He's a bit drunk, I realize.

Same.

"Saw you hanging out with your new bestie." He nods to where I left Will with the others.

"Yeah. He's going down a storm—everyone loves him."

Lloyd huffs out a breath of affectionate laughter. "I'm not surprised. Once he gets chance to come out of his shell a little, he's a real social butterfly."

"How about you? Having fun?"

"Always do." He takes another drink. "You?"

"Sure am."

Somewhere nearby, there's a loud, booming laugh. It's jolly, spurring a few other people to laugh, too. I start to look around, even though I already know the source of it—I've heard that laugh plenty today. It's Topher. Lloyd cringes.

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Hopefully it's not about my secret to winning boules, because that's all natural talent, baby. Can't be taught."

"It's not. It's just…That night we met, you said your dad never smiles anymore, since…since your mom passed. So I pictured this grumpy, sullen kind of guy with a face like thunder who always looks pissed off at the whole world, but…I mean, he does smile. A lot. He's always smiling around the office. I guess I just don't get it, is all."

"Oh. Right," says Lloyd quietly, and then he falls silent. His mouth presses into a downturned line, a muscle jumping in his jaw. A small pucker appears between his eyebrows and I regret asking, if it's made him look like this.

But after hearing some of the truth from Will, understanding Lloyd better, I'm more curious than before. He's never sounded like he resents his dad, but I wonder what else I don't know abouthim.

Glancing around, Lloyd says, "Let's go somewhere to talk."

Our options are a little bit limited, but nobody pays us any attention as we wander to the far side of the garden near the trees in the corner and disappear into the small grove.

It's cool here, and dark beneath the thick canopy of leaves. There's a greenish glow to the shadows that makes Lloyd's eyes glitter a bit brighter, a freshness in the air that feels sobering as it fills my lungs. The ground is soft, the grass longer and patchier than on the main lawn. The noise of the party is muted, but maybe that has more to do with the fact that Lloyd has so much of my attention right now than due to our perceived privacy.

Lloyd finds a spot against the brick wall that the trees so artfully disguise and leans against it with a heavy sigh, pushing his sunglasses further up on top of his head. He offers me a small, half-hearted smile that pulls at one side of his mouth and then the other, disappearing as soon as it shows itself, and then he slides down to sit in the grass, setting his half-finished drink at his side. Heavily, he pats a hand on the empty spot beside him, head lolling back to rest against the wall. I join him, sitting a bit closer than I mean to, and our legs press flush against each other's. It sends a little fizz of warmth through me, but Lloyd doesn't seem to react, and I worry that it'll make things weird if I make a big deal out of moving away.

Eventually, Lloyd draws an uneven breath and tells me, "It's different. His smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore. It's his…" He scoffs; it's barely audible. "We used to call it Dad's ‘showroom smile.' The one he'd put on for investors or at presentations and stuff. Mom would tease him about it all the time, do this great impression of him—chest all puffed out, oozing charisma, putting on a bit of a voice…It used to just be this kind of amped-up version of himself for work, but now it's just…who he is."

"Sounds kind of like someone else I know," I say before I think better of it.

Lloyd, for his part, doesn't look offended. He just tilts his head in acceptance. "I always took more after Dad."

"For the record, I like who you are when you're just being yourself."

A little of the tension seeps out of his shoulders. "Me too."

He looks me in the eye as he says it, though, so softly that I understand he's not talking about himself—he means that he likes who I am, but…

"I don't try to be anybody else."

Lloyd gives a quiet chuckle, amused, not mocking. He reaches out and places his hand on mine, which is resting on my thigh. His fingers link through mine, his bare arm brushing against my skin, and I'm so dizzy with the abrupt realization that maybe he was protecting himself when he asked if we were friends, I can't quite remember why being this close to Lloyd is a bad idea.

"You let me in that first night," he murmurs, his voice so low, so intimate, that I find myself subconsciously tilting my head closer. Lloyd's thumb brushes gentle arcs across the back of my hand. His head tips a little further toward mine and I feel his breath tickling the base of my neck.

It's intimate in a way that the midnight kiss by the river wasn't.

"You put up so many walls, like you're so used to pushing people away, but…you didn't with me, that night. I keep trying to find that girl again."

Do I really do that?

But what I say, in a voice equally quiet and soft, is, "Well, we can't all wear our hearts on our sleeve."

He seems as struck by that idea as I was about not letting people in, and I can't help but smile a little: it's hard to imagine that Lloyd is such an open book and doesn't even realize it. He feels so deeply, how can he not know that it spills out for anybody to see?

Leaves rustle overhead, the sun filtering down in dappled pools of gold. Laughter and chatter drifts toward us from the party, but tucked away from it all, the sound of our breathing is loud: slow and even and measured.

"I guess not," he says. My head angles toward the sound of his voice; a shiver runs down my spine when his mouth grazes against my temple as I turn to face him. "But you let me in when I ran into you that night at the office. And when we got coffee, last week…"

Of course I let you in, I think. He'd been a stranger, and seemed lonely and lost just like I felt—I was drawn to him by some invisible connection that stole the fear of being judged for a few precious hours. I recognized something in Lloyd that I saw in myself, and I want to explain that to him—but I can't. It feels like saying anything at all would detract from this, from him, and I can't bear to do anything that might mean he'll stop staring at me like the rest of the world has stopped existing except for the two of us, like everything hinges on what I'll say next. I lick my lips, heart racing, trying to prolong this moment as long as I can, and Lloyd's eyes flicker down to my mouth. They're dark now, the green of his irises barely visible.

I don't know who moves first. Whether it's his hand slipping out of mine to skim up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, or whether it's my free hand reaching up to cup his face before my fingers thread through his tousled curls. I don't suppose it really matters either way; it all feels so inevitable when we both lean the rest of the way into each other to kiss.

That first kiss was the best of my life. It was languid, confident. New and exciting, enhanced by the dreamlike night and the way I had bared my soul to a total stranger, both of us swapping secrets while the stars lurked out of sight. And I'd be lying if I thought I hadn't built it up in my memory to be more than it was.

This, though.

This…

I didn't build up that memory at all.

It's different this time. Fierce, almost, and electric. There's a hunger in it, his hand strong between my shoulder blades as he pulls me tightly against him. It tugs me off balance and I fall against him, the hand that was holding his until a few moments ago now braced against his chest. A gasp spills out of my mouth before he swallows it with another kiss, his mouth curving into a smile against mine.

Lloyd nips gently, playfully, at my lower lip, and I deepen the kiss in response. A low groan rumbles in the back of his throat, reverberating through his chest, and when his hand slips from my back to my ribs, skirting beneath my shirt to cup my breast over my bra, it pulls a breathy, keening noise out of me.

His kisses become more fervent and I match them with a passion of my own. Why have I wasted time pushing him away when we could have been doing this instead? It feels so intense, so right. I like the way his hands feel on me, the way I can feel his heart thundering in his chest just like mine. I like that this is the guy I've spent quiet, friendly nights getting to know, and how real thisfeels.

I like that he coaxes my heart out onto my sleeve, too.

He cups my cheek in one hand and while he doesn't quite move away, it gives us both a chance to catch our breath. Lloyd's nose nuzzles against mine and my eyes flutter shut again.

"You have no idea," he whispers, "how long I've been wanting to do that."

There's the loud thump of a boules ball hitting the ground nearby, and someone is running toward the trees in peals of laughter—an abrupt and glaring reminder of where we are, and what a mistake this is.

I jerk away from Lloyd's embrace suddenly and sharply, the gravity of what just happened sinking in. I'm sure the deafening pounding of my heart is going to give us away.

What was I thinking? Anyone could have seen us! I will not be the girl who had a fling with Lloyd Fletcher during her internship—especially when people might think that I've been using him to get ahead, like his ex from last summer.

We shouldn't have snuck off together in the first place, even just to talk. I wonder if anybody has noticed yet that we're both missing, if they've made the correct assumption that we've vanished together. Tasha would have a field day if she knew.

Someone tramples around nearby, on the other side of the trees, collecting a rogue boule. "Got it! Honestly, Craig, what the hell kind of throw do you call that? You're meant to knock the other team's balls out of the way, not your own!"

They retreat back to the party. My breath rushes out of me in a loud huff, and I hunch to wrap my arms around my knees, unable to believe what a lucky escape we just had. I'm aware of Lloyd straightening up next to me, rearranging his arms and legs like he's unsure what to do with himself now.

Suddenly, it's so hard to make eye contact with him. Even just seeing his face out of the corner of my eye is difficult, a weird mix of guilt and want knotting in the pit of my stomach.

"We shouldn't have done that," I say, although I'm not sure if I say it more for my benefit or his. "We can't do that again."

Lloyd raises the back of his hand to scrub his nose, where a little of my makeup has rubbed off, a faint dusting of pale powder against his dark skin—a dead giveaway of what we've been doing if ever there was one.

My lips are bruised with the impression of his kiss. My skin tingles where I can still feel the warmth of his body next to mine. I press my fingers to my mouth and finally manage to peer up at Lloyd, who, for once, is impossible to read. The party on the other side of the trees seems to get louder; the tang of panic is heavy on my tongue.

"Did you hear me?" I ask, worry sharpening my whisper. "That can't happen again. It shouldn't have happened this time. We both…We just got carried away. Right? Had a couple of drinks, forgot ourselves." Yes. Yes, that's all it was. Swept up in the celebration and the party atmosphere. "It didn't mean anything."

"Ah," he murmurs—but it isn't the intimate, husky tone from a few minutes ago. It's unrecognizable almost: it's bitter. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You. Pushing me away. Again. Blowing hot and cold with me, constantly."

"I'm not—"

But I am. He's right. As determined as I am to not get involved with him, I keep being drawn back to him, and it's not made any easier by his constant presence at work, his happy-go-lucky attitude like nothing can ever get him down. But he's the one who invited me to hang out; he's the one always making so much effort to be friendly, to…

To pull down whatever walls I have, and find his way back in.

"You are," he says, so definitively that I don't even try to argue. "I like you, Annalise, but that doesn't mean you get to walk all over me like this. Last week, we said we were friends—but then you spent the whole week avoiding me. Treating me like I was a total stranger."

"Well, now you know how it feels!" I exclaim, shame squirming through me at the realization of how callous I've been with Lloyd's feelings.

"So you were doing it to spite me? To get back at me? You thought you'd…" He trails off for a moment. "Were you, what, luring me back in, acting like my friend, flirting with me just to get revenge? I told you, I know I made a mistake. I panicked. I thought you understood."

"That's not— Of course I wasn't—" Disbelief that he might actually believe that rattles me so hard I have to take a moment and concentrate on forming a coherent, whole sentence. "Maybe I panicked, too. But come on, we both know that if anybody found out about us, I'm the one who'd take the flak for it. You said you wanted to protect your reputation, but that's not true—you just don't want to get your heart broken again. Nobody cares if you hook up with some random intern! But they'll care if they think I used you to get ahead. Nobody's going to tell Arrowmile's golden boy that his work doesn't really have any merit, that he didn't earn anything. Everybody loves you—you can't put a foot wrong."

Lloyd's gaze cuts sharply to mine. It hardens when he realizes I mean every word I say, and seeing him so serious in return makes me uneasy. His jaw clenches, eyes flashing with defiance and anger. There's something he wants to say, to snarl words in his defense that will take the sting out of mine, but he swallows it down, settling for a derisive scoff and a resentful curl of his lip.

This reaction is worlds apart from the boy who just held my hand and told me he'd been waiting to kiss me again. It's worlds apart from the boy who asked me if we were friends last Friday night.

He opens his mouth to say something—but cuts himself off with an agitated sigh and turns sharply away. He snatches up the beer he set aside earlier and takes a deep drink.

I want to know what he was going to say, what kind of argument he would've made in his defense. The more I've gotten to know Lloyd in those quiet, lonely nights together, along with the things I learned about him from Will, I feel like I'm underestimating him—selling him short in ways I don't understand.

I want him to prove me wrong now. Prove that he is the guy I thought he was that first night, after all. To say something, anything, that will keep me from shutting him out again.

But in the end, he doesn't say anything at all.

So I leave and go back to the party. I fetch a new drink and rejoin my friends, who are tipsy and too excited by my return to ask where I went in the first place.

And when Lloyd appears a few minutes later, he's the life and soul of the party once more.