Page 13 of Believe it or Knot

I mean meeting Liam Cordova, sleeping in the same bed as him? Those are things that dreams are made of. Or at least what my dreams are made of.

He doesn’t need to know about how I used to dream of this exact thing happening. Back when I was a lonely tween with only Gage as my best friend. I didn’t really have time for anything else. My parents put me to work early, always at the restaurant, bussing tables, washing dishes, delivering food, until I got old enough to handle money and use the grill.

I worked so much that, looking back, I don’t know how I even kept up my friendship with Gage. Between school and work, I had so little free time.

It’s a wonder he spent time with me, seeing as he was the Lake Kilrose golden boy, before he joined the army and left forever.

No, not forever, for seven freaking years, though. A long freaking time. On top of that, I haven’t heard from him in… months. Which is unusual, but I know if anything was wrong, I would know.

His parents would have told me. They know what he means to me. Even if they don’t approve.

The most likely reason for his radio silence is that he’s busy on a mission he can’t tell me about, and I just have to accept that.

Even if I hate it.

I’m not proud of it, but I spend too long looking up the Cordova pack online, reading everything I can until late in the night and early this morning before I have to get ready for work.

There’s a lot to sift through.

More than it ever really occurred to me, but I guess that makes sense with how famous they are.

I get overwhelmed with the amount of information and stop reading the millions of articles. Instead, I scroll through Liam’s official social media sites, reading his posts. Some of them I can tell are written by someone else, while there are some that have his fingerprints all over them.

It’s sick and I need to stop, but I don’t, drinking in every iota of information about them, about Grayson, their prime who spends more time out of the limelight than Liam and Rafe, and Rafe is really only in it because of his bodyguard status.

The number of women the Cordova pack has been linked with is… staggering. And seeing their faces on Liam’s posts leads me down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, all but stalking each woman.

I told you it’s sick. I’m not proud of it at all. Worse, the only thing it serves to accomplish is making me feel so very… normal, underwhelming. Every woman linked with them is an actress, a supermodel, a singer, a philanthropist or bad ass CEOs, like the photo I found of them at a charity gala with Cicely Blake, the omega founder and CEO of IndulgScents.

My claim to fame is a 10k following on VidTid where no one knows who I actually am, and a tiny diner on the lake.

Yeah, there’s no way Liam and Rafe will come back for me, not when they’re used to dating women like Hollis Grailess or Cicely Blake.

At that depressing thought, I shut down my laptop and drag my feet to get ready for work. I call it getting ready, but really I just put on SPF, grab a Snack Shack t-shirt from the stack in my dresser—white today—and throw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts.

That’s one nice thing about owning and working at what amounts to a fast-food place on a lake. No one expects you to be fancy.

After throwing my hair into a bun on top of my head and kicking my feet into a pair of worn converse, I head to work.

The Snack Shack is just far enough away from my cabin that I don’t want to walk, and just close enough that taking my car seems silly, so I always ride my bike. Rain or shine. It’s my only form of exercise, besides the early morning swims I take three days a week in the lake when the weather isn’t as cold as a witch’s teat.

The lake is quiet when I pull up outside my restaurant. It’s not quite warm enough yet for the tourists and lake goers to be out on the water yet, but I know that will change in an hour or so.

Just enough time for me to prep for the day before the first customers show up.

The tasks are familiar, brainless almost since I’ve been doing them so long, some of them—like filling the napkin holders, putting ketchup, tartar and fry sauce into singer serve ramekins and stocking straws and cups near the drink machine—I’ve been doing since I was a child, five or six years old.

By the time Annie, the seventeen-year-old who works for me over summer break, arrives, I have everything set up and ready to go. She arches her brow as she takes in the space, normally there’s at least one thing she needs to do before we open, but I worked like a madwoman this morning, needing something to distract me from the fact that two days ago I met Liam Cordova, slept with him in my bed and I will never see him again.

Something about that feels intrinsically wrong. So fucking wrong, but I know it’s the truth.

Two days of internet stalking his entire pack has made it more than clear I could never stack up against the type of women they date.

Annie trails her finger along the sparkling counter. “I heard something totally freaking bonkers at the bonfire last night,” she says in a cajoling tone.

I know where this is going, but I keep my voice neutral, bordering on disinterested as I say, “Oh, what’s that?”

“Tommy West says you had Liam and Rafe Cordova at your house for pizza.” I can feel her gaze burning into me, and it’s everything I can do to not completely cave and tell her everything. Sure, she’s younger than me by seven years, but the girl is sharp and relentless. Before I can come up with a suitable response, she stomps around the counter. “Unbelievable, Sorrel! You met Liam Cordova two days ago! We worked together all day yesterday, and you didn’t say a thing! I thought we were friends.”

---