"I can sit in the back—" Libby started.
"No, no, is bad luck to separate couple before game," Varlenko insisted, practically herding her into the seat. "Also,bus driver turns heat up very high. You will need strong shoulder to sleep on. For team morale."
Liam looked up from his tablet. "Varlenko, what are you?—"
"Shhh, Captain must review tape. Libby must rest. Is natural order of things." Varlenko winked and disappeared toward the back of the bus where Jensen was clearly trying not to laugh.
The bus's heating system was indeed enthusiastically effective, and Liam's shoulder was right there. After an anxiety-filled flight where her brain had spiraled imagining what the media section was saying about her—"sleeping her way to access," "PR relationship," "compromising journalistic integrity"—her body simply decided it had endured enough consciousness for one day.
She didn't mean to fall asleep on him.
One moment she was listening to Liam explain Portland's defensive adjustments, his voice a low rumble beside her. The next moment, the bus was pulling up to the hotel and his warm hand was on her shoulder.
"Libby," he said quietly. "We're here."
She jolted awake to find herself pressed against Liam's arm, her hand somehow curled around his bicep, and—oh God—a small but undeniable wet spot on his suit jacket.
Libby's brain slowly processed several horrifying facts:
1. She had fallen asleep on Liam D'Arcy
2. Her face was imprinted with the texture of his suit jacket
3. There was a small but undeniable wet spot on his shoulder
4. The entire team was watching with varying degrees of amusement
"Oh God," she muttered, jerking upright. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to?—"
"Sleeping Beauty awakens!" Varlenko declared from across the aisle. "Jensen, you owe me fifty dollars. I said she sleeps whole ride, you said she wake up at toll booth."
"You took bets on me sleeping?" Libby asked, mortified.
"Da! Was very profitable. Thompson thought you wake up when team start singing. Chase bet you wake up when his mother call. Mattingley bet on when we hit traffic. But I know exhausted woman when I see one." Varlenko grinned. "Also, Captain gave very scary look when anyone make noise. Was like Siberian winter. Chase even decline mother's three calls without answering."
Libby looked up at Liam, who was studiously examining something fascinating outside the window. His ears were pink.
"Is beautiful!" Varlenko announced, wiping an imaginary tear. "Like nature documentary where baby penguin finds parent."
"Please stop talking," Libby begged, her face burning as several players laughed.
"You needed the rest," Liam said quietly, giving her a small, understanding smile.
"Your shoulder..." Libby gestured helplessly at the damp spot.
"I've had worse," Liam said, his attempt at lightness somewhat undermined by the way he kept adjusting his collar.
"For Instagram!" Varlenko announced, holding up his phone showing a photo of Libby passed out against Liam, mouth slightly open. "Don't worry, I make nice caption. 'Team mom needs nap before destroying Portland with sick burns.'"
"Delete that immediately," Libby demanded.
"Too late. Already has forty-seven likes," Varlenko grinned. "Forty-eight. Forty-nine. I am very popular.”
The hotel lobby gleamed with the kind of aggressive luxury that made Libby deeply aware of her travel-wrinkled blazer and the fact that her face still bore the imprint of Liam's suit jacket.
"Ah, Mr. D'Arcy, Ms. Bennet-Cross," the manager greeted them with a bright, knowing smile. "I have wonderful news about your accommodations."
"Wonderful news?" Liam's tone suggested skepticism.
