He swallows, and I notice his fingers flex as he makes a fist and opens his hand, repeating that motion a couple of times. It’s like he’s holding himself back from something—from doing something.
His gaze sharpens, and I replay the last hour we’ve had together in addition to the last five years.
I’m the chase for him. He’s competitive by nature. He’s a thrill-seeker. Don’t give in.
I shout the words at myself internally. I can’t let his sweet smiles and pretty eyes paired with kind words and gestures cloud my judgment.
I feel myself breathing heavily, taking long inhales and calm exhales. All those things about Liam may be true, but I can’t shake this feeling with him—that he’s genuine, that I can rely on him.
He drags his eyes over me, and unlike previous times I’ve noticed him do this, I feel more heat in his gaze than before. More want. More desire. More resistance.
“You’re always safe with me.” He reaches a hand toward me, but doesn’t actually make contact. Yet somehow, I canfeelhim.
I retreat the tiniest bit. “You’re a piece of work, you know that, Twelve?” I say with a heaviness in my voice. “You do all these things and say the right words. You make me feel—” I stop, shaking my head.
“Make you feel what?”
I shake my head, staring down at my sneakers.
It’s time to go. I have to leave before I do something stupid. And right now, I feel like Liam has the capability to make me do something very stupid.
“Dem?” His voice forces me to look up at him.
Part of me wants to question whether this is just an itch. An itch that needs to be scratched to make the feeling go away. But there’s another feeling gnawing at my chest—the fear that I’ll catch feelings if I let myself open up to him.
“I’m not just blowing smoke,” he says, inching closer, and I bring my arms over my chest.
“I think I wish you were,” I whisper.
I hate telling him that, but it’s the truth. I wish I knew with 100 percent certainty that this was a game for him. A box to check. It would be so much easier.
He brings his hand close to my face. “May I?” he asks, and I slowly nod.
My body sinks the moment his hand cups my cheek, his thumb lightly running across my cheekbone. My stomach swirls at the feeling of his touch—so warm and protective—and I let my eyes close as we stand facing each other for a brief moment before taking a step back just out of reach.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
“I’m not.”
“It’s just my body reacting.”
“Is it?” he challenges, reaching one hand behind his neck.
“Y-yes, it’s a reaction to human contact, that’s all.”
“Really, Dem?” He sighs. “I wish you’d stop acting like you can’t stand me.” His tone is almost sarcastic, but his face shows something softer. “When we both know that’s not the case.”
“Liam.” I settle a shaky breath on his name.
“You’re fighting it, and I can’t really figure out why. I mean, I have my assumptions for your reasons. But if any of your reasons were actually good, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”
Is he right? There’s such a heaviness in the air between us. He’s pulling and I’m pushing, and I just want so badly to meet in the middle.
“I like our working relationship.”
“I do too,” he agrees.
He leans closer, and it causes me to back into the wall near the door. We’re hanging onto threads of daylight as the sun is about to set.
