He grunts, but the smirk stays firmly on his stupidly perfect face.
Liam brushes past me. “Anyway—I came to check on you.”
“Me?” I blink.
“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you’re okay after yesterday. Figured you might want some company.”
My heart stutters. For all the ways Liam drives me nuts, he always shows up when it counts.
“I’m fine,” I say, waving it off—though my voice betrays me with the slightest crack.
Ash slides past me. “We’ve got pizza on the way too,” he says.
“Perfect,” Liam says, flopping onto the couch. “Then it’s settled. We’re having a chill night in. No drama, no reporters, just beer, carbs, and maybe a bad action movie.”
He clicks on the TV.
Ash shoots me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s dying to make another comment. I shoot him a look that saysdon’t you dare.
***
It turns into one of those unexpectedly good evenings—the kind that feel like a warm blanket after a storm. Liam’s sprawled on the couch with a beer in hand, cracking jokes and making Ash groanwith secondhand embarrassment from old tour stories. I curl up on the opposite end, laughing more than I have all week.
The pizza arrives just after seven. Ash brings it into the living room with a flourish like it’s a five-star meal, and Liam immediately starts inhaling slices like he hasn’t eaten in days.
We sit around the coffee table with paper plates and fizzy drinks, the TV humming some background noise none of us are paying attention to. It’s comfortable. Easy. Normal.
I’m mid-bite when a gooey strand of mozzarella slithers off my pizza and lands squarely on the front of my shirt.
“Ugh,” I groan, brushing at it uselessly.
Without thinking, Ash leans forward and swipes it off for me, fingers skimming the curve of my chest.
He freezes.
I freeze.
Timedefinitelyfreezes.
His hand is still there—just resting, a little too low, a little too long. His thumb moves like it has a mind of its own, brushing over the fabric once more before he snatches it back like he’s been electrocuted.
Our eyes lock. My breath catches. My face heats. His jaw tightens.
And then—
“You okay, bro?” Liam asks, around a mouthful of crust. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Ash clears his throat, dropping his hand into his lap like he’s hiding a weapon. “Fine. Just—hot cheese. Got startled.”
“Hot cheese,” I repeat faintly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out laughing or combusting on the spot.
Liam shrugs, completely unfazed, and launches into a story about a bachelor party in Vegas that involved a trampoline and an inflatable llama.
I don’t look at Ash again for a solid ten minutes.
And Iabsolutelydon’t think about the feel of his fingers against my skin.
Not even a little.
