Liam is quiet on the drive back to his place. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t tell if he’s upset with me or not. My muscles ache, and my face stings from windburn, but it’s my anxiety that’s killing me. Did I ruin everything? Does he know I’m sexually attracted to him now? Is he going to cancel watching hockey together? Is he going to ask me to move out?
“So,” he says, glancing over. “What toppings should we get on the pizza? I think it was a draw.”
I’m so relieved at his harmless question, I could cry. I really thought he’d figured out my dirty little secret, but it seems not. “Whatever you want is fine, Liam.”
I can’t help feeling my response is a subliminal attempt to comfort him. To let him know I’d never push anything on him that he doesn’t want. Not pizza toppings and not sex.
He laughs. “Come on, there must be something you don’t like on a pizza.”
I grimace. “I hate anchovies. But other than that, I’m fine with anything.”
“Pepperoni and black olives sound good?”
“Absolutely.”
When we get home we both take quick showers because we worked up a sweat out on the slope. By the time I get downstairs, Liam has ordered the pizza from the only place in Golden Peak that delivers. It’s a spot called Sal’s that Liam insists makes the best pepperoni pizza in Montana. When the food arrives, the smell of melted cheese and garlic fills the living room. Liam grabs a six-pack from the fridge and we settle in for the game.
I’m reassured that Liam seems like his old self. There’s no awkwardness between us, so if he noticed something out on the slope, he’s put it behind him. Thank God. I’d have been devastated if Liam kicked me out. Not just because I’d have nowhere to live, but because losing his friendship or respect would gut me.
The Miners are down 2-0 in the first period and Liam is not happy about it.
“Are you kidding me?” he growls, setting his beer down hard on the coffee table. “Borowitz had a clear shot and he passed it. You don’t pass on an open net. Who does that?”
“A guy who’s afraid he can’t make the shot,” I say, reaching for another slice.
“Missing is better than not trying.”
I laugh. “Is it though? If he can pass to a player who he thinks will succeed?”
“I still say he shouldn’t have passed.”
“Pfft.” I shake my head. “I thought you were all about teamwork? Depending on others and not doing everything yourself.”
“Sometimes you have to do shit alone. Like take a shot that was obviously clear.” He takes an aggressive bite of pizza. “God, the Miners are killing me this season.”
“They’ll probably come back.”
“How?” He gestures at the screen. “Look at that defensive coverage. A blind person could skate through that gap.”
I laugh and take a pull of my beer, trying not to enjoy this too much. Liam in his element — loud, passionate, completely unfiltered, is dangerously attractive.
When the Miners finally score, Liam shouts so loud I nearly choke on my beer. I start coughing and he gives a sheepish grin when he notices.
“Sorry.” He laughs, slapping my back. “Got excited.”
“Oh, really?” I choke out. “I didn’t notice.”
We’re both four beers in when the Miners tie it up. Liam is absolutely buzzing as he watches the game. I find it endearing how anytime our team does something right, he looks at me to make sure I saw it. I’m quietly anxious when I watch sports, but Liam jumps up a lot during the game, screaming at the TV. Each time he sits back on the couch, he’s a few inches closer to me.
I’m positive he has no idea he’s doing that, but he is. And by the third period, he’s abandoned any pretense of personal space. His shoulder is pressed against mine. I should move. Create distance. Instead, I stay exactly where I am because the warmth of him against me feels too good and I’m too buzzed to care about self-preservation.
During a commercial break, Liam’s head is tipped back against the couch. “It’s nice to watch a game with someone who understands what offsides is,” he muses. “Plus, you actually watch the game, you’re not scrolling on your phone the entire time.”
“Someone asks you to explain offsides?”
“Kara.” He laughs, but it fades quickly. He rolls his head to look at me, and his dark eyes are glassy from the beer. “I’m serious though. This is nice.”
“It is nice,” I say quietly.
