He holds my gaze. The moment stretches, warm and loaded and dangerous. The TV drones on, a car commercial, but neitherof us looks at it. His eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second and my breath catches. Then he blinks and turns back to the screen.
“Okay, Miners, let’s win this thing,” he says, his voice a little rougher than before.
I exhale slowly and reach for my beer. My hand isn’t entirely steady.
Amazingly, the Miners actually do win 4-3 in the final minute on a goal that sends Liam off the couch. He pulls me up with him, one hand gripping my forearm, shouting and laughing. His excitement is infectious and I can’t help grinning back at him. He releases my arm and drops back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“What a rush,” he breathes. “That was a great game.”
“It was,” I agree. I need to put some distance between us. My heart is hammering like crazy and I don’t want him to catch on how much he affects me. “I’m going to get another beer. Do you want anything?”
“Sure, I’ll have another beer too. We gotta celebrate, right?”
“Right.” My voice wobbles as I make my way into the kitchen. I lean on the counter near the fridge and struggle to get myself back under control.
As much as I love living with Liam, it’ll only get harder to hide my attraction as time goes on. The more I’m around him, the more I like him. That’s not going to change. Whatever this is I feel for him, it’s not based on logic. It’s instinct. Something inside me has been pulling me toward him since the moment our eyes met at The Fox & The Kettle.
My need is confusing. Painful. I’ve obviously heard about the mate bond with my kind. I never knew anyone affected by it and wasn’t sure I even believed it was real. But I’m starting to. The instinct that drives me toward Liam is at times overpowering. However, if Liam and I share that sort of bond, he’s rejecting it, and it would only work if both wolves felt it. Unfortunately, Liam is already in love with Kara. He values me as a friend, but that’s where it ends for us.
Even though he pretends not to, he feels the tug toward me. I can see it in his eyes sometimes. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t acknowledge it, yet he can’t quite ignore it. I suspect that’s why he’s so protective of me and why he keeps me close even if he doesn’t understand his need to do that.
“Hey,” Liam shouts from the other room, sounding amused. “Are you actually brewing the beer or something?”
“Sorry, I got distracted by my phone,” I lie, grabbing two cold bottles of beer out of the fridge.
I return to the front room and hand him his beer, careful not to brush fingers. I’m struggling enough as it is without touching him.
“What were you doing? Scrolling grinder?” he laughs.
“No.” My face is hot. “I was just responding to a text from a friend.”
He narrows his eyes. “I thought you didn’t have friends.”
I lift one shoulder and sip my beer, hoping he’ll drop it. Luckily, he does. We watch the post-game for a while, drinking our beers. The conversation drifts from hockey to work to nothing in particular. The silences between topics are comfortable, no pressure to fill them. Outside, the wind has picked up, howling around the eaves of the home.
“Jude?” Liam’s voice is drowsy. He’s sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes half-closed.
“Yeah?”
“Today was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
Maybe it’s the beer talking. Maybe he’d say the same thing to anyone crashing in his guest room. But the way he says it, quiet, unguarded, like a confession he didn’t plan on making, makes my chest ache.
“Me too,” I admit.
He pats my thigh and smiles without opening his eyes, and within minutes he’s asleep.
I sit there for a while, listening to him breathe. The house settles around us, creaking softly. The last embers in the fireplace glow orange through the glass door. I can’t help watching him. His face is relaxed in sleep, all the tension and performance stripped away. He looks younger. Softer. It’s hard to pull my gaze from his full mouth. I’d give anything to taste him. I haven’t craved a man the way I do Liam in years. Maybe ever.
Eventually, I get up and drape the throw blanket from the back of the couch over him. He shifts slightly, murmuring something I can’t make out, and then settles. I turn off the TV, collect the empty bottles and pizza box, and take them to the kitchen.
Then I head upstairs to the guest room and close the door softly behind me. I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his hand still warm on my thigh.
Staying here is going to break me. I know it is.
But I can’t make myself leave.
Chapter Ten
