“Would you…” He drifts off, blinking twice.
“Would I?” I have genuinely no clue where he’s going with this.
Liam sets down his glass and turns to me, pulling one of his legs to the other side of our bench. I lift a foot onto it, aiming my body to face him. His hand moves to my cheek and his thumb brushes softly, just once.
Even this amount of PDA is something I’ve never experienced in my life, and it’s tantalizing. To be wanted this publicly.
Eyes on mine, he asks, voice half gone, “Would you want to sleep over at my place tonight?”
Chapter 17
May, Four Years Ago
He lives in a private dorm, one of four rooms connected by a shared common area. It’s deserted when we walk inside, though there’s an empty glass with melting ice on the coffee table in front of the TV. The walls are covered in Tennessee paraphernalia, and there’s a pile of baseball equipment by the door. More than just his.
“Do you live with your teammates?” I ask.
“Two of them, yes.” He nods at one of the doors and I head toward it.
His dorm room is more narrow than square and fits his furniture neatly with little extra space. A twin-sized bed with a navy blue comforter, a small desk stacked with textbooks and papers, a dresser, a bedside table, a closet. It’s cramped but organized. And it smells nice in here, like some kind of cedar-and-moss candle. Which, yes, appears to exist on his bedside table—though if I had to wager a guess, Liam has only burned it once.
I twist back from my evaluation as he softly shuts the door, enclosing us.
The overhead light is off, and his desk lamp casts the space in a golden, low glow. About five feet separate our bodies, but standing in Liam’s personal space makes me feel overwhelmingly close to him.
He leans his back against his door and crosses his ankles. “This is me.”
“I didn’t expect you to be this neat.”
“I’m not.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You expecting company?”
“Yeah, you better scram before she gets here.”
I bite on my smile. Liam lifts onto his feet and walks toward me, slowly. With every step, I feel my own gravity growing stronger, rooting me in place.
His hands find my hips again, mine his shoulders, and the expression on his face matches whatmustbe plain on mine. Complete disbelief. Limitless desire. Absolute comfort and safety. His eyes are still filled with sunlight and it’s warming this whole tiny room.
“Paige,” he whispers, and it smells like strawberry ice cream. “You are my favorite person.”
“You’re my best friend,” I whisper back, giving him what he’s wanted all this time.
“I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
I nod my agreement. “I’ve wanted you when I shouldn’t have.”
“But now you can,” he says.
“And we should,” I say.
He kisses me so gently that I halfway wonder if it was an accident. The lightest graze of his lips to mine, then away. But he leans in again, does it again with slightly more pressure, and that’s when I know without a doubt how much trouble I’m in.
Every touch before now, from early March to mid-May, was him operating at reduced power.
The third time, Liam’s mouth lingers, and his hands move to my back, pulling me into him. His teeth, my tongue, strawberry and chocolate and pilsner. His mouth works over mine in a way that couldonlybe described as savoring. My hands go behind his neck, up into his hair, and Liam softly moans into my body like he’s in agony.
When I’m gasping, he goes for my throat, trailing his wet lips and tongue over the skin. He gently pulls twice on my hair, like a signal, and I look at the ceiling while he explores underneath my chin. Liam’s breath is short, but mine is worse. I feel like I swallowed an upper.
