It takes minutes for our breathing to go quiet again.
Half an hour later, when we’re cleaned up and I’ve changed into a fresh pair of his boxers and one of his T-shirts, Liam leans over me in bed, tucking my hair behind my ear.
He smiles at me like I have him in a thrall.
“I like you so much that I feel like it’s breaking my brain,” he whispers. “And if you keep writing songs about me, I might float off.”
“Then no more handwritten letters,” I say. “They’re fodder.”
He kisses my temple and whispers in confession, “I’m probably going to fall in love with you before I admit to it, or even before I ask you to be my girlfriend.”
If I trusted him less, I’d be more alarmed. “Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because if I’m drafted, even though spring training isn’t until next February, I’ll still do a fall and winter league to practice before starting with the majors. It’s only fair for you to know what I’m getting myself into, andwhere, before you decide if you want to be involved in it.”
“What if I already know for sure I’ll want to be involved?” I counter.
“Hold on to that feeling,” he says, “and say it again when I show you a real plan. Until then I’m going to feel more guilty about pulling you into my orbit than good.”
He’s protective of me in a way that outpaces my own instincts. But despite it, a new possibility takes shape in the corners of my mind.
It would have been too embarrassing to follow Zara to New York. Not after I came here to be close to her and Maisy. Maren wouldn’t abide it anyway unless I had a ten-step life plan, and astight-knit as she and Candice are, they’d see right through me if I popped up in Chicago.
I can’t stay in Knoxville either if it’s just Maisy here. She’ll graduate eventually and then do something else, so I’d only be prolonging my loneliness, my lack of direction. And she’s not my best friend anymore, maybe hasn’t been for a while now.
But Liam.
Maybe I could follow Liam.
A small part of me knows how unhealthy a mindset that is. A larger part of me is terrified of belonging nowhere, to no one.
Maybe that’s how Folly felt, and maybe that’s why she cleared out. From embarrassment or desperation or both. She cut herself off from us before we could think to do it to her.
“I promise to say it again,” I whisper to Liam, “when you show me a real plan.”
He presses his lips to my forehead. “And in the meantime, we’ll have lyrics and love letters.”
Chapter 18
July, Now
I wake up without a clue what city we’re in. Phoenix? Maybe Tucson?
I forgot to inquire on the tour bus last night and fell asleep an hour out. Misha had to shake me awake when we pulled up to the hotel. Liam met me in the lobby, smirking and asking questions about what kind of weed gummy the band had given me, but I was too sleepy to make any words sound right.
I try to stretch against the sheets, but all four of my limbs are stuck. Buried, caught, trapped. I’m either folded in on myself, contorted into a biological anomaly of a position—
Or, alternatively, I’m wrapped in Liam’s arms.
Verifying, I crack open one eye.
The wordsSLIDING HOMEare emblazoned proudly across his T-shirt, and my nose catches on the bottom curve of the G. I crane my head up in line with the shadows beneath his jaw. He smells like hotel soap and starchy sheets. Liam’s arms are looped around me, the bottom one undoubtedly forgoing blood circulation by this point. Our legs are tangled, and one of my index fingers is caught in the elastic hem of his boxers.
I remove it, making a guilty fist, and plot my escape.
My first attempt at extrication is lifting my right leg off his hip and reclining onto my back. Unfortunately, this causes my leftthigh to shift higher between each of his, and one of his palms to settle on my boob.
Liam halfway rouses, inhaling deeply, and rubs the heel of his palm across my breast. My nipple peaks and my breath catches. I stare at the ceiling as warmth pools in my core.
