I blink, taken aback by how easily the offer slipped out. The familiarity of it. The certainty that we’ll be together for the holidays and buy gifts for each other.
I backtrack immediately. “I… didn’t mean anything by that. I’m not making assumptions. I know we aren’t an actual family that does Christmas presents.”
Liam makes a weird face, an expression I can’t interpret. Is it regret? Annoyance? “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
We have to park a mile away from the high school stadium. Cars and trucks are crammed onto the side streets leading to the field, lined up bumper to bumper, forming endless metallic snakes.
“This is insane,” I say as we join the throng of people walking toward the glow of stadium lights in the distance.
“I usually come on my bike.” Liam shoves his hands into his pockets. “Skip the parking nightmare entirely.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m not riding on that thing.”
He cuts me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “You might like it.”
The comment lands straight between my legs. I imagine the friction of the saddle, my thighs bracketing Liam’s hips, myarms wrapped tight around his waist, the vibration of the engine beneath us.
Yeah. I might like it a bit too much.
“Lila still hasn’t cleared me for the bike anyway,” he adds.
“Where is Lila?” I scan the crowd. “Are we meeting her somewhere?”
“Ah, no.” Liam shakes his head. “Lila has a… complicated relationship with football.”
“Complicated how?”
“She fucking hates the game.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and the tone of his voice suggests a closed door. I don’t feel right prodding him for information. If my friendship with Lila progresses, I’ll ask her myself. Or she’ll tell me.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, passing clusters of families heading in the same direction. Adults and kids decked out in the blue and silver colors of the team.
In the parking lot outside the stadium, tents are set up for various booster clubs and the PTO, selling merchandise and snacks. Families are gathered around the beds of pickup trucks, sharing chili and drinks from coolers. Clashing music blares from inside the stadium, the tents, and the individual cars. The air smells of grilled meat and fallen leaves.
“Wow.” I dodge a group of teenagers with their faces painted blue and silver. “I thought tailgating was more of a college tradition.”
Liam shrugs. “The Bobcats are a strong team with legacy. We won eleven state championships. And Blue Crescent Harbor doesn’t have a college, so…” He waves a hand at the spectacle surrounding us. “All the fanfare goes to the high school.”
We pass a brightly lit tent selling hot dogs and burgers. Behind the register, I spot an unmistakable mane of blonde hair.
“That’s one of my friends from book club.” I point. “I want to go say hi.”
I start toward the tent without waiting for Liam’s response. He follows, but at a slower pace—unenthusiastic in a way that makes me glance back at him curiously.
“Hey!” I lean over the register to hug Faye.
“Peyton! Hey!” She squeezes me back, beaming. Then she looks over my shoulder, and her expression turns stony.
“Your Highness,” she says dryly.
“Whitney Rose,” Liam purrs from behind me.
I whip my head around. “Why are you calling her Whitney?”
“It’s my first name,” Faye grits out. “But I hate it. No one uses it.”
