Page 9 of On the Line

“We are close.”

“Not you two. You look like coworkers.”

Liam looks down at me. “You heard the woman.” Before I can ask what that means, he pulls me right into his chest. My hand lands flat on him and finds a lot of solid muscle under that soft old T-shirt.

Well. That’s information I didn’t need.

Nora takes about nine pictures. Then Savannah yells, “Kiss her!”

I freeze, and so does Liam, for maybe half a second. His eyes find mine and he’s asking. He won’t do it unless I say yes. That should make it easier, and instead it makes it worse, because I want him to. God do I want him to.

I lift my chin.

His hand slides from my waist up to my cheek, and he kisses me.

It’s supposed to be quick, something cute for the picture. Instead he takes his time like there’s nobody on this dock but us. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, and his thumb moves slowly along my cheekbone, and I forget about the lake and my friends and the whole ridiculous reason we’re doing this. For a second or two there’s only Liam.

Then somebody whistles, and we break apart. He leaves his forehead resting against mine.

“Convincing?” he murmurs.

I swallow. “Very.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and mine drop to his, and then Nora shouts, “Get a room!” and we jump apart like a couple of teenagers caught on a porch.

My face is on fire. Liam looks way too pleased with himself. I glare at him, and he just grins back.

This was a terrible idea.

Chapter Three

Liam

Our room in the cabin has bunk beds. Her friends apologize, saying they didn’t know she was bringing a boyfriend when they booked the cabin.

“I’ll take the top bunk,” I say grudgingly, wishing we were forced to share a bed. But after that kiss, it may be for the best that we’re not sharing a bed. I’m not sure I could keep my hands off her.

When I settle onto the tiny twin mattress, I’m a little worried about rolling out of the bed. I hug the wall all night to be safe, lamenting the fact that my own bed with its soft pillowtop mattress is a mere fifteen miles down the road.

I finally fall asleep and have very pleasant dreams of Delaney. When I wake before 7:00 am, I see that she’s already up. I follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. Delaney’s already there, wearing tiny sleep shorts and a T-shirt, and for a second my brain blanks.

“Coffee?” she asks.

“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to get my brain to work properly again.

Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s barefoot and not wearing any makeup. I’ve known her less than a day, and this version of her hits me even harder than the one who walked into Mercury Slice.

She hands me a mug. “Black.”

I look at her. She really was taking in all the details of our getting-to-know-each-other conversation yesterday.

“What?” she asks. “That’s how you take it, right? Serial killer coffee.”

I nod, taking a sip so I won’t smile like an idiot. “Thanks.”

She leans against the counter with her own mug. “So… about last night.”

“The kiss?” I ask.