“I hate you.”
He tsks. “We both know that’s not true, Peaches. Look at you. It’s been a week and you can barely contain yourself around me. So say it.”
“I love you, okay? I always have.”
“Oh. Shit.” I wake up in cold sweat, catching my breath and wiping an errant tendril stuck to my sweaty face.
The light streams in through the cracks of an old wooden blind. Edging off the bed, the chill of the cold hardwood greets my toes as they press against it before rising.
The low cadence of Liam’s professional voice in a nearby room reverberates through the bare white walls, sending vibrations along the floorboards and tingling my spine. Gooseflesh prickles the nape of my neck, and I huddle into myself. I haven’t had a dream likethatin a good long while.I walk into his bathroom to splash my face with cold water but find little relief; the crimson stain on my cheek might be permanent.
“Get it together,” I scold myself in the mirror. “What you say and do in dreamworld can’t be held against you.”
Making his bed buys me a few more seconds of calm to collect my thoughts. I pull the sheet up and swallow the ball lodged in my throat. Caught in a haze of the waking sleep and a thick fog of wine, Liam managed to get me as far as his bed before I passed out. I rub my temple as a dull ache permeates my skull. I’m never drinking wine again.
Corners properly pressed, I drag a slow, steady breath through my lungs, eyes roaming Liam’s spartan room. The only pieces of furniture beyond the bed are a dresser and a workout bench in the corner, with weights collected there.
My stomach rumbles—apparently anti-live-in-this-room-forever.
Reluctantly, I inch out into the hallway, preparing for the awkward.
Hunched over the dining table clad in a black Henley, Liam’s broad figure sends another—it’s way too early for these nerves—bolt of electricity to my system.
That’s certainly one way to wake up.
Focus aimed at a collection of papers spread out on the table, he runs a hand through his hair, a highlighter clenched between his teeth. My fingers itch to do the same, and I ball them at my side.
A soft pattering in my chest follows the initial surge, and I pause, enjoying the brief moment where I can be an unobserved spectator.
Maybe I can back out now and admit he was right. I wasn’t thinking the whole fake dating through.
His gaze picks up, meeting mine as a soft dimple pricks his right cheek. “Morning,” he says before bringing his attention back to his work.
The gentle pattering intensifies.
“Morning.”
“There’s a coffee and a plate for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to—” I pull at my fingers, slowly slinking toward the door.
“You’re welcome.” The corners of his mouth tug upward into an infuriating smirk, focus still trained on whatever is in front of him.
“Thank you,” I exhale. It’d be rude to leave now if he plated me breakfast.
Entering the kitchen, the tiny flutters in my chest give way to forceful thuds as my eyes fall on a white china plate sitting on the island. A pink-frosted donut with rainbow sprinkles, a pain au chocolat, and a peach tartlet are all delicately placed next to a cup of steaming coffee.
“All of these—” I pause, clearing my throat and hoping next time I speak I don’t sound quite so much like a frightened schoolgirl. “Are all of these for me?”
Liam grunts in the affirmative.
Yeah, that noise certainly isn’t going to help this situation.
“Did you have breakfast? Can I get you anything?”
“A yogurt from the fridge would be great if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” I clear my throat again.
