The tension between my legs screams that I'm wrong. That she left for five minutes and missed everything.
Because that five minutes with Liam was unlike anything I've had before. Not just because of how he makes my body react, but because of how he makes me feel safe enough to react at all. And it's not just his touch that does it. It's his… everything.
There's no performance with him. No pressure or keeping score. And that's what it's supposed to be like. Liam is just a guy who makes a joke when I'm overthinking or uses his touch to both calm me down and make my heart race in the best possible way. He's a guy who notices the freaking yogurt I buy… and who makes room for me—and his daughter and all of the mess in between.
My throat tightens as hope and want and nerves all mingle there because if this isn't a date, if this is just him… then I'm not sure I'm ready for what real time together will feel like.
My brain stirs as I stare at the screen, pretending to watch the next song battle. So much so that I almost miss when Liam throws his arm across Ruthie's shoulders. She sits back into it, her eyes peeled on the screen.
And thank God.
Because when Liam stretches out his hand, and his fingers brush the back of my neck, I swear the dozen people in this theater could all hear the pounding of my heart if they were listening.
The rest of the day went on the same—the three of us moving together like it's something we've always done, and Liam and I pretending we don't know exactly what the other looks like naked.
At least, that's how it seemed.
But if anyone had really been paying attention, they might've noticed the little things. Like how when he opened my door, Liam's hand found the small of my back, guiding me into his truck with a gentle confidence. Or how, later at the ice cream shop, while we were reviewing the movie, his gaze dipped to my lips every time I took a bite of my butter pecan.
And they might've noticed me too. The way I finally let myself take in that ass—a full, shameless once-over I've been waiting weeks for. Or how my cheeks warmed when he ran his hand through his hair, laughing like he had no idea what it did to me.
They might have even noticed how I purposely dropped a few steps behind after we grabbed sandwiches at the corner deli because I needed a second to catch my breath after what happened inside.
I was reading the menu and didn't notice the bread guy barreling in behind me, boxes stacked high full of rolls, trying to squeeze between me and the wall. Before I registered the collision that was about to take place, Liam's hand was on my shoulder. He eased me in front of him in line, adjusting his body so he would be the first point of contact in any possible accident.
It wasn't his touch that got me—though that didn't help. It was the quiet way he guarded me. No glares or nasty comments. No cocky performance. Just that subtle shift in our proximity and a quick glance to make sure I was okay.
Now, after some time apart spent walking Margot through how to fold a fitted sheet over FaceTime—which I also don't really know how to do—and my second cold shower of the day, I decided I'm ready… tofind him.
Liam and I didn't exactly finish our conversation from the theater so much as it finished me, and maybe it would be best to keep it that way.
Or maybe not.
Slinking downstairs, I'm careful not to make noises that might wake Ruthie up, though that's my jitters talking—that girl could sleep through a fire alarm. When I reach the bottom, I turn toward the living room, but before I get far, Liam calls out to me.
"Tessa?"
I freeze, not because he's looking for me—I was looking for him, anyway. But because my name slipped out from underneath the door of the study.
His man cave.
The setting of my first Liam fantasy.
34
Liam
"Tess?"
I call her a second time because I know she's there.
I heard her step off the landing, but I think somehow I'd have known anyway.
The door finally creaks open as Tessa pushes her way inside. Her eyes trail up from the floor, taking in my sweatpants. She inhales quickly when she sees I'm wearing my clubhouse sweatshirt—thesweatshirt. And her breath hitches altogether when she stops at my face.
"Hey," she says sweetly. Relief I didn't know I needed washes over me as I exhale, my eyes on the way her hair is tossed to one side, her long blonde locks falling over her shoulder. I didn't think I was nervous that what I said at the theater would scare her away, but I'm now realizing that might have been because my anticipation over finishing it smothered everything else.
"You okay?" I ask as I tap the cushion beside me.
