But that's when it happens.
There's a half-beat of time where his lips part as his gaze drops to my mouth. One second of déjà vu where if I had blinked too hard I would have missed the way his eyes darkened simultaneously. One sharp breath in from him tells me everything I need to know.
I was right.
He felt it too.
That quick, Liam exhales it all away, his breath heavy from exhaustion, and slides into the row. He takes the seat next to mine, which I instantly overthink, his body sinking into the cushion like he's still carrying the weight of the loss. He drags his hand down his face, and the way he pushes his glasses back into place mesmerizes me. He's not shirtless, and grey sweatpants aren't technically pajamas—and unlike in my fantasy, I'm the one with the romance novel—but still, this image of him completely steals my focus.
"You can sit," he says, his head falling to the side.
I glance down at my empty spot next to him and laugh awkwardly. "Right. Duh."
Grabbing my book off of the slate-blue cushion like a lifeline, I slip into the seat, overly aware of how close his elbow is to mine when he perches it on the armrest. We sit there a minute as his lids fall closed, and I pretend to search for where I left off in the book, knowing damn well that my week-old Drippy's receipt is wedged in a page somewhere holding my spot.
"Get to any good parts yet?" he asks without looking over.
"Uh… " Memories of the story flood my brain as I try to choose one that won't make this moment even more uneasy than it already is.
Sex.
Crime.
Him going down on her in the shower.
"She just moved into the apartment above his bar. Well, she didn't move as much as he lovingly forced her into…"
I peer over at Liam, his expression curious.
"She moved," I finish simply.
He smiles, nodding, then his face falls flat before sitting up straighter and turning toward me. "Wait…" he starts, his eyes full of concern. "You just moved in with Trevor, didn't you?"
My throat tightens at the reminder—and the change of subject. "Sort of," I mutter. I fidget in my seat, pulling one leg up underneath the other, then unfolding it again. "Yeah," I say more confidently. "Not my best move—no pun intended."
Liam hesitates like he wants to ask questions—or reprimand me—then shakes his head. "Are you still going to live with him?" he asks hesitantly. "You know… since…"
His jaw ticks as he swallows hard, and just briefly, we're back in my hotel room.
"God, no," I say with absolute certainty.
I look past him, staring out the window at the open field around us, my mind involuntarily going back to that scene in Trevor's bedroom that I've grown almost grateful for. Only a handful of times in the last fewdays have I felt a tinge of sadness coat the memory of our relationship. And recalling that moment washes it away every time. It's sad in a way, that I'm not more heartbroken over losing the man that I was with for a while. But I think it's because at the end of the day, I don't actually feel like I lost much at all.
A member of the ground crew in the distance ends his monotonous rhythm of dropping luggage onto a cart, and the change pulls me back. "No," I say again, rejoining the conversation. "Not after—"
"After what?" he asks eagerly. He creases his brow, more energy in his face than I've seen since the game.
I wave him off. "Nothing important." He tightens his jaw again, but he doesn't push. Instead, he waits for me to continue.
"I could go to my sister's. Or Brooke said I can stay at Drew's old apartment as long as I need to."
"Well, that was nice," Liam says to the headrest in front of him.
My gaze drops nervously to my hands. It's true—supposedly, Drew has no problem keeping his place while I find something more permanent. I, on the other hand, have a huge problem with allowing him to pay my rent. My salary from Liam isn't chump change in any sense, but I'm by no means making enough to maintain the Flames' star forward's penthouse.
I force a smile. "Mhmm."
He looks at me, his eyes narrow. "But…"
