Page 62 of The Overtime Persuasive

“You move fast.”

“I’ve spent three weeks living in a hotel. I’m ready to own my own cutlery again.”

The door opens once more, and I look up as Liam walks into the room. My body's reaction is instant. A warm pull low in my stomach, followed by a rush of awareness that makes every other person in the room fade slightly around the edges.

His hair is still damp. He’s wearing a charcoal suit with a white shirt open at the collar, and there’s a faint red mark along one side of his jaw that wasn’t there before the game. He looks tired and happy, but also fresh, and his eyes are bright.

A shudder runs across my flesh. He looks…like the man who had me pressed against a door a few nights ago.

His gaze moves through the room, lands on me. Stops. The corner of his mouth lifts.

“I should go,” Tripp says under his breath, stepping away.

With a few strides, Liam crosses the room and is now in front of me. For a second, neither of us speaks, and the room seems to fall away around us. I know logically that it’s still loud––people are laughing around us, another replay starts on the televisions, and someone across the room calls Sawyer’s name.

Yet none of it feels close. Or real. It’s as if we’ve suddenly woken up and found ourselves inside an impenetrable bubble. Built for two and only two.

“Hey,” Liam says, his eyes moving over my face. “You came.”

“You left a ticket in my name.”

“I know. Still.”

A smile pulls at my mouth. “I came.”

His gaze drops briefly to my lips. My entire body remembers Friday night.

I clasp my hands together before I do something reckless, like grab the front of his beautiful suit and kiss him again––only this time in front of his father, his sister, and at least six children wearing miniature Dominion jerseys.

“So?” Liam asks. “What did you think?”

“About hockey?”

“About me playing hockey.”

“Oh.” I tap one finger on my chin as if this requires serious consideration. “It was deeply alarming.”

His eyebrows lift. “Alarming?”

“You hit a guy so hard the glass moved. Then, everyone cheered, which somehow made it more disturbing.”

He laughs, and the remaining tension in his shoulders loosens. “You weren’t scared, were you?”

“Of you?” I look at him. “No.”

His smile fades a little.

“I was impressed,” I admit. “Very impressed.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.” He steps closer. “I just like hearing you say it.”

Heat rises into my cheeks. “Well, you were good.”

“Only good?”