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“Is your dad in the picture?” he asks.
“The perfect family picture?” I scoff. “Yeah, he’s front and center. He’s not interested in anything behind the façade, though. Not acknowledging my mom has a problem. Not admitting never being home and sticking his dick in his secretary had consequences. He’s in denial and my mom is a disaster and I’m…God, I’m just so sick of it.”
This is where most girls would saythanks for listeningoryou’re a good listener.
I’m not most girls.
“Never mind. That’s more than you needed to know.”
“I asked.”
“Not for details.”
He laughs, and I glance over in shock. “I hate beer,” he says. “Tastes like total shit. Or maybe Matt just buys crappy beer. He’s a cheapskate like that.”
He looks over, then away when he realizes I’m staring at him. That I’m listening.
I have no idea where this is going. Maybe he’s trying to take my mind off my parents. I’m drawn in by what he’s saying—that he’s saying more than a sentence to me. By the husky, meandering tone of his voice.
“I’d rather have water, honestly. But I’m known for always being the uptight, responsible guy, so I usually have a beer so no one says anything. But I only have one, even when I’m tempted to say fuck it and actually let loose a little. Because my dad is the most disciplined guy I know, but he almost chose booze over his wife and kids. I’m scared I might be the same way.”
The confession settles between us; the words weighed down by substance and consequence.
“What made him get sober?”
“You’d have to ask him. I wouldn’t recommend it, though, since he likes to pretend Maeve and I weren’t old enough to remember it happened. It was his choice. Both to start drinking and to stop. Your mom is making her own decisions. That’s not on you, Natalie.”
I should be focused on what he’s saying.
I am.
But I’m also absorbing how bizarre it is Liam Stevens just said my name without the slightest hint of resentment. How strange it sounds and how much I like it.
I’m not sure what to say in response. I know the anecdote was Liam’s attempt at making me feel better, which was unexpected, to say the least. I also think it was his way of reassuring me he won’t tell anyone what I shared with him. Of letting me know I can trust him to some extent, by telling me something I doubt many people know. Small, football-obsessed towns love to gossip, about players and about coaches.
I don’t know what to say in response, so I say nothing. I understand Liam a little more now; I get why he keeps such a close hold on control.
I want to shake it.
I want to surprise him.
I want to remind myself—and Liam—there’s a reason the two of us have barely spoken before now.
So when I glance over to find he’s already looking at me, I collide more than our gazes.
My lips press against his. Once. Twice. He tastes like mint toothpaste. My face heats and something flips in my stomach as I pull back.
I wait for him to react. To ask me what I’m doing or to laugh in my face. But he doesn’t react at all, aside from looking shocked. It throws me off-kilter. So much so, I literally stumble as I push myself to my feet, intending to head inside. A fumble that’s the polar opposite of the saunter I intended to end this encounter with.
When Liam stands as well, I take a couple of involuntary steps back, creating some distance. For the first time, I have no idea what to say to a guy. No teasing comment or suggestive innuendo at the tip of my tongue.
I just…stare at him, waiting for more of a reaction than total silence.
My lips tingle with the distinctive aftertaste of mint, proof of what just took place between us. My eyes skate across features I’m suddenly curious about. Liam’s dark eyebrows are furrowed above his green eyes. His jaw is clean shaven and tensed. The pink lips that were just touching mine are slightly parted, like he intends to say something but hasn’t decided what.
More seconds tick by between us.
I should just go inside. There’s no good reason I should still be standing here. The wind picks up, blowing my hair across my face.
