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I’m drawn to take the seat next to my dad, so that I don’t have to feel like I’m melting from proximity to Liam while surrounded by people who don’t know what’s going on between us.
But I have a strange suspicion that Megan wouldreallylike to take that seat next to him instead, and that my dad would like the same.
Even if I also suspect that both their stomachs are doing somersaults at the thought.
So, I pull out the chair situated between Liam and one of his teammates, Cole, and sit down.
Megan walks gingerly around the table and tentatively takes the seat next to my dad. Her cheeks are colored with the same rosy tint I saw earlier at the arena, but this time deeper and brighter. I see her nod to my dad, and they start a conversation in a voice too low for me to hear over the din over the guys talking.
I feel Liam’s gaze burning on me; even if it’s only his peripheral vision snatching a glance at my forearm resting on the table, it still sizzles. Even though the dining room of the restaurant smells delicious with scents from the kitchen and other diners’ dishes wafting in the air, what my nose latches onto most is the familiar and irresistible scent of sandalwood from Liam’s fresh, recently showered skin.
“Glad you could join us,” Liam says, leaning close and invading my space, the low timbre of his voice massaging my ears and making me quiver low in my stomach.
If he thinks he can get away with teasing me without getting a dose of his own medicine, he’s got another thing coming.
“Glad to be here,” I answer innocently; but underneath the tablecloth, I hook my lower leg around his, lifting it to caress the side of his calf. I hear a sharp hissing sound next to me as he sucks in a breath through grit teeth.
“Good work, Liam!” My dad’s voice catches both Liam and me off guard, our gaze snapping in his direction, guilt no doubt written in both our features.
“What was that, sir?” Liam stammers.
“Megan was just telling me that posts featuring you have been performing the best on our social media accounts this past week,” my dad answers. “I guess my daughter’s camera favors you.”
My cheeks warm as I force a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Your camera isn’t the only thing of yours that favors me,” Liam whispers, his voice a deep rumble, low enough that only I can hear it.
Heat blasts between my thighs, tension coiling in my lower spine. It’s absolutely not fair how hot and bothered he can make me with the simplest lines, the briefest touches, the tiniest gestures.
I reach for the glass of water in front of me, happy to find it cold and full of ice, and take a long drink. It takes some of the edge off the heat crawling up my neck, but just barely.
I clear my throat, trying to recenter myself. Maybe a good way to get my mind out of the gutter and no longer focused on what I can’t wait to do when Liam and I are alone, would be to peruse the menu and figure out what I want to eat.
I reach forward to grab a menu, but Liam does the same thing at the same time. Our hands graze together, and it feels like sparks ignite where our skin makes contact, heat snaking up my arm and wrapping around me.
I grab a menu and pull it back quickly, scanning it and hoping I can start thinking with my stomach instead of a part of me that rests a bit lower.
“What are you in the mood for tonight?” Liam asks as he browses his own menu.
“Not sure yet,” I say.
“There is something I really want to eat right now,” he says, a devilish tease in his voice. “But Istronglydoubt it’s on this menu.”
Heat blazes in my cheeks and my core tightens at his words.
“Oh yeah?” Walsh, sitting next to Liam, suddenly interjects, his voice obliviously innocent. “What’s that?”
“Um, uh,” Liam stammers, flustered. “General Tso’s Chicken.”
“Yeah, pretty sure they don’t serve that here,” I say, nudging him with my elbow and trying to keep a smile off my face.
“Weird thing to be in the mood for at an Italian restaurant,” Walsh comments.
I flit my eyes to the side and see that Liam’s struggling to hold back a giggle just like I am. It feels like we’re two schoolkids who are trying to hide that we’re laughing at an immature, dirty joke that would get us in trouble with the teacher.
After the waiter goes around the table and takes all our orders, Liam nudges me on the shoulder and leans towards me. “Psst,” he whispers to get my attention. “Check it out.”
He tilts his head in the direction of my dad and Megan. They’re both wrapped up in talking to each other, smiling and laughing together, but with a self-conscious awkwardness about them that makes them look like high schoolers out on a first date.
