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“Okay, but why isn’t he into her? It’s so obvious!” Liam asks as he pours himself another glass of wine, unable to pry his eyes from the television.
“Oh, he is, just later in the season.”
He acts over-dramatically offended. “Woah, spoiler much?”
“Shut up, it’s not like you actuallycare,” I choke out through a laugh as I polish off my second glass of wine, leaning into him.
Another episode goes by along with the bottle of wine before he bursts out laughing. “Hannah, this is awful.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m sure you’re the pinnacle of cinematic taste.” My sarcasm doesn’t reach him—or if it does, he ignores it.
“Actually, yes. I like to think I have exceptional taste in movies.”
“Like what,John Wick?” I mock, flailing my arms around for emphasis. I’m fully aware that’s his favorite movie franchise.
I yelp as he pins me to the couch, his body flush against me. The laugh that escapes me is nothing short of a maniacal cackle, causing Liam to dig his fingers into my ribs as he knows how much I detest tickling.
“Stop, stop!” I laugh as I attempt to pry his hands from my sides, but he doesn’t let go. He does, however, grab me tightly, the tickles quickly a memory. As my laughter dies on my tongue, his eyes meet mine, shifting from amusement to need in a matter of seconds.
Every other time anything has happened between us, it has been intense, like we were letting the pressure out of a valve in the hope that it would prevent the air from entirely combusting. That intense, all-consuming mixture of anger and desire is intoxicating, but nothing when compared to the look he’s giving me right now…like he could eat me alive.
The realization—without anger, without the heat of the moment—that I still want him to close the distance and kiss me has me ready to crawl in on myself.
I can’t want this; I can’t want him.
As soon as Liam’s lips meet mine, tender and investigating,I’m reduced to a puddle on the floor. I can’t want this, I can’t want him, I can’tlikehim.
The realization is worse than any hurtful thing he could ever say to me, because I know the ending is ten times worse.
“Stay the night,” Liam whispers, his lips lingering against mine.
I try to search for a reason to say no. I have to be up early, I have an appointment in the morning, I forgot my phone charger, Sage and I have plans—something…but nothing believable comes to mind.
As a gulp rolls down my throat, his eyes meet mine.
I nod as I whisper, “Okay.”
TWENTY-FIVE
LIAM
Sunshine drifts through my bedroom window so tepidly that I’m sure it has to be insanely early in the morning. I would typically get up and head to the gym for a quick morning workout before starting my day, but as I remember Hannah is in my bed, I instantly melt into her.
The sweet floral scent of her perfume lingers on my sheets from her night of tossing and turning, but there is nothing quite as intoxicating as the feeling of her hair draped over my shirtless chest, her face only inches from my heart.
I press my lips to her forehead, a gentle gesture that I can only reserve for when she’s asleep or not paying attention, without her psychoanalyzing it. However, the simple action bathes me in a calming sensation that I don’t recognize, so maybe she’s right to question it.
Slipping out of my crumpled navy sheets, I tiptoe out to the kitchen so as not to wake her from her slumber. Pots and pans line the counter as I maneuver the context of my cabinets to get to the griddle sitting at the back ofthe space. As I finally reach it, I pull it onto the counter and begin mixing boxed pancake mix. While homemade pancakes are irrefutably better, I can’t will myself to make them at 7:00 AM on a Saturday morning.
Pancake batter hits the electric griddle with a sizzle as Hannah comes into view, her bright blonde hair disheveled as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.
“Good morning,” Hannah yawns out as she approaches the counter.
“Morning.” I smile up at her before returning to my task of removing golden-brown pancakes from the heat and piling them onto a ceramic plate. The single most convenient thing about pancake mix is that, despite it being the easiest thing under the sun to make, it still comes out looking impressive. I’m the master of adding water to powder and mixing.
“You made me breakfast…” The puzzled expression on Hannah’s face has me questioning if this was too intimate of a decision.
I just thought that typically people get up in the morning and eat breakfast and it would be rude not to make something for her. Now, as my eyes meet hers, I realize that it tends to be a statement to make an overnight guest breakfast in the morning. While my intentions started out purely logical, the implications of it don’t exactly deter me.
