“Looks like someone found you.” My dad catches Liam’s gaze across the room.
I sigh, which gets me a heavy dose of side-eye from my dad. He remains quiet as Liam makes his way toward us, one hand carrying two champagne flutes while the other holds a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
A man after my heart.
Okay, let me stomp on that thought about fifty times.
“Mr. Mitchell, nice to see you.” Liam pulls out a chair next to me as he nods to my dad.
“Liam.” My dad eyes him curiously.
“Long time, no see.” Liam wraps his arm around the back of my chair.
“I saw you yesterday. Should McCoy be concerned about your memory?”
His smile softens my already weak resolve, acting like a seduction trap with free alcohol. He needs to put those shiny bad boys away because the light bouncing off them blinds me.
Ever since my date with John, Liam lays his flirting on extra thick, like a new wave of possessiveness took over his lightheartedness.
My dad kisses me on my temple before excusing himself. No one misses the daggers he shoots at Liam, his skepticism evident for all to see. Too bad he didn’t include his shovel-and-shotgun speech. It’s a classic.
“I brought reinforcements.” He pours us two healthy glasses of bubbly.
“I knew I liked you for a reason. Match made in heaven.” The words flow from my lips before I realize what I said.
“I didn’t know you felt that way for me.” He hits me with another wink that goes straight to my clit because he has a way with making me feel all types of things.
“I was talking to the champagne bottle so get your head out of the pit lane. You and I are destined for hell.” My eyebrow rises on command.
Liam breaks out into a deep laugh he saves for me. “Matches made in heaven are overrated anyway, being all saintly and shit. Doggy-style is the devil’s work.”
I clench my thighs togetheras I chug my champagne and nearly drain the glass of all the fizzy liquid. A trickle escapes the rim of the glass and trails down my lips. Before I have a chance to lick the droplet, Liam leans in, his tongue lapping up the drop before tracing across the seam of my mouth. My lips buzz at the contact, my lungs burning as I take in a sharp inhale.
What the actual hell.
Butterflies be damned because Liam is too naughty for that. Being around him feels more like hornets wreaking havoc inside of me as they try to escape.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Things I should have done a long time ago.”
My eyes look everywhere but at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m ending the game.”
“What game?” I can’t tell what’s gotten into him. He tears me up inside, my rules disappearing along with my self-control.
“The one we both already lost. Fuck ignoring how we feel because we’re both too chickenshit to do anything about it.”
Does he like me for real? Or is it only about something physical?
“What kind of feelings?” I leave things open-ended, despite how my brain begs to ask a different question.
“The ones that make me want to rip that dress off you and fuck you with your sparkly sneakers wrapped around my waist. I want them pressed against my ass while I come inside of you, your fingers clawing at my back because you can’t get enough.”
So, the physical kind of feelings. Got it. I can’t deny how my heart squeezes, awareness flooding me about how Liam wants nothing past our friendship and fuckship.
I pretend his words don’t bother me. “You’re only horny after not getting with anyone for months.”