But I’m pretty sure it’s a lie.
Liam opens the bathroom door and freezes when he sees me standing here. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I’ve never shared a bathroom with a guy before. It was strange getting ready last night—and this morning—seeing men’s deodorant and mouthwash lined up neatly against the sink. Somehow, it doesn’t shock me that Liam didn’t leave dirty boxers lying on the floor or toothpaste stuck to the sink. He even remembered to put the toilet seat back down. Madeline shares a bathroom with her younger brother and said he never does.
“Sorry if you were waiting long.”
“I wasn’t.”
Drops of water drip from his hair onto his shirt, leaving darker spots on the gray material. “I forgot shaving cream.” He runs a hand along the line of his jaw, drawing attention to the light layer of stubble growing in. “I was going to ask Parker if I could borrow some.”
I brush past him, unable to take the taste lingering in my mouth any longer. I grab my toothbrush and apply a liberal layer of cinnamon toothpaste. Shove it in my mouth.
“Okay…I’ll—”
“Wait,” I say. But my mouth is full of toothpaste, so it comes out in some garbled version of the word.
Liam doesn’t move, as I walk to the shower, grab the orange bottle out of the stall, and then slap it in his hand.
He glances down. “Mango honey?”
I roll my eyes. Spit in the sink. “It’s probably nicer than whatever crap you buy.”
“Probably,” Liam agrees. He pops open the lid and gives it a sniff. “Not sure if I want to smell like a tropical vacation.”
I shrug and help myself to some of his mouthwash. Gurgle and spit.
“So who’s the lucky guy?”
“Excuse me?” I wipe my mouth.
“It seems like you’re getting ready to make out with someone. Just wondering who it is.”
I rest a hip against the counter and cross my arms. Despite his complaints about the smell, he’s using the shaving cream. Quick, efficient scrapes remove the stubble from his neck and jaw.
“Who’s the lucky girl you’re shaving for?”
He smirks, then winces as he nicks his cheek.
I roll my eyes, then grab a tissue from the box behind the toilet and hold it out to him.
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.”
There’s a moment, as he stares and I stare back, where I consider kissing him. Again.
So I blurt a sentence that will guarantee that won’t happen.
“I threw up in the bushes when we got back.”
Liam’s eyebrows rise as he pulls the tissue away, dabbing the small cut once more to ensure it’s stopped bleeding. It has.
“Too much margarita, or the bracelets didn’t work?”
“Both, probably.” I feel guilty admitting that since he got them. “Thank you, though. That was really…nice of you.”