High Hopes (Coastal Rivals #3)

20. Birdie

20

BIRDIE

It’s past midnight, and sleep is nowhere in sight. I’ve been tossing and turning for hours because my mind refuses to settle. I know I need rest, more time to recover. That migraine from nearly two weeks ago still lingers in the back of my mind, a warning I can’t ignore.

It proves I’ve been pushing myself too hard—that I’m not invincible, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. Yet I can’t force myself to slow down, can’t quiet the thoughts swirling through my head.

Right now, it’s not even the fellowship presentation that’s keeping me up. It’s him. Liam Donovan.

I stare at the ceiling, replaying that kiss over and over. Liam taking that small, unsure step into my apartment. The way his lips felt against mine, soft but urgent, like he’d been holding on to those feelings for far too long. The warmth of his hands on my waist ...

And the way his touch still lingers—a quiet hum of desire that flares up every time I think about it.

It’s driving me up the wall, how one kiss has unraveled me so completely, leaving me restless, yearning for more. So, when my phone lights up on the nightstand again, dragging me out of the loop inside my head, I lunge for it.

For the past hour, Liam’s been sending me a flurry of messages. Texts that range from sweet to completely nonsensical. Half of them I can’t even decipher, like they’re written in some code only for the drunk to understand.

Liam

birdie birdie birdie. guess what

ur lips r a gift

i think i lost my shoe

birdie i think i left my head in the bathroom??? or maybe it was the bar???

I bite back a smile, turning onto my stomach and propping myself up on my elbows. It’s entertaining, sure, but it’s hard to know if it’s drunk honesty or just noise. Sometimes intoxicated ramblings are just that—nonsensical and fleeting, gone by morning.

My phone buzzes again.

Liam

miss u. ur so pretty

gonna kiss u forever

I laugh quietly into my pillow. God, he’s such a dork. A part of me is tempted to let him continue his tirade without responding, but then another message pops up that makes me pause.

Liam

birdie. need 2 talk 2 u

My heart stutters. I’m supposed to be sleeping, trying to get my head on straight before tomorrow, but who am I kidding? My eyes are wide open, and curiosity’s got me hooked.

I swipe to call him. The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Each second stretches out longer than the last, worry creeping up the back of my neck. Just when I’m about to hang up, there’s a click, and his voice filters through, all soft and sleepy.

“Birdieee, you there?”

Relief floods through me. “Yes. How drunk are you right now?”

He chuckles, a low, lazy sound that makes my stomach flip. “Why? Are you judging me?”

I smile. “Never.”

“Good,” he breathes out, a bit of a sigh mixed with a chuckle. “Because now that I know how good your lips feel on mine, you’re never getting away from me.”

I flush, my cheeks burning hot. “Oh, my God.”

“That was a good kiss, wasn’t it?” he asks, sounding almost boyish, like he needs to hear me say it.

I bite my lip, and a wave of butterflies swarms in my stomach. “Yeah, it was. Really good.”

“The best,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We should do it again.”

I can hear the smile in his voice, and my heart skips a beat. God, he’s such a flirt, even when he’s halfway conscious. “Oh yeah?” I tease. “When were you thinking?”

“I’ll come find you when I get back tomorrow. And I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you.”

I bite my lip to keep from squealing like a teenager. “It sounds like you’ve had quite the night.”

“You have no idea.” There’s a rustling on his end, like he’s shifting in bed. “But none of it matters because . . .” He trails off, and for a second, I think he’s fallen asleep. Then he speaks again, quieter this time. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, here I am,” I say, my voice softening.

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Do you ever think I’m, like, too much sometimes?”

“Too much?”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding small. Vulnerable in a way I’ve never heard before. “I talk too much. Say the wrong things. I don’t know when to shut up. I mean ... I dunno.”

My chest tightens. “No, you’re not too much. Not for me.”

“Really?” His voice lifts, like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“Really,” I say firmly. “You’re . . . exactly right, actually.”

There’s another long pause, and I wonder if he’s processing my words or just too drunk to reply. Then, finally, he says, “Birdie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my favorite.”

My breath hitches. “Liam—”

“God, I’m so tired. I think I might actually be floating.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, biting back a laugh. “You should get some rest, then.”

I can almost picture him now, sprawled out on his hotel bed, eyes half-lidded with that goofy grin on his face. The thought makes my stomach flutter, warm and light.

“Sleep tight, Liam,” I murmur.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, his voice slurring with exhaustion. “Night.”

I wait for the line to disconnect, but it doesn’t. Instead, I hear the soft sound of his breathing—slow, steady, and unmistakably on its way to a snore. My heart melts.

“Liam?” I whisper, smiling even though he can’t see me. “You’re supposed to hang up, you know.”

No response, just the faint, rhythmic sound of his breathing. He’s out. Completely.

With a quiet laugh, I take my phone away from my ear and press the red button to end the call. Then I’m left lying there with a head full of him—his voice, his laugh, the promise of his lips on mine. He called me his favorite.

It’s intoxicating, this feeling that’s wrapping itself around me, warm and insistent. I didn’t know I could feel like this again—so excited to wake up tomorrow. So hopeful, like the world’s suddenly a little brighter just because he’s in it.

It’s not even seven, and I’ve already been up for hours, flipping through my presentation slides—tweaking, rearranging, and trying not to let my nerves completely devour me.

By the time Friday rolls around, I know I’ll be a wreck. They’ve given me the last presentation slot, the so-called “grand finale” of the week. That means I’ll be facing the fellowship panel with every other finalist’s brilliance still fresh in their minds. It’s like the universe decided my stress level wasn’t quite high enough.

And then there’s Liam. Because why not add another layer of chaos to my already spiraling thoughts?

He said he’d find me yesterday when he got back, and I waited. I sat there like a lovesick fool, jumping every time my phone buzzed, checking the door every time I heard footsteps in the hall. But nothing. Radio silence.

Sena tried to reassure me last night, saying he was probably just wiped out from the away game. But that didn’t stop the overthinking. What if he forgot? What if he was just drunk talking that night, and now he doesn’t mean what he said?

I’m brushing my teeth, staring blankly at the bathroom mirror, replaying every overanalyzed second of our last conversation. There’s still an hour until my first class, and I’ve been half-heartedly running through my presentation notes to keep my mind occupied.

But all that goes out the window when there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

My heart leaps into my throat.

I spit, rinse, and nearly trip over myself as I rush to answer it. I probably look like a half-drowned raccoon, but I can’t bring myself to care. I yank the door open, and there he is.

Liam Donovan, in all his glory.

He’s standing there in his Dayton Soccer hoodie, hair still damp from a shower, looking way too awake for this hour. That lazy, crooked grin of his—the one that makes my knees feel like jelly—is firmly in place.

“Hey, Birdie,” he says like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Hey,” I squeak and then clear my throat. “I didn’t, um, expect to see you this early. Or, you know, here at all.”

“You said you were picking up your pieces from the kiln this morning, right?” He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Figured I’d walk with you.”

I blink. “You . . . remembered?”

“Of course.” He steps past me, casually slipping inside the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “I also remembered that I promised to help you with any last-minute fellowship stuff this week.”

“Oh, right.” I tug awkwardly at the frayed hem of my sweatshirt, unsure if I should be flattered or mortified by how much I was spiraling yesterday. “I thought maybe . . . I’d see you yesterday.”

He winces, guilt flashing across his face. “Yeah, sorry about that. I slept most of the day. And then I realized I had a midterm this week that I’d totally forgotten about. Spent all day cramming so I could be free to help you now.”

“Oh.” My heart does a weird flip. Relief floods through me, and I feel a little ridiculous for how worked up I got over nothing.

“Yeah, so,” he says, rocking on his heels, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “You ready to head out? Or do you need a few more hours of staring at those slides you’ve definitely memorized by now?”

I let out a laugh, my nerves loosening. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

We leave my apartment together, my bag slung over my shoulder and Liam’s hands shoved deep into his pockets. It’s a short walk to campus, and everything feels deceptively normal. Just a regular morning with my buddy ol’ pal.

But as we near the arts building, my mind drifts back to that night. To the way he sounded on the phone, all sleepy and sweet, telling me he’d kiss the hell out of me when he saw me again.

Now he’s here, walking beside me, but he hasn’t brought it up. Hasn’t even tried to hold my hand.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his mood. He looks focused, like he’s lost in thought, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. But then, without warning, he stops in his tracks, turning to face me.

“You’re acting weird. Very . . . un-Birdie-like.”

I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. Of course he would notice. “Yeah, well, it’s probably because . . . the other night, you said some things.”

“What kinds of things?”

My cheeks flush. “You know ... about me.”

His lips twitch into a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m listening.”

My stomach flips. “Like . . . you said you’d kiss me when you saw me again. But you haven’t—”

He steps closer, leaning in just enough to make my heart skip a beat. “Birdie, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dropping low, “if you want me to kiss you again, you should just come right out and say it.”

The nerve. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and the smug glint in his eyes tells me he’s fully enjoying this. “So, you weren’t just drunk when you said that? You didn’t forget?”

“Course not. How could I forget something like that?”

I’m standing there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing. And then he’s cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. His touch is so gentle, reverent and lovely.

“You gonna ask me, or do I have to make the first move?”

“Kiss me,” I murmur, barely able to get the words out. “Please.”

That’s all it takes. He’s on me in a flash, his mouth crashing into mine, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me close. I gasp, but then I’m melting into him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

God, this is what I wanted, what I needed.

It’s all heat and urgency, like he’s been waiting days for this moment. And maybe he has. There’s a certain tension in his grip, the way he’s holding me like I might slip away if he loosens his hold.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss. I’m dizzy, my head spinning, but it’s all him—his touch, his taste, the sizzling heat between us. His teeth graze against my lip, a sharp pull, and I moan, instinctively leaning into him.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “I’ve been thinking about that for days,” he mutters, low and raspy. “About you. About this.”

I laugh softly, my hands still fisted in his hoodie. “You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, grinning. “You make me one.”

The sound of distant laughter reminds me where we are, and I pull back slightly. But Liam doesn’t seem to care. He just grabs my hand and starts walking again, like we’ve been doing this since the start. Like nothing else has changed between us.

We reach the arts building, and my heart is pounding for a whole new reason now. I’m about to see my final piece—the one I’ve poured my heart into over the last few weeks. The one that could make or break my chances at the fellowship.

Liam squeezes my hand, his eyes softening. “You ready?”

I nod, but my stomach flips as we step into the studio. It’s quiet and empty at this hour, the silence almost too much. My footsteps echo as we head toward my workspace.

There’s a note propped up on my table, written in Professor Hall’s unmistakable scrawl:

Pulled it out early this A.M. Didn’t want to risk anyone’s grubby hands getting on the masterpiece. Good job, Birdie.

I read it once, then again, my heart beating a little faster. A compliment from Hall is rare. But I don’t want to read too much into it. Not yet.

Liam stands beside me, our shoulders brushing as I reach for the cloth covering my piece. My fingers tremble slightly, betraying the calm I’m trying to project. I pull the sheet back slowly, hesitation curling in my chest.

And holy shit, it’s absolutely perfect. Better than I even imagined.

The glaze caught every detail, the wildflowers blooming from the rim as if they grew there naturally. The soft, muted colors are exactly as I’d hoped, blending into each other seamlessly. It’s breathtaking—like it has a life of its own.

Liam exhales beside me, his voice low with awe. “Birdie . . . it’s incredible.”

I can’t believe it—everything I envisioned, brought to life. A masterpiece, if I’ve ever seen one.

My chest tightens, and I blink quickly, trying to ward off the tears threatening to fall. “I—I didn’t think it’d turn out like this,” I whisper.

Liam chuckles softly, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Why not? You’re the best there is.”

I laugh, a shaky, breathless sound. “That’s a bold statement, Donovan.”

“Bold,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “And truthful.”

I stare at the piece in front of me, flushed with both relief and pride, and think that maybe he’s right. Maybe I can win this.