Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Sam
The walk back from Waffle House was slower than the walk there.
Everyone was full, loose, and laughing in that syrupy, half-asleep way.
Harper and Avery were arguing about whether waffles or hash browns were the superior post-club food.
Elliott kept bumping into me on purpose just to see if I’d shove him back.
Callie was recapping the night for the third time like it was already legend.
Jules was getting a ride on Renzo’s back.
I laughed when I was supposed to. I nodded at the right moments. I even chimed in once or twice.
But my body felt a half-step behind, like I was still back in the Taproom, still pressed chest to chest with Liam, still hearing Madonna’s whisper thrum through my bones.
When we hit my street, I slowed.
“This is me,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.
Elliott frowned. “You sure? We can walk you.”
“I’m good,” I said quickly, then softened it with a smile. “Promise. I just want my bed.”
Callie studied me for a beat, eyes sharp even this late. “Text when you’re home.”
“I will.”
They hugged me, quick and tight, then let me go. I watched them walk on together, their voices fading, the glow of streetlights stretching long shadows across the pavement.
When they were gone, the night went quiet.
I walked the rest of the way alone.
The buzz in my chest didn’t fade. It got louder. The rhythm of my steps matched the echo of the bass still stuck in my head. My shirt felt warm against my skin. I swore I could still smell Liam on it, soap, musk, sweat, and something else unmistakably him.
I made it halfway down the block before I pulled my phone out.
Me: Thanks for dancing with me tonight. Still kinda feel it.
I thought for a moment and smiled, then typed again.
Me: I’m still wearing the scent you left on me. Kinda not mad about it.
I stared at it for a second. Too much? Too soon? I hit send anyway.
Delivered.
No buzz. No three dots. And no reply.
I stared at the message, throat tight, then locked the screen before I could overthink it into oblivion.
I checked my phone at least a hundred times the rest of the walk home. Waiting. Hoping for a reply. Finally, when I checked, Delivered had changed to Read.
Nothing else.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and kept walking, the night suddenly feeling wider and quieter, like it was waiting for something that wasn’t coming.
At my door, I unlocked it and stepped inside, turning on the lamp in the living room. I pulled my phone from my pocket.
Me: Made it home safe.
Callie’s response came almost instantly.
Callie: Love you. Happy Pride, babe.
I smiled despite myself, my chest loosening just a fraction.
Inside, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my keys on the counter, and poured myself a glass of water. My hands shook just slightly. I drank it too fast and poured another. I looked at my phone once more. Nothing
In my bedroom, I put my phone face down on the nightstand. I stripped down to my briefs and let myself fall into bed, limbs heavy with everything I wasn’t saying. The room was dim and quiet except for the hum of the fan. My body finally had space to catch up with my brain.
And my brain, unfortunately, had a lot to say.
Liam’s belly pressing into me. The weight of him, warm and solid, doing something to me I hadn’t expected. His beard near my cheek. His breath in my ear. The unmistakable press of him through denim that had made my pulse spike and my knees threaten to give out.
God.
I rolled onto my side, then onto my back, staring at the ceiling.
Why him?
Why now?
We’d been friends for years.
I grabbed my phone.
No new notifications.
I opened my photos instead.
There were a dozen from the night. Most of them terrible. Blurry lights. Callie mid-scream. Elliott laughing with his whole body. One of Jordan and Evan pressed together, foreheads touching.
And then there was Liam.
Caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, curls escaping his hat, eyes bright. He looked happy.
My chest tightened.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I knew exactly what I was doing when my hand slipped beneath the waistband of my briefs. I didn’t pretend otherwise. My body had been coiled tight all night, tension winding tighter with every replayed moment, every almost-touch I hadn’t known what to do with.
I closed my eyes.
Liam came back to me immediately.
Not just his face, but the weight of him. His belly, warm and solid, pressing into me when he pulled me close.
The way it had fit against me like it belonged there. The heat of his skin through denim. The faint scrape of his beard near my cheek when he leaned in, scratchy and real and too close.
My fingers grabbed around my dick, already hard, already aching. I sucked in a breath as I stroked slowly, letting the sensation build instead of chasing it. Every movement pulled another image forward.
Liam’s hand at my waist, not gripping or claiming, just there. A question. An invitation. The way his thumb had flexed slightly, like he was checking to see if I’d step back.
I hadn’t.
My hips shifted into my hand as I stroked again, firmer now. I imagined his palm sliding instead of hovering, imagining his fingers spreading wide across my lower back, pulling me closer until there was no space left to pretend this was accidental. I could almost feel it.
My breathing turned shallow and uneven.
I thought about the way he’d looked at me on the dance floor, eyes dark, intent, like something had clicked into place for him too. The way his body had moved with mine, easy and confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
My hand sped up, thumb brushing over the head, sending a quick jolt through me. I bit down hard on my lip, stifling the sound that wanted out, the name that pressed against my chest.
Liam.
The thought of it, of him, tipped me over faster than I meant to let it. My hips jerked, hand tightening as the release hit, hard and intense, spilling through me in waves that left me shaking. I clenched my jaw, riding it out, breath breaking as everything unraveled at once.
When it was over, I sagged back against the mattress, chest heaving, staring up at the dark ceiling like it might have answers for me.
It didn’t.
Afterward, I just lay there, breathing hard, hand slack against my stomach, the echo of him still everywhere.
Regret crept in around the edges. Not regret for the want, or even for the act. Just for how alone I still felt afterward.
The tacky mess on my stomach snapped everything back into focus. I sighed and got up, moving quietly through the dark apartment, wiping myself down with a towel from the bathroom, rinsing my hands, chest, and belly in the sink. The water was cool. Grounding.
I stood there a moment, palms flat on the edge of the counter, breathing.
Then I grabbed the towel, dried off, and padded back to bed.
I scooped my phone off the nightstand before crawling under the sheets.
Two notifications waited for me.
One from Liam.
Liam: : )
And beneath it:
Elliott: You good? Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Love you.
I stared back at Liam’s message for a long second. The stupid smiley face. Warm. Noncommittal. Infuriating. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. That was a lot. Did you mean it? We need to talk. I typed three different versions. Deleted all of them.
I answered Elliott instead.
Me: Yeah. Home safe. Just tired. Tonight was a lot. Love you too.
I set my phone on the charger on my nightstand, rolled onto my side, and pulled the sheet up around my waist. Sleep finally pulled me under. Quick, heavy, and inevitable, like gravity catching up.