Chapter 3 #2
She began to undo the knot. I should have stopped her. I should have swatted her hand away and told her not to touch me.
I stood paralyzed.
"You look..." she started, her eyes focused on her task. "Different. When you're not sweating."
"I hate suits," I rasped. "I feel like I'm in a straightjacket."
"Beauty is pain," she said softly. She retied the knot, her movements practiced and efficient. She tightened it, her knuckles grazing my throat. "There. Better."
She didn't pull her hand away immediately. She let it rest on my chest, right over my heart. She had to feel it. It was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Why did you come over here, Liam?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper that was meant only for me. "You told me to stay away. You told me I was poison."
"I did," I admitted.
"So why play the white knight?"
"I'm not a knight," I said, stepping closer. I lowered my head so my mouth was near her ear. "I'm the goalie. I protect the zone. And unfortunately, you're currently in my zone."
She shivered. I saw the goosebumps rise on her bare arms.
"Is that all I am?" she challenged, looking up through her lashes. "A liability to be managed?"
"You're a distraction," I said. "You're walking around here in that dress, smiling at these vultures, pretending you're happy. It's a lie, Sofia. You hate this as much as I do."
Her eyes widened. The mask slipped. For a second, I saw the exhaustion, the loneliness, the desperate need to be seen.
"You don't know anything about me," she breathed.
"I know you're hiding," I said. "I know you're terrified that if you stop smiling, they'll realize you have nothing to say."
It was a low blow. Cruel. But I needed to push her away. I needed to break the magnetic pull that was drawing me closer to her.
She flinched, but she didn't back down. instead, her chin went up.
"And you," she countered, her voice trembling with anger, "are terrified that if you actually let someone in, you might have to admit that you're not made of stone.
You wear your poverty like a badge of honor, Liam.
You judge everyone in this room because it's easier than admitting you want to be one of them. "
Checkmate.
The air between us crackled. It was hostile, volatile, and incredibly erotic. We were stripping each other bare in the middle of a ballroom, using words as knives.
"I don't want to be them," I growled. "I just want to survive them."
"Then survive me," she whispered.
She leaned in. Just an inch. Her lips parted.
I was going to kiss her. It was a terrible idea. It was suicide. But the urge to taste the defiance on her tongue was overwhelming. My hand moved, sliding around her waist, my fingers digging into the silk and the warm skin beneath.
"Sofia! There you are!"
The voice was booming, jovial, and oblivious.
We sprang apart like guilty teenagers.
Marcus Thorne appeared, a glass of scotch in his hand, looking every bit the king of the castle. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly buckling my knees.
"Vanner! Good to see you mingling. I see you've found my daughter."
"Just discussing the equipment inventory, sir," I said. My voice was steady, but my heart was racing so fast I felt dizzy. "Sofia was... updating me on the stick count."
Sofia smoothed her dress, the mask slamming back into place instantly. "Yes, Daddy. Liam was just explaining the importance of proper blade curvature."
The lie was smooth. Effortless.
Marcus nodded, uninterested. "Good, good. Vanner, I want you to meet Senator Davis. He’s a big fan. Come, shake some hands."
He steered me away. He gripped my shoulder with a force that was friendly but firm. You belong to the team, the grip said. And the team belongs to me.
I looked back over my shoulder.
Sofia was standing by the pillar, alone again. She watched me go. Her hand drifted up to her neck, touching the spot where I had almost kissed her.
Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
I turned away, following her father into the pit of vipers. But my hand still burned where I had touched her waist. The imprint of her body was seared into my palm.
This wasn't just physical anymore. It wasn't just lust.
She had seen me. She had called me out on my own bullshit, and she hadn't flinched.
I was in trouble.
Sofia
I watched him walk away, dragged into the circle of power by my father.
My legs were trembling. I felt like I had just run a marathon in heels.
Then survive me.
Why did I say that? What was wrong with me? He had just insulted me, called me a fake, and my reaction was to dare him to kiss me.
But he was right. I was hiding. And he was the only person in this entire room who had looked past the dress and the smile and seen the panic underneath.
Brad Pensington saw a prize. My father saw an employee. The donors saw a prop.
Liam saw me.
And when he stepped close, when his body heat enveloped me, blocking out the rest of the room... I didn't feel like a fraud. I felt real. I felt solid.
I touched my lips. They were tingling.
I needed to get out of here. I needed air.
I turned toward the terrace doors, intent on escaping the stifling heat of the ballroom.
"Sofia."
I froze. It wasn't Liam. It was a female voice, sharp and cold.
I turned.
Victoria Vance was standing there. She was the captain of the cheer squad, a senior, and the girl who had been trying to get Liam’s attention since freshman year. She was blonde, statuesque, and currently looking at me like I was a cockroach on her gala shoe.
"Nice dress," she said. It wasn't a compliment. "Trying hard tonight, aren't we?"
"It's a gala, Victoria," I said, exhausted. "We're all trying."
"I saw you with Liam," she said, stepping closer. She swirled her cosmopolitan. "I saw him corner you. Was he telling you off? He hates when the staff gets in his way."
She emphasized the word staff.
"We were talking," I said.
"Listen, sweetie," Victoria said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was pure poison.
"I know you're used to getting whatever you want because Daddy buys it for you.
But Liam isn't for sale. He's not a purse you can pick up for a semester and discard.
He's real. And he doesn't date girls like you.
He dates women who understand the game."
She smiled, a flash of white teeth. "Just a friendly warning. Don't embarrass yourself."
She patted my arm and walked away, hips swaying.
I stood there, stunned.
First Liam. Now Victoria. Everyone seemed determined to tell me where I belonged. Not here. Not with him.
The anger flared again, hotter this time. It wasn't the frantic, defensive anger I felt with my father. It was a cold, calculated resolve.
He doesn't date girls like you.
Maybe not.
But he had wanted to kiss me. I saw it in his eyes. I felt it in the way his hand shook when it touched my waist. He wanted me. He hated that he wanted me, but he did.
And Victoria Vance could go to hell.
I turned and pushed open the heavy glass doors, stepping out onto the stone balcony. The winter air bit at my exposed skin, shocking and cleansing.
I walked to the stone railing and looked out over the campus. The snow was falling again, soft and silent.
I wasn't going to quit the equipment room. I wasn't going to quit Liam Vanner.
If he wanted a war, he was going to get one.
I pulled my phone out of my clutch. I had one contact in the Athletics department that wasn't my father or Liam.
Me: Jaxson. I need a favor.
Jax (Winger): Ooh, the Heiress speaks. What do you need?
Me: I need to know Liam’s schedule. Specifically, when he trains alone.
Jax (Winger): ... Why?
Me: Inventory.
Jax (Winger): LMAO. Sure. 5 AM. Every morning. He's a psychopath. Why do you ask?
Me: Thanks.
I put the phone away.
5:00 AM.
If he thought I was just a distraction, I was going to show him exactly how distracting I could be.
I looked back through the glass doors. Liam was standing by the bar again, looking miserable. He glanced up, his eyes locking onto mine through the glass.
I didn't look away. I didn't smile. I just held his gaze, lifted my chin, and let the promise hang in the air between us.
Game on, Goalie.