Chapter 7 #2
"Paris," she said. "My dad wants me to run the European division of the brand. Marketing. Events. Schmoozing."
"Sounds perfect for you," I said.
She turned her head to look at me. "Does it?"
"Yeah. Fashion. Parties. Paris. It's your world."
"It's a world," she said quietly. "It's lonely though. I went last summer. I stayed in a penthouse that was bigger than this entire hotel. I didn't speak to a single person who wasn't on the payroll for three months."
"That sucks," I said.
"It does," she agreed. She shifted, turning on her side to face me. "That's why I like this. Here. With you. It's... real. Even the pizza grease. It's real."
I looked at her. She was wearing a Blackwood Hockey hoodie she must have snagged from the equipment room. It was too big for her. She looked cozy. And sad.
"Come here," I said.
I didn't think about it. I just wanted her closer.
She scooted down the bed until she was lying next to me. She rested her head on my shoulder.
It fit. Perfectly.
I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into my side. She sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate all the tension in her body.
" Is this okay?" she whispered. "The deal said no touching."
"The deal is evolving," I murmured.
We lay there for a long time. The ice on my knee was cold, but the rest of me was warm.
"Liam?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you drove me," she said. "I'm glad I'm not on the bus."
"Me too," I admitted.
She lifted her head. Her face was inches from mine.
"You have a crumb on your lip," she said.
I smirked. "You gonna get it?"
She didn't smile. Her eyes dropped to my mouth.
"Maybe."
She leaned in.
She kissed the corner of my mouth, soft and tentative. Then she licked the crumb away.
The sensation was electric. My breath hitched.
She pulled back slightly, hovering. "Did I get it?"
"Missed a spot," I rasped.
I captured her lips.
This wasn't like the basement. That was frantic, desperate. This was slow. This was savoring.
I kissed her deeply, tasting the spice of the jalape?o and the sweetness of her mouth. Her hand came up to cup my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek.
I shifted, turning my body toward her, ignoring the twinge in my knee. I deepened the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers.
She made a soft noise in her throat and pressed closer, her body molding against mine. Her leg threw over my hip—my good hip—pulling herself flush against me.
"Sofia," I groaned against her mouth.
"Liam," she whispered. "Touch me."
My hand slid down her back, under the oversized hoodie. Her skin was warm, soft. I traced the line of her spine, making her shiver.
I moved my hand around to her front, cupping her breast through her t-shirt. She gasped, arching into my touch.
"You feel so good," I muttered, kissing down her neck. "You're so soft."
"You're hard," she panted, her hands gripping my shoulders. " everywhere."
I was. Painfully so.
I wanted to take her right here. On this cheap hotel bed, with the pizza box next to us. I wanted to strip off her clothes and bury myself inside her until I forgot about my knee, my debt, and the draft.
But I couldn't.
Not here. Not when the walls were thin and my teammates were down the hall. And not when she was still looking at me with that wide-eyed trust.
I pulled back, resting my forehead against hers. We were both breathing hard.
"We have to stop," I said, my voice wrecked.
"Why?" she whined, breathless.
"Because the guys are next door," I said. "And because if I start, I'm not going to be quiet. And neither are you."
She blushed, a deep crimson that I found incredibly satisfying.
"Fair point," she whispered.
She didn't move away though. She just settled back down, her head on my chest, her leg still draped over me.
"Just... hold me?" she asked. "For a little bit?"
"Yeah," I said, stroking her hair. "I've got you."
She fell asleep like that, within minutes.
I stayed awake for a long time, staring at the dark room, listening to her breathe.
I was in deep.
I wasn't just attracted to her. I wasn't just protecting her.
I was falling for her. Hard.
And the worst part? I knew exactly how this ended. The season would end. I would leave. She would go to Paris.
We were on a collision course with heartbreak.
But as I tightened my arm around her, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my ribs, I decided I didn't care.
I would take the crash. I would take the pain.
Because right now, holding Sofia Thorne in a Motel 6 in Albany, I felt richer than her father ever would.
I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.
Sofia
I woke up because the bed was cold.
I reached out, my hand searching for the solid warmth of Liam’s chest.
Empty sheets.
I sat up, blinking in the morning light. The room was empty. His bag was packed. The pizza box was in the trash.
There was a note on the pillow. Written on hotel stationary in blocky, masculine handwriting.
*Went to team breakfast. Didn't want to wake you.
Left you a coffee. It's terrible.
L*
I looked at the nightstand. A paper cup of lukewarm coffee sat there.
I smiled. A genuine, goofy smile that felt like it cracked my face open.
I picked up the cup and took a sip.
It was absolutely disgusting. Burnt, bitter, and watery.
It was the best coffee I had ever tasted.
I brought the note to my chest, hugging it.
"Idiot," I whispered to the empty room. "You are such an idiot."
But I drank the coffee anyway. Every drop.