Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
I was going to wear a hole in the carpet if I kept pacing like this.
Come over and find out. Unless you’re scared.
God, what had I been thinking? I’d basically dared Liam Farrell to come to my dorm at two in the morning for sex.
Well, not sex exactly. But close enough.
The striptease item on my list had seemed empowering when I wrote it—a way to feel sexy and confident, to prove Chris wrong about me being boring.
But now that Liam was actually on his way, all I could think about was every possible way I could embarrass myself.
What if I looked ridiculous? What if I moved weird? What if he laughed—not in a good way, but in an oh-God-this-is-awkward way?
I stopped pacing long enough to grab my wine glass from my desk and drain the last of it.
The cheap Moscato Sydney kept stocked for movie nights wasn’t exactly liquid courage, but it was doing its job—chasing away just enough of the nerves to keep me from texting him never mind, forget it, don’t come.
Thank God Syd was staying over at her boyfriend’s house tonight. I didn’t know how I would’ve explained Liam showing up at this hour otherwise. While she knew about the bucket list, I hadn’t exactly told her that I’d found someone to do it with me, or that the someone was Liam.
I set my empty wine glass down and then grabbed my marketing textbook which was still open on my bed from when I’d been pretending to study, but distractedly thinking about Liam long before he texted me.
I’d pulled the wine out when we’d started texting—well, more like when my face had flamed red when he’d started sharing all the things he wanted to do to me.
No one, and I repeat, no one had ever said anything like that to me.
It made me flustered.
And hot.
And so incredibly horny.
So I’d had a glass of wine, hoping it would chill me out.
But now I was freaking out for other reasons.
I had fairy lights strung all around my side of the room because I loved the soft glow they gave the space, but what if Liam thought they were romantic? Like I was setting a scene. Like I was trying to make this into something it wasn’t supposed to be.
This was just sex. There weren’t supposed to be feelings or strings, and I was worried the soft lighting would suggest otherwise.
But unplugging them would mean turning on the harsh overhead light, and there was no way in hell I was doing a striptease under fluorescents. So the fairy lights stayed, and I just had to hope Liam wouldn’t read anything into it.
A knock at the door made my heart slam against my ribs.
He was here.
I took a breath, tugged on the hem of my oversized CFU T-shirt—suddenly hyperaware that I was braless in thin cotton and men’s boxers—and opened the door.
Liam stood in the hallway looking more handsome than any man had a right to be, especially when he was struggling to get sleep.
There should be dark circles under his eyes and his hair should be crazy, but instead he looked like he’d just walked out of a men’s magazine shoot.
His hair was only slightly messy, and he was wearing a maroon Clark Fork University hoodie and gray sweatpants that left little to the imagination.
But despite how hot he looked, it was the way he looked at me that had my breath stuck in my throat. His gaze was hot and hungry as it slid down my body and back up again.
“Hey,” he said, his voice slightly husky and his accent just a little more pronounced.
“Hey.” I stepped back to let him in, my voice steadier than I felt.
He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the wine bottle. “Been pregaming without me?”
“Just one glass. I needed a little liquid courage.”
He nodded slowly, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You sure about this, Aves? Because we can just go to sleep. We don’t have to go further than that if you don’t want to. I’m just grateful for the escape from the crying.”
The out he was offering should have been tempting. Part of me wanted to take it, but I was tired of chickening out. Tired of letting Chris’s voice live rent-free in my head, telling me I was boring, that I wasn’t enough.
“I’m sure,” I said. “I want to do this. I just needed a minute to stop being in my head about it.”
He studied me for a moment, then his mouth curved into that cocky half-smile I’d seen him use on dozens of girls at parties. “So. What are we checking off your bucket list?”
“The striptease.”
A smirk tugged at his lips as he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “The striptease, huh?”
Hearing him say it out loud made my face flame. “You don’t have to make it sound so…”
“So what?”
“I don’t know. Clinical.”
His grin widened. “Would you prefer I say it sexy? Like…” He dropped his voice an octave, leaning in like he was about to tell me a secret. “So, Ava. I hear you want to take your clothes off for me.”
I shoved his shoulder, laughing despite my nerves. “Oh my God, stop.”
“What? That’s literally what’s happening.”
“I know what’s happening.” I pressed my palms to my cheeks, desperate to hide how red I had no doubt they were. “I’ve just never done anything like this before, okay?”
I was a dancer, but I’d never danced like this.
He glanced around the room, before his gaze settled on my small Bluetooth speaker on the dresser.
“Tell you what,” he said, shrugging off his hoodie and tossing it over Sydney’s desk chair. “Let me go first.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re nervous because you’re worried you’ll look stupid, right?” He was already pulling out his phone, scrolling through something. “So let me show you how it’s done.”
“You’re going to do a striptease for me?”
He looked up, and the grin on his face was pure mischief. “You ever seen Magic Mike?”
I stared at him. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious.” He connected his phone to my speaker, and “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails started playing. “Sit down, Sunshine. Class is in session.”
I sat on the edge of my bed, mostly because my legs had stopped working properly anyway. “Liam, you really don’t have to—”
“Shh.” He held up a finger. “No talking during the show.”
And then he started moving.
It was ridiculous at first—deliberately so, I think. He did this exaggerated body roll that made me snort, followed by a hip thrust that belonged in a bad eighties music video. But then he found the rhythm, and suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.
His hands went to the hem of his T-shirt, lifting it just enough to flash a strip of abs before dropping it again. Teasing. His hips moved in slow circles, and when he turned to give me a view of his back, he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk that made heat pool low in my belly.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, and I wasn’t sure if I was impressed or embarrassed or turned on. Maybe all three.
He pulled the shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it at me.
I caught it reflexively, the fabric warm from his body, and watched as he ran a hand down his chest like he was in a cologne commercial.
The fairy lights played across the planes of his muscles and caught the ink on his arms—because of course Liam had muscles and tattoos; he was basically a walking thirst trap for fuck’s sake—and I found myself gripping his shirt tighter than necessary.
He dropped into a squat, thighs flexing, then rose back up with a roll of his body that was frankly obscene. When his hands went to the waistband of his sweats, hooking his thumbs under the elastic, I inhaled sharply.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.
“Obviously.” He shoved the sweats down his hips with agonizing slowness, stepping out of them with more grace than any person had a right to. He stood there in black boxer briefs that did absolutely nothing to hide exactly how much he was enjoying this too. “The look on your face is priceless.”
“What look?”
“Like you can’t decide if you want to laugh or jump me.”
My gaze dropped before I could stop it, and he laughed—a low, satisfied sound.
“See? Not so scary.” He dropped onto the bed next to me, casual as anything, like he wasn’t sitting there in his underwear looking like a goddamn model. “Your turn.”
The nerves came flooding back. “I don’t think I can do…that.”
“You don’t have to do that. That was me being an idiot to make you laugh.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “Just do whatever feels natural. Move however you want. You’re a dancer. Trust your body and your natural rhythm. I’m going to be into it regardless.”
“How do you know?”
He gave me a look that said the answer should be obvious. “Because it’s you, Aves. And I’ve got eyes.”
I couldn’t think too hard about that comment. This was just sex for him. Nothing else.
It didn’t mean anything.
“Okay,” I said, standing before I could chicken out. “Switch the song to something slower.”
He scrolled through his phone and found something else—”Earned It” by The Weeknd. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me, trying to find that place I went when I was dancing. That headspace where my body knew what to do without my brain getting in the way.
I started to sway. Hips first, finding the rhythm, then letting it travel up through my spine.
My hands moved on instinct—trailing up my sides, through my hair, back down again.
This was familiar. This was movement. This was something I’d been trained to do since I’d started dance.
Maybe not this sexually, but I knew how to move to a rhythm.
When I opened my eyes, Liam was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Gone was the playful guy who’d done a ridiculous striptease to make me laugh. His eyes were dark, focused on tracking every movement of my body like he was memorizing it.
I reached for the hem of my T-shirt.