Chapter 5
Liam
I didn’t actually touch her.
Not on purpose anyway. I’m lying on the couch in the dark, staring at the ceiling and having an imaginary conversation with my best friend, trying to explain why I’d fondled his baby sister.
Except I did touch her—roughly. And she liked it. I’d been with enough women to know she liked it. And I was about to put my hands in her underwear, but I swear, Cal, I didn’t realize it was Sophie.
And I didn’t know she’d grown up and filled out that lanky preteen body.
I didn’t know she had exceptional breasts and skin that felt like velvet under my fingers.
I didn’t know she smelled like vanilla and blueberries and a lot like me, all wrapped up in the sweatshirt I’d been wearing for days on end.
I didn’t know how much I would enjoy seeing her in that sweatshirt and underwear so thin I could see the outline of her blonde curls beneath them.
Fuck. Now I had another boner on my best friend’s couch, thinking about how hot his sister is. The little girl who used to follow us around with a sketchpad and ask stupid questions about baseball stats.
That little girl who is now a gorgeous woman right behind that bedroom door. I wonder if she’s still wearing my hoodie. And if she isn’t, what is she wearing? Her duffle bag is on the floor out here, so she’s either wearing my clothes…or she’s naked.
My dick bounces at that thought.
Or she’s wearing her brother’s clothes, my inner voice tries to remind me. Your best friend, the one who you would be homeless without his generosity right now. Get your dick and head in the game, Blake.
Besides, Sophie doesn’t want me. As soon as she realized it was me touching her, she pushed away like I had the fucking plague. She threw a pillow at my head and told me to put my pants on. She clearly was not happy to wake up and find me fondling her breasts.
Her perfect, way-more-than-a-handful breasts. I wanted to see how much of those breasts I could fit in my mouth.
I had to do something more productive than talk to myself and lust after my accidental roommate, who was barely…
how old would she be now? I was thirty-one, and she was in middle school during my senior year, so she was, what, five years younger than me?
So, twenty-six? Twenty-six wasn’t bad. I’d been with girls her age.
Liam Fucking Blake. Do a hundred push-ups right now, you pervert.
I roll off the couch and yank on my t-shirt, the cotton clinging to skin still damp with sweat. I drop to the floor and grind out a hundred push-ups, anything to burn off this energy sparking through my body.
Then, a hundred sit-ups.
Then, a hundred squats.
My muscles scream, and I think about doing burpees to punish myself. But it’s barely 5 a.m., and the last thing I want to do is wake the neighbors.
Or worse—wake Sophie.
She looked like she needed sleep last night. When she finally turned on the light, she was beautiful, but I could see the red rimming of tears in her eyes. Showing up at your brother’s apartment in the middle of the night rarely meant someone was in a good place.
I walk into the kitchen, wiping the sweat off my brow with the hem of my t-shirt. My head is pounding with day five of a hangover, and my muscles are shaking after my little torture session.
I fill a glass at the sink and down the whole thing. Then I take the Advil bottle out of the cabinet and shake two into my hand, refilling the glass.
“Can I have a couple of those, too?” Sophie asks, emerging from Cal’s bedroom, startling me.
She’s pulled her wild curls back away from her face, and she’s wearing a faded Lowell High sweatshirt of Cal’s and a pair of his basketball shorts that are so big she has them rolled at least four times at the waist, making them hit her about mid-thigh.
I liked her 4 a.m. outfit better, but I nod and shake two pills into her outstretched hand. She reaches for my water with her other hand, and I pass it to her. Honestly, I’m about two seconds from handing over my wallet and keys, too.
She pops the pills into her mouth and throws back her head. I watch the line of her throat as she swallows.
“Is the Advil for your knee?” she asks.
“It’s for my raging hangover,” I say as she rounds the island and stops in front of me, giving me a once-over before hopping up onto the counter.
“Why are you here and not in El Paso?” she asks.
“I’m taking a break,” I reply. “Why are you here and not in art school?”
“I’m taking a break,” she fires back. “You don’t just take a break in the middle of the season, Liam. Unless you’re injured or benched. You haven’t missed a game in three years.”
She knows I haven’t missed a game in three years?
Well, what did it matter? What did any of it matter now?
All the work, all the hours in the gym and the batting cages, all the sacrifices—it didn’t matter now.
I turn away from Sophie’s gaze, afraid she’ll notice the sting behind my eyes before I can blink it back.
“Cal said you have some douchebag boyfriend. Is that why you’re here?” I try to change the subject from my failed athletic career.
“Cal called him a douchebag?”
“No,” I laugh and shake my head. “He said he was a pseudo-intellectual performance piece with a man bun who wasn’t good enough for you. I called him a douchebag.”
“He is kind of a douchebag,” she says with a mirthless laugh.
“What kind of douchebag? He didn’t hurt you, did he, Soph?” My hand is already closing into a fist.
“No,” she shook her head, but I wasn’t so sure. “But I’m not going back there.”
“I get it,” I say, pushing off the counter. “I’ll get packed up and head out.”
“No—wait!” she calls out. I turn just as she hops off the counter and follows me into the living room. “I mean…we both need a place to stay, right? And Cal always said his door was open. If you don’t mind the couch, maybe we can just…coexist? At least until one of us figures something else out.”
She flashes me a small smile. An errant curl has fallen across her cheek, and I have the undeniable urge to tuck it behind her ear.
This is a bad idea.
Cal would definitely not be thrilled about me shacking up with his little sister—especially not with the kind of thoughts I’ve been having about her.
He’s always been overprotective of her. Lately, however, bad ideas have been my specialty.
And it’s not like I have a ton of options.
I’m not ready to crawl back to my mom’s place, and I can’t afford, well, anything else right now.
I just need a few days to get my shit together.
I can handle a few days with Sophie. Keep my dick in my pants and my thoughts to myself.
It’s not like she’s interested anyway. I’m sure we can “coexist” like she said.
“I’m cool with the couch.”