Chapter 24
PEYTON
Friday afternoon, I’m in the living room, smoothing my hands down the navy Bobcats sweatshirt Liam bought for me. I’m cosplaying as a Friday Night Lights enthusiast. The number of things I’m faking keeps piling up.
Despite that, today was a good day. We went to the office together, and I clicked with his team.
Everyone was sharp yet welcoming, and the work was interesting.
By lunchtime, I’d sketched out a preliminary framework for the regional metrics dashboard and discussed inventory optimization models with the VP of Operations.
And Liam… He didn’t hover or micromanage. He introduced me, gave me space to ask questions, and only observed, letting me find my footing.
I could see myself fitting into his world.
I still haven’t given him an answer, but the “yes” is sitting on the tip of my tongue.
Footsteps jog down the stairs, and Liam appears at the bottom of the landing.
I look up and stumble a step backward. He is wearing fitted dark jeans and a faded letterman football jacket.
He smiles at me with an easy, boyish grin. “Ready to go?”
“No,” I say. “Just… no.”
Liam’s face falls, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What? What did I do wrong?”
“The jacket.” I gesture at the offending garment. “Take it off.”
His frown deepens. “Why?”
“Too many jock vibes.”
The confusion melts into a slow, smug smirk. “Did you have a thing for football players in high school?”
“No.” I cross my arms. “I had a thing for band kids and drama nerds.”
He tilts his head, studying me with amused interest. “And now?”
“My adult self has developed terrible taste.” I glare at the jacket.
Liam laughs, the sound vibrating in my core.
I scowl at him. “Don’t laugh. This is a serious issue. How would you feel if I came down in a short cheerleader skirt with pigtails and pom-poms?”
The laughter dies in his throat. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Point taken.”
He walks over to me, shrugging the jacket off in one fluid motion. “Here.”
“What are you doing?”
“Wear it,” he says, draping the heavy wool and leather over my shoulders. “It’ll make us seem legit.”
He’s standing so close we’re almost toe to toe. He takes my hands, guiding them through the sleeves. I never thought being dressed by someone could be so sexy, so soul-wrecking.
I take a step back, pretending I’m still a woman with functioning limbs and not a puddle on the floor, and hold up my arms, sleeves dangling past my fingertips.
“Don’t I look ridiculous?”
“No,” he says, voice strained. “Definitely not.”
He turns on his heel and walks into the foyer, where he grabs his leather jacket from the rack and shrugs it on.
I suppress a strangled protest in my throat.
He pauses with one arm through a sleeve. “It’s cold outside. I have to wear a coat.”
“Why can’t you put on an unsexy grandpa jacket?” I ask, mock-pouting. “Something beige?”
“I don’t own one.”
“I’ll get you one for Christmas,” I say.
I blink, taken aback by how easily the offer slipped out. The familiarity of it. The certainty that we’ll be together for the holidays and buy gifts for each other.
I backtrack immediately. “I… didn’t mean anything by that. I’m not making assumptions. I know we aren’t an actual family that does Christmas presents.”
Liam makes a weird face, an expression I can’t interpret. Is it regret? Annoyance? “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
We have to park a mile away from the high school stadium. Cars and trucks are crammed onto the side streets leading to the field, lined up bumper to bumper, forming endless metallic snakes.
“This is insane,” I say as we join the throng of people walking toward the glow of stadium lights in the distance.
“I usually come on my bike.” Liam shoves his hands into his pockets. “Skip the parking nightmare entirely.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m not riding on that thing.”
He cuts me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “You might like it.”
The comment lands straight between my legs. I imagine the friction of the saddle, my thighs bracketing Liam’s hips, my arms wrapped tight around his waist, the vibration of the engine beneath us.
Yeah. I might like it a bit too much.
“Lila still hasn’t cleared me for the bike anyway,” he adds.
“Where is Lila?” I scan the crowd. “Are we meeting her somewhere?”
“Ah, no.” Liam shakes his head. “Lila has a… complicated relationship with football.”
“Complicated how?”
“She fucking hates the game.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and the tone of his voice suggests a closed door. I don’t feel right prodding him for information. If my friendship with Lila progresses, I’ll ask her myself. Or she’ll tell me.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, passing clusters of families heading in the same direction. Adults and kids decked out in the blue and silver colors of the team.
In the parking lot outside the stadium, tents are set up for various booster clubs and the PTO, selling merchandise and snacks.
Families are gathered around the beds of pickup trucks, sharing chili and drinks from coolers.
Clashing music blares from inside the stadium, the tents, and the individual cars.
The air smells of grilled meat and fallen leaves.
“Wow.” I dodge a group of teenagers with their faces painted blue and silver. “I thought tailgating was more of a college tradition.”
Liam shrugs. “The Bobcats are a strong team with legacy. We won eleven state championships. And Blue Crescent Harbor doesn’t have a college, so…” He waves a hand at the spectacle surrounding us. “All the fanfare goes to the high school.”
We pass a brightly lit tent selling hot dogs and burgers. Behind the register, I spot an unmistakable mane of blonde hair.
“That’s one of my friends from book club.” I point. “I want to go say hi.”
I start toward the tent without waiting for Liam’s response. He follows, but at a slower pace—unenthusiastic in a way that makes me glance back at him curiously.
“Hey!” I lean over the register to hug Faye.
“Peyton! Hey!” She squeezes me back, beaming. Then she looks over my shoulder, and her expression turns stony.
“Your Highness,” she says dryly.
“Whitney Rose,” Liam purrs from behind me.
I whip my head around. “Why are you calling her Whitney?”
“It’s my first name,” Faye grits out. “But I hate it. No one uses it.”
“Still teaching first grade?” Liam asks, his voice dripping with gentle teasing.
“Yes,” Faye says pointedly.
“Too bad.”
I look between them. There is a vibe here—an inside joke? To my utter dismay, a visceral spike of jealousy twists in my gut. I don’t want them to have inside jokes.
A tall hunk of a man steps up behind Faye. He’s handsome in a rugged way, with longish chestnut hair tucked under a backward Bobcats cap. He places a hand on Faye’s waist and nods at Liam.
“Hey, man,” he says. It’s somewhat tense.
“Hey,” Liam replies, equally terse.
Faye rolls her eyes at the macho standoff and turns to me. “Peyton, this is Ryder. My boyfriend.” She cups a hand over her mouth, but still speaks loud enough for everyone to hear, “You should display an appropriate level of awe. He is an Evans. From a founding family.”
The man smiles, and somehow, he looks even better. “Ryder Evans. Nice to meet you. You don’t need to show any awe.”
He turns to Faye and digs his fingers into her sides, tickling her. “Stop mocking me for saying my family were founders on the day we met.”
Faye laughs, squirming away from him. “I can’t. You mansplained your status to me too charmingly.”
Yeah, I’d let him mansplain things to me, too.
“I have a few more things to mansplain to you later,” Ryder murmurs, leaning down. They kiss, and it’s not a polite, public peck. They’re full-on making out. Ryder’s hands cup Faye’s face, and she melts into him as if they’ve forgotten anyone else exists.
A pang of longing stabs between my ribs. They’re so clearly in love, it radiates off them—real and bright and unforced.
While the man beside me, the one burning a path of heated awareness along my left side? He’s just a business partner.
A small boy, maybe eight or nine, comes crashing between Faye and Ryder. “Ewww! Do you guys know how many germs are in the mouth?”
They spring apart, laughing.
“I bet a lot,” Faye says, ruffling the boy’s hair. “But most of them are harmless.”
Ryder nods at us, still chuckling, and heads back toward a smoking grill at the rear of the tent.
Faye smiles, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. “What can I get you guys?”
Liam fishes his wallet out of his jeans pocket. “A hot dog with all the toppings, and a soda.”
He turns to me.
“Same,” I say.
Liam slides a fifty-dollar bill across the counter. “Keep the change. Happy to support the Bobcats.”
“Rhys, go get the drinks, please,” Faye tells the boy.
Rhys scurries to a cooler and returns with two red cans. We grab our food, say our goodbyes, and head toward the stadium entrance.
I unwrap the foil on my hot dog as we walk. I take a massive bite, and it’s transcendent.
“Mmm,” I moan loudly, closing my eyes. “Oh my gosh. I have never eaten anything better.”
“Yeah,” Liam says sarcastically beside me. “Everyone could hear your appreciation.”
My eyes snap open. The shame hits me instantly. I blush, shrinking in on myself.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I stop walking, lowering the hot dog. I’m tempted to toss it in the nearest trash can. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I can’t meet his gaze. But Liam doesn’t seem cool with my apology.
He plants himself in front of me. We’re blocking the flow of the crowd. Making a scene.
He doesn’t care.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Your reaction just now, apologizing for doing nothing wrong. That’s not okay.” His eyes lock on mine. “I didn’t mean to criticize you. Moan about your food as loudly as you want. I’ll just have to deal with that.”
“Deal with it?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, wifey.” His voice drops an octave. “Remember that thing where the attraction here is mutual?”
He steps closer. “You’re wearing my jacket. You’re moaning.” His gaze drops to my lips. “And you have a smudge of sauce at the corner of your mouth that’s driving me insane.”
Liam reaches out. He brushes his thumb over the spot, wiping away the errant sauce. Then, still holding my gaze, he puts the pad of his finger in his mouth and sucks it clean.
What he did is actually pretty disgusting. Unhygienic. But I stare at his lips, transfixed.
I scowl. “You really suck at not being sexy.”
I shove past him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
His chuckle chases me; it lands at the base of my spine and sparks a fire that I should put out at once, but which I’m tempted to pour more gasoline over instead.