Chapter 7 #3
“All the more reason to come to the bar, Freddie." He says it softer now, and my name in his voice does that thing again where my kneecaps question their structural integrity.
"Fine. Let me get my laptop. If I'm going to be babysat by a merman, I'm at least going to pretend to work on my book."
He smiles at me, and I stutter a bit in my movements before committing to finding my laptop bag. I make sure it has… yes, headphones, chargers, and my green bluetooth mouse.
"She might actually be the one, and she’s got a nice ass—” I turn around quickly, only to see an expression of pure mortification on his face “—Thalassa isn’t allowed to touch this one.”
It's not my voice that came from the shell.
It's his.
Low. Rough. Clear as anything. Resonating from my purse downstairs and carrying up through the open loft like a confession that was never meant to be heard.
The silence that follows is so loud it has a texture.
I stare at him. He stares at me. His jaw is tight and his golden-brown eyes are wide and there is a very specific kind of horror on his face that I recognize because it's the same one I've been wearing for two days.
"That," he says, very carefully, "has never happened before."
I grin so big, sucking my lower lip to my teeth as I nod. “Okay, you know what,” I say, pointing at him. “That is fun to hear.” I near the balcony. “Thanks, Shellie.”
He clears his throat. “Shellie?”
“It should get a name after sharing that you like my butt.” I grab my bag and shoulder it, struggling to stop a smile.
“Maybe we can chuck it off a cliff,” he says through a groan.
” His voice is strained in a way that I'd find hilarious if my heart wasn't trying to exit my body through my throat, because he’s clearly feeling extra protective over me.
And likes my ass. Has he been looking at it when my back is to him?
“You know, I might have been a little hasty in that suggestion.” I follow him down the stairs, eyeing his hair with the new idea of what it might be like to touch it…
“I wonder if he’d squeeze our butt when kissing. I like a good spank.”
“Okay,” I say. “Maybe we do make a stop to chuck it over a cliff.”
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I register a massive change in the way he slowly turns to look at me. The cordial posture with his hands in his pockets morphs into more relaxed shoulders, his hands out like he might want to use them.
Most notably, the expression in his eyes is not the friendly look from earlier. It doesn’t last long, but oh my, I think he’s got a side of him that makes butterflies flap aggressively in my stomach. “Are you into that?”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me.”
He grins at me, then slides those veined hands right back into his pockets. “We should get a muzzle for that shell.”
"Well," I say, re-shouldering my bag. "Now you know how I've been feeling… can I just leave it here?”
“Yeah I don’t see why not. This house is protected. Magically, anyway. As long as it’s with one of us, or here, it should be safe.”
I nod a few times with a sigh, watching Liam grab a few things as he gets ready, tapping the back of his pants like he’s checking his keys and wallet.
When he turns to face me, there’s that removal of his guard once more, before the tide of responsibility recovers it. “Anyway, I can drive, if you want.”
We stand there, making that weird eye contact where we look back and forth, over and over, while the ocean breathes through the walls. “Oh, yeah, you can drive.”
I swear he’s about to ask something that connects down into his deeper mind, but a curt sigh removes it as he nods to the front door.
“So is it always like this? With the shell?” I ask. Despite being flustered, I’m not unabashed. “Where you stay with someone, and then you maybe flirt, all that?”
A handsome grin crinkles the edge of his warm, brown eyes. “No, this is not usually what happens.”
Well, crap. That made those butterflies flap even harder. I want to immediately know more, to see if he thinks I’m beautiful, too—Freddie Brown! I need to get ahold of myself. I live seven hours away from here. I can’t get swept up in anyone here!
We both head to his car, which turns out to be a black truck that he claims he uses to help others around here with equipment.
I have to climb to get in, and notice it’s rather picked up in here.
And smells faintly like his cologne? He puts his hand on the wheel, gripping it in a way that will never make sense why it’s so sexy—
“He smells so good.”
We both connect our gazes like we heard a ghost, before his eyes roam all over me and then the floor of the passenger seat. “You didn’t grab it, did you? I don’t see your purse.”
“No, it’s in your house.”
I grab my computer bag, and can feel the faintest thumping inside. “What,” I begin, digging through. It’s not hard to feel the warmth of it, and I grab it like an animal that followed us, pulling it out and looking at Liam. “I didn’t put that in here.”
There’s that break in his visage again, almost like a fracture that reveals vulnerability. “I think—” he begins, but then blinks rapidly and inhales deeply, looking back ahead. “Let’s just get to the bar. We both need a drink.”