Chapter Seventeen
Chelsea’s fruit-and-yogurt smoothie would have to wait. Or does it? She paced the kitchen, itching to flip the switch on her blender. But waking a sometimes-snoring Liam up with the high-pitched whirl of her smoothie maker wouldn’t be the nicest move.
Then again, she wasn’t sure how long he planned to sprawl on her couch. Maybe a guy like him needed an alarm clock like a blender because trouncing around her condo hadn’t made him stir.
She leaned against the fridge. Pacing a small circle hadn’t done wonders for the slight hangover she’d woken up to, and honestly, she dreaded flipping the switch, as it would make her temples pulse.
But a smoothie addiction was a smoothie addiction, so she called out, “Liam? Wake up!”
The guy didn’t even stir.
She peeked around the corner then yanked back to the safe confines of her kitchen. He was still in the same state that she’d seen him in on the couch—sans shirt, with one bare leg dangling free from the protection of a blanket.
His long legs had muscles that still seemed thick with strength even while he slept. Jeez Louise, a quick look at her couch was more of a jolt than she could’ve manufactured with a protein-packed, vitamin-C-boosted smoothie.
“Wake up,” she called again.
He snored.
Maybe she needed to abandon him there, get a smoothie across the street, and hope to the heavens that, when he woke, he said something like Pass the Pepto and not Please don’t use me like a jungle gym again.
If he were wearing a shirt, it would be easier to wake him, and she became aware that if the previous day hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t have cared if he were shirtless.
A little bit of clothing, or total lack thereof, wouldn’t have stopped her.
Nothing ever did—except, apparently, a shirtless Liam who showed a little bit of leg.
A warm flush curled up her back.
Her phone rang, and since she didn’t recognize the number, she let it ring without sending it to her full voicemail box on the minuscule chance he’d react to the phone call.
Which he didn’t.
Chelsea pushed from the wall, annoyed in a hundred ways, and made the noisiest steps she could muster. He snored and turned over.
She cleared her throat.
Another snore.
Gritting her teeth, Chelsea changed her stomps to tiptoe steps, acutely aware that there were only six feet between her and his naked chest. If he didn’t wake up soon, she’d have to chuck kitchen goods at him. No one wanted to wake up with a whisk smacking their face.
“Liam!”
He shot up. “What—?” Then he scowled. “Damn, Sunshine.”
“I thought I’d have to throw something at you.”
“Huh?” Confusion creased his forehead. “Why are you yelling?”
What was she supposed to do? Shake his broad, bare shoulder? “You don’t have a shirt on.” Or pants. But that seemed incredibly awkward to point out.
The blanket covered his mid-section as Liam swung his legs off the couch and buried his head in his hands. “You didn’t yell last year when I passed out on the beach.”
“Two years ago.” And that didn’t matter after the previous night with its semi-flirting and weird connection. Or has he forgotten? Hope surged. “Not the same. Never mind.”
His grouchy expression broke, and he dropped his head back against the cushion, seemingly amused as she gawked. “Do you have coffee?”
“I wanted to make a smoothie.”
“There’s a rule against both?”
She turned and headed for the kitchen, refusing to react when she heard the quiet pad of his footsteps behind her.
She reached into the freezer for the waiting scoop of ice cubes.
After she’d dumped the ice cubes in the blender and turned it on, she stared at the wall, scared to find out if he’d put a shirt and pants on.
Or, rather, hadn’t.
She couldn’t trust herself not to turn pink. She’d had a hard time looking away from the definition in his frame even while he slept. Pathetic. But that was the truth.
“Are you making enough to share?”
“Sure.” She studied the blender, watching the swirl of fruit color rise as it mixed with the yogurt, then turned it off. An air bubble popped as the smoothie came to a rest, and she added another heap of ingredients and ice.
The ice sank into the mixture, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Liam come closer. She flipped the blender to high speed for no reason other than she’d confirmed he had donned pants but no shirt.
The smoothie was in danger of turning into a frappe if she didn’t turn off the blender, but she couldn’t move with him standing so close.
“I think it’s good.” Liam reached in front of her and turned the knob. The screaming whirl became a whining rumble as it came to stop, but she didn’t take her eyes off the raspberry-pink drink.
An air bubble popped to the top, leaving the drink more than ready to be served, but she couldn’t grab the glasses without turning toward him. Her blood rushed in her neck.
“Everything okay?” he asked with a low, pebbled coarseness that held an edge of concern.
She didn’t know the answer, as much as she didn’t remember how to breathe without reminding herself—in, out, in, out. But she painted on a professionally nondescript smile and turned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He snickered, cocking an eyebrow.
Oh yeah. He remembers last night. Then why the Fudgsicles hasn’t he put on a shirt? Chelsea pressed her fingertips to the edge of the counter and used every minute of federal agent training she’d ever endured to mask her thoughts. “Can you hand me two glasses?”
His jaw ticked. The emerald green in his eyes was liable to set a fire—or maybe it had, deep below her stomach. She twisted away from his stare. “Cabinet to your left.”
Liam retrieved two glasses and returned too close to her and set them down. His hip leaned against the counter, mere inches from her hand. Chelsea licked her lips, unnerved by his nonchalance. Standing seemed awkward, and she didn’t know where to rest her eyes.
“Thanks for last night,” he said.
His gratitude shattered the last slip of resolve she had left, and as heat suffused her cheeks, she jerked the blender up and poured their smoothies. Finally, with a task to do, she handed him his drink and offered a benign nod. “That’s what friends are for.”
Friends were for lending a shoulder and for keeping each other from drinking and driving, and that was it, not for flirting with her best friend’s boyfriend, even if he wasn’t anymore.
She tripped through the mental gymnastics needed to understand that complication and focused an unneeded amount of attention on her smoothie glass.
He took a sip and gave an approving nod. Chelsea sipped also, vowing not to stop until she’d found her composure, but when her throat froze and an icy chill shivered along her shoulders, she gave up the idea of poise.
Liam had a way of watching her that belied the casualness in his stance. He drank his smoothie with ease and watched as she most certainly didn’t. “Do you have to go to work?”
She could’ve kissed him for changing the subject—but she could’ve kicked herself for thinking about kissing him. “I have to brief Mac on a couple things…”
“He’s your partner?”
“He’s a lot of things. Partner would be the best title.”
His head cocked. An eyebrow arched as if he wanted her to keep explaining.
“Not personally,” she quickly added. “We’re close. In that way that you are if someone’s got your back.”
He hummed as though he understood, straightening, but his lips remained pressed thin.
“Mac’s a good guy,” she continued needlessly. “A little, or a lot, overbearing. But dagger sharp and smart.”
Liam’s jaw barely relaxed. He held up his glass. “Let me finish this, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Don’t rush.”
But he gulped the rest of the smoothie down and washed out his glass in the sink. He strode away, and she put down her glass on the counter, noticing how her hands vibrated almost as if she needed to come down from a burst of adrenaline.
When Chelsea was certain she could act like a normal human being or even a so-called friend, she tossed the empty yogurt container into the recycling bin and refilled her ice trays.
Shutting the freezer door, she sighed and closed her eyes in a last-ditch effort to calm herself before walking out to say goodbye to Liam.
And she could. Nothing had happened with Liam. She didn’t want anything to happen. The previous night with him had been some weird, alcohol-to-blame type of mourning.
Chelsea forced her eyes open and came eye-to-eye with a photo of her and Julia. The selfie was one of Chelsea’s favorites where they’d wrapped their arms around one another. A magnetic frame held the picture. Its all-caps lettering arched above their heads—Best Friends Forever.