Chapter Twenty-Nine
Shivering, Chelsea blindly searched for her covers but found nothing but coarse fabric. Half of her body tingled with a chill, but the other half seemed too hot. Her cheek didn’t want to move, and she pried an eye open and was surprised by the brightness.
The lights were on. But more importantly, her face was stuck against a man’s chest. Her eyes flew open even as the rest of her froze, then the night came crashing back to mind.
She was naked and tangled. Liam lightly snored, his arm and leg hanging off the side of her couch.
Chelsea considered his precarious angle and how sleep had somehow sewed them together, and came up with no solutions on how to get off the couch without him falling—or at the very least, waking.
Oh God. What have we done?
Now wide awake as if she had mainlined a Red Bull, Chelsea assessed her current predicament, having decided there wasn’t any way she could escape and hide as though their night had never happened.
She unwound their legs with the attention she might take on dismantling a bomb and propped on her elbow at a snail’s speed.
He stirred, not waking, and she took that moment to roll—but failed. Fudgsicles.
Liam had flipped his arm across her back and, as if he had absolutely no idea who was naked in his arms, repositioned them so that he was the big spoon and she was the panicking little one.
His snores stopped, but a steady, warm breath tickled the back of her neck, and he squeezed her bare stomach. The distinct, unmistakable thickness of his erection pressed against her backside, and if she ever wanted to live down this day, she had to escape and evade his morning wood while he slept.
His fingers brushed her stomach, making her tingle. Logic wanted her to run away, but apparently her libido thought it was the perfect time to recall their absurd, uncontrolled throes on her couch.
She had to move. Chelsea nimbly rolled out of his hold and thudded on the floor.
Cheese and crackers, she hadn’t meant to be so loud.
Liam’s rhythmic breathing stalled, and even as she lay on the floor, wishing to blend into the carpet, she knew he had awakened.
Chelsea cringed, and she couldn’t move, even though the slightest sound of him repositioning on the cushions seemed as loud as a warning alarm.
His sleep-sated chuckle was a preamble to a quick clearing of his throat. “You fall off the couch?”
At least her front was covered, even if that meant her bare backside was front and center between the couch and the coffee table.
“Power’s back on,” she offered.
He reached over her and pulled the tall glass candle jar to the edge and blew it out.
Oh, this is why people avoid one-night stands and friends with benefits. Right? What does one say to the other? Except they had been deliberate and out of control. They hadn’t set up hookup rules and didn’t have the saving grace of never seeing each other again.
“You know what?”
His rough, quiet voice made her recall the sexy words she’d gone to sleep listening to like a lullaby.
“I’m not sure I want to know,” she finally muttered.
He gave a full-out belly laugh. “You’ve got a really cute ass.”
“What?”
“That’s what I was going to say.” He pushed to the far end of the couch and stood. Her clothes dropped over her butt. “I’m going to hit the head.”
Okay, I can die now. But not before she dressed then checked on the remaining candles.
The tea lights had burned themselves out, and the remaining decorative candle had burned nearly to the bottom.
After blowing it out, she dressed and had nothing left to do but wait and face this head-on like an adult. Being an adult had sucked a lot lately.
Liam returned, and Chelsea said a quick grateful prayer that he’d pulled on the pants and shirt that she gave him the day before.
The outfit was small, just as he’d pointed out. But she knew just how small now that she’d been up close and personal with his thighs, biceps, and chest.
“We should talk.” He sat down and patted the couch, which might forever be known as the scene of the crime.
She joined him and crossed her ankles and arms. “Yeah, we should.”
A dark cloud lingered over them. Somehow, that hurt. But then Chelsea remembered their common denominator, the reason they even knew each other, and that hurt even more.
“Last night…” he said but didn’t finish.
“Yeah,” she offered lamely.
“We messed up, huh?”
Yikes, that hurt. Even though it made sense, to hear him declare their night a mistake hit with the same sting as a slap might. “I don’t know what to call it. A doozy.”
Liam laughed, but it was nervous, then he rubbed a hand over his face. “Guess it comes down to how much of a doozy.”
Confused, she glanced his way.
His eyebrows arched. “We didn’t use a condom.” Then his forehead pinched. “What did you think we’d messed up?”
Oh, let me make a list. But she stopped short of spouting all her reasons and reassured him. “I get a shot,” she explained. “Like a birth control shot. Every few months.”
Relief colored his face as though he hadn’t inhaled since he’d stopped snoring. “Oh, right.” He nodded. “Okay.” The nodding continued. “That’s great.”
If she had to rank their awkwardness, she’d give it an eleven out of ten, and they hadn’t even broached the him-and-her talk. How would that even go?
Chelsea closed her eyes. Julia died more than a year ago but the guilt was suffocating. Time had passed, but had it been enough? Not that it would ever be long enough to allow them to knock boots.
“So, this guy.” Liam pulled the corner of his shirt as if to identify the sweatshirt’s owner. “He’s not running around, banging everyone or something?”
“What?” She stared blankly—then a blush smacked her.
The sex talk. The partner talk. This was a perfectly logical, needed step to take, but she never had one-night stands, and it had taken her far too long to even think about STIs.
“I wore the sweats home one day from work when an arrest went bad and the chase took me through a chicken coop.”
“A chicken coop?”
“You never know how a day might go. Some days, it’s all paperwork, other days…”
“Shit,” he offered.
She laughed. “We keep extra sweats in the locker room. Big on me, small on you. And—”
The corner of his eyes crinkled, almost as if he wanted to squint, and Chelsea didn’t know how to read that or his silence.
“And…” She pursed her lips. “I haven’t had any relationships since my last gyno appointment.”
“I’m clean too,” he offered.
For a split second, she protectively thought, He’d better be. But what did she know of how he’d lived the last year? The idea that he had been with someone hung heavily in her chest.
“I haven’t—since…” His jaw tightened as if he’d read Chelsea’s mind.
“I’m not sure what to think right now.”
“Same.”
At least they were on the same honest, confused page.
Liam leaned back and dropped his head against the couch. “Look, a year ago, Julia was my world.”
Uncomfortable guilt panged in her. “I know.”
He turned to look at her and waited until she looked up at him. He apparently wouldn’t let her face away forever. “I haven’t noticed anyone since her.”
Chelsea’s cheeks flamed. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
“I’ve always known you were attractive.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If someone had asked me about you, I would have said you were hot. But I wasn’t attracted to you.”
“I get it. I promise.” Please shut your pie hole! “It’s not like I was pining for my best friend’s boyfriend.”
“I know.” He smiled flatly, then after hours seemed to sludge by, he asked, “What now?”
Good question. Though there was only one answer. Work. It kept her sane before, it would do the trick now. “We keep an eye on Linda and Frank—if you still want my help.”
“Of course I do.” He scowled as if she’d lost her mind.
“Okay. Good.” She straightened on the couch and wondered what should happen next. Should I ask him to leave? Offer him a smoothie? Should I go to bed while he takes the couch? It couldn’t have been past five in the morning.
Liam stretched and stood then gave her an innocent peck on her temple. “I’ll text you later.”
And that was that. The previous night was thoroughly acknowledged, never to be spoken of again.
They agreed there’d been an attraction, but there was nothing to it, and they’d confirmed unsaid certainties.
Liam would always be considered Julia’s boyfriend, and Chelsea would always be the best friend.
Truths like that were impossible to change.