Chapter Thirty-Two #2
His fiery green eyes slid from her eyes to her mouth and lingered.
“Give me a second,” she said. “Be right back.”
Heading to the kitchen was safer than wondering what that look meant. Was he somersaulting through the same mental gymnastics she was? Or had sleeping together been a primal, basic way to remove her completely from his system?
“You can have whatever you want,” he said in a loaded way.
No, she was most certainly not out of his system, and if Liam watched her like that a second longer, she was liable to combust. What was wrong with them? It was as though they couldn’t be in the same room together without lighting the air on fire.
Chelsea faltered with a fake smile and beelined for his kitchen. “Go ahead and start the movie again.” Maybe that would help alleviate the tension she didn’t want to face.
Macho dialogue and revving engines came to life, and she could’ve said a prayer of thanks that he’d gone back to watching something with cold-packed testosterone.
“I have an important question for you,” Liam called.
Oh no. She prepared for the worst. A promise not to eyeball him? A commitment not to chase him home again? “What’s that?” She cringed, uncertain of what he’d say and opened his fridge then frowned—condiments, orange juice, and beer. “What do you eat?”
“Food.”
She rolled her eyes. This was awful and cliché, in a man-cave way. “You could’ve fooled me.”
He laughed. “There’s plenty in the cabinets.”
Doubtful, she closed the fridge and snooped. The shelves were packed with high-test bachelor junk. Instead of ramen noodles, she found protein bars and powder, something that looked like high-end jerky, canned meats, and sardines. “Do you have any real food here?”
“Grocery stores are in one of the levels in Dante’s hell.”
True enough. She went back to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and moseyed back to the couch, taking in the generic nature of his place. Nothing hung on the walls. Nothing showed any personality. “What was your question?”
He moved his legs from the coffee table so she could walk by and smacked the couch cushion next to her. “It’s a really important question.”
Her nerves came back wearing party hats. She fake-smiled again and sat next to him. “So ask it.”
“If you answer wrong, we can’t be friends.”
A blush heated her cheeks. “Are we friends?”
A second too late, she realized that calling attention to their situation wasn’t her best move, and she clung to the beer bottle as if it were a life raft capable of rescuing her from bumbling small talk.
Liam tilted his head and reached for her beer, cracking off the cap. “No idea what you’d call this.” He handed her bottle back. “Still. It’s an important question.”
She wanted to fall over and hide, but she swallowed hard.
His brow furrowed.
Her anxiety was near peak freak out levels. “What?”
His eyes narrowed, jaw ticking expectantly. “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?”
What? What! She’d worked herself to a fever pitch over a movie question?
“Well?”
She took a deep breath and smiled, this time not having to fake it. “Is Santa fat and jolly?”
“Good answer.” He knocked his beer to hers.
Chelsea felt as if they were in the Twilight Zone. His attention returned to the movie, and she tried to relax, shifting and repositioning until he put his arm behind her and pulled her close. She forgot to breathe.
“Watch the movie, sunshine.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze without tearing his gaze from the TV.
She closed her eyes and melted against his chest.
This is us? It was—whatever this was. It was him, her, a movie and a beer while cuddling.
He grabbed the bowl of popcorn and settled it between them. It took two on-screen car chases before she relaxed enough to snack with him.
He finished his beer when the movie slowed for dialogue and put the bottle and popcorn bowl on the table. Explosions lit the television screen again and he tucked her back under his arm. Liam pressed his lips to the side of her head. “Thanks for coming over.”
Her insides squeezed. “I was worried.”
“I was a dick,” he muttered.
She leaned into him. “That was a complicated situation to stumble into.”
“Tell me about it.” He paused the movie. “Everything snowballed.”
“Linda said she’d called earlier—”
“She did. I was in a meeting and didn’t answer.”
Chelsea closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Liam’s heartbeat. “Sorry it played out that way.”
“I was headed to see you,” he said.
She was surprised but let him continue.
“The lights were on in Julia’s window.” He shook his head as if remembering the moment he’d driven up. “And I couldn’t wrap my head around… anything.” He let the word hang then added, “I lost my shit.”
“I would’ve, too, probably.”
He shrugged.
“Even though we made the best of it,” Chelsea said. “My head had been killing me since we started packing.” But since Liam had charged into Julia’s condo, Chelsea had forgotten about the headache. It thumped back into place once she recalled how the steady thud of pain had been with her all day.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink.” Liam pretended to take her beer but chuckled. “There’s ibuprofen in the kitchen if you want it.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. She stood. “Thanks.”
He pulled his legs back for her to walk by, and it struck her as funny.
She could’ve walked the two feet around the other side of the coffee table.
He didn’t have to move. He hadn’t had to before.
And they were cuddling! All of that should be weird.
She tried to read his mind when he grabbed a handful of popcorn but couldn’t. “Is this weird?”
He glanced up. “Us?”
“Yes,” she said, raising her eyebrows. He knew exactly what she’d meant.
Liam threw the popcorn into his mouth, took his time to chew, then pushed the bowl farther onto the coffee table and stood to face her. Inches separated them. Their closeness was weird. But somehow, it was very much not. The lack of space was delicious. It made her nipples perk.
When he took a step closer, Chelsea had to angle her chin up to meet his eye.
“Why do you think it feels weird?” he asked.
“Well—” Her mind scattered. Seconds ago, she could’ve listed the reasons. But now she couldn’t articulate a single one.
“Because of earlier at Julia’s? Or because we had sex?”
Chelsea blushed. “Both,” she answered quietly.
His jaw ticked, and after a contemplative moment, he asked, “Weird’s bad?”
“Is it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Nothing was bad when they were so close.
His body heat quickened her pulse even though they weren’t touching.
Arousal pooled deep in her core. Touching Liam wasn’t required to turn her on.
All Chelsea needed was to see the rise and fall of his chest, to recall their time on the couch, how he made her climax over and over, and understand they shouldn’t feel guilty.
Whatever this was, it was okay.
“All right then,” she whispered, unable to remember why she’d stood up.
“Want me to get it?” he asked.
The ibuprofen! “No, I’ll get it. Back to your movie.”
Her heartbeat slowed as she walked away, and Chelsea checked the kitchen cabinets, deciding he could use a quick lesson in organization.
“Maybe they’re in a closet or something?” she asked then went in search of a hallway or linen closet when he muttered maybe.
She found towels, towels, and more towels. Liam seemed to have enough towels to avoid regularly doing laundry. But the search didn’t turn up pain relievers.
She turned for the bathroom.
“Hey, Chelsea,” Liam called, but the rest was garbled as explosions rang out in the movie.
“What?” She pulled open a drawer but found nothing helpful. Then she pulled open the cabinet mirror door—
Liam came up behind her. “Wait—”
Startled, she jumped and laughed. “You scared me to death!”
The mirror door swung open, and he cursed. In the corner of the top shelf, an open ring box displayed a velvet pillow and a flawless solitaire diamond engagement ring.