Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  A growl accidentally came out, and I managed to turn it into a word. “No.”

  “Wow. Usually you just shrug and say, ‘Whatever you want.’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a strong opinion from you.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a strong opinion about something.” Unable to help myself, I reached out and snagged a curl. I rubbed the silky strands between my fingers. “It’d be a shame to cover up this fiery red hair.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and her chest rose and fell, that zipper glinting in the light and calling to me. One quick tug would be all it took, and my fingers twitched at my sides, making their vote known.

  Did I imagine her leaning closer? Her eyes dilating? I definitely didn’t imagine the way she licked her lips or how her slender neck worked a swallow. My eyes homed in on the pulse beating at the base of her throat, and the desire to put my lips there and take a taste flooded my system, washing away what was left of my common sense.

  Her phone chimed, and she jumped, her wine sloshing over the rim of her cup. “Oops.” She slowly licked the rim, and my cock twitched. “I should’ve known better than to drink wine on someone else’s couch.”

  I wanted to tell her to forget the wine, yank her closer, and kiss the hell out of her, but she reached for her phone, the moment broken. If it’d even been there in the first place.

  Shit. “I’ll grab a towel.” And get myself under control. Again.

  When I reached inside the hall closet for a towel, I noticed the pile of clothes on the floor of her bedroom. The outfit she’d been wearing today and a lacy pink bra sat on the top.

  She’s not wearing a bra. I could yank down that zipper and get my hands on those breasts… I let my forehead thunk against the wall. So much for getting myself under control. One of my points of pride had always included being in control. Not letting myself be led by whims. It was what made me a great fighter and why I could handle the stress of the gym and ensuring my family and the other fighters were taken care of. I didn’t need anything else.

  But man did I want something else right now.

  I expelled another breath and walked back out to the living room. I tossed her the towel and averted my eyes when she wiped high on her thigh.

  Okay, I made it a few seconds of averting my eyes. But when she drew up her knee to wipe the spot underneath her, I caught a glimpse of pink panties that matched the discarded bra at the foot of her bed, and then I was thinking about her legs and her underwear and that zipper on her hoodie again.

  “So, guess who that was.”

  My brain struggled to catch on to what she was saying, even more so than usual.

  “Who sent the text?” she added.

  Oh yeah. That fucking chime that ruined everything.

  Or saved me from doing something stupid.

  “Kevin.”

  Man, I fucking hated Kevin right now. You try to do the right thing and it comes back to bite you in the ass.

  Chelsea picked up her phone and stared at the screen. “Help me figure out what to say to him.”

  “Sure, if you wanna crash and burn, that’s a great idea.” I rounded the couch and settled into my former spot. In good news, my hard-on was definitely gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chelsea

  I stared at Kevin’s text. The text that had saved me from reading too much into Liam’s dismay over the idea of my hair being anything but red. My insides had gone all warm and squishy when he’d told me it’d be a shame to cover my fiery strands, and then I’d gotten carried away, thinking that his answering a question meant he was…feeling more than he was, that was for sure.

  Saved by the chime. A text from a guy I actually had a chance with. It would’ve been nice if it hadn’t also made me spill my wine, but Liam didn’t seem too concerned about his couch, and luckily it’d mostly landed on me. Another pair of pajamas stained by wine. It was sorta embarrassing how many of those I had.

  Since Liam wasn’t offering any sage words of advice—stare until they ask you out didn’t exactly work via text, anyway—I began typing a response to Kevin about how I was glad he’d texted, and I added a few sentences about the series we’d discussed and made a suggestion about a different series I thought he might like, and then I stared at the giant chunk of text.

  “Shit. I can’t send this. I was being completely serious when I said I need help.”

  Liam glanced away from the TV show that suddenly held all his interest, and I quickly deleted the text.

  “Great, now he’s probably been looking at the three dots, waiting to see what I’m going to say, and if I don’t send something soon it’s going to look like I overthought it.”

  “You?” Liam managed to pack a whole lot of sarcasm into the word. “Overthinking things?”

  I kicked his thigh with my foot. “Not. Helping. I could use an editor, because people need eased into the verbal-explosion thing I do.”

  “Maybe stupid people,” Liam muttered.

  I lowered my phone and cocked my head—why was he being so difficult? Not that I usually asked for his assistance with this kind of thing, but still. “Oh, come on. You were totally overwhelmed by it at first. Probably thought I was bonkers.”

  “Wrong. About that first thing anyway.”

  “Ah!” I sat up and shoved his shoulder. Freaking brick wall that he was, he didn’t even wobble. “Jerk.”

  His deep laugh danced across my nerve endings for a second or two before I forgot that I was working on not being affected by him in that way.

  He seemed like maybe he was also affected. For a few seconds, he’d hardly breathed, and as he’d stared right back at me with those intense blue eyes, I’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. Still felt a tad light-headed, actually.

  So much for shoving those types of thoughts away. As Liam had just pointed out, I overthought things, and I couldn’t do that with him. Our friendship was way too important.

  “If you want the truth,” he said, and everything inside me screeched to a dead stop. He was going to divulge truth? Some emotion, maybe? “All my life, people told me to say something. To talk more. Like I was a dancing monkey or some shit.”

  He draped his arm over the back of the couch and shook his hair out of his eyes. “You started talking, and I thought, here’s a girl who’ll never insist I talk. There was something oddly calming about that.”

  I gave him a smile, sure he was being completely sincere but having trouble wrapping my mind around it. “You must have a few screws loose,” I said—he’d teased me about being bonkers, after all, and turnabout was fair play.

  “Clearly.” He flicked my ponytail. “But why bother tightening them when I’m perfectly happy with things the way they are.”

  The way they are. With him and me as we already were. Which was good. A good reminder, and good because I couldn’t lose him. The past six months had really driven home that point, a big Liam-shaped hole missing from my days and nights. His voice and steady presence so far away that it almost seemed like I’d made up how close we were.

  That thought combined with his words scratched at an old insecurity, and while we were being open and honest, I wanted to know, even if it stung a little. “Did you ever feel obligated to take me along? Like, since I lived next door, you worried I might see you leave without me and that it would hurt my feelings, so you had to ask me?”

  His forehead scrunched up as he gave me an utterly baffled look. “No. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t.”

  Several emotions hit me at once. The realization that was true. Affection. Happiness. A type of longing I couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

  “Do I strike you as someone who thinks a lot about hurting feelings?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Didn’t you notice how excited I was when you came into the gym last week?”

  I nodded. “But I was also so excited that I thought maybe my excitement was contagious.”

  “Yes. I caught exciteme
nt from you,” he deadpanned. “Looked into treatments and everything. Of course, before I could get them, I told you that I missed you and asked you to stay with me.”

  “Thank goodness those excitement vaccines are so hard to find.”

  His smile sent a swirl through my gut, but it faded too quickly, concern taking its place. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I wanted to hang out with you back then? That I still do?”

  My chest cracked right open, the raw spot over my heart completely exposed. I supposed part of it had to do with him being big and buff and handsome and cool, and me being the nerdy girl who had to earn her own family’s love. Admitting it aloud would hurt, so I simply shrugged.

  Liam grabbed my hand and tucked it into his. “When you don’t talk, I know it’s because you have so much to say that you’re not sure where to even start. Then I get worried.”

  Dammit. For all my talk about him not expressing his feelings, now I was the one getting blocked up. And the few times I’d cried in front of him, he’d looked so horrified and helpless, and I didn’t want to cry. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, pulled my hand from his, and reached for my phone. “I should text Kevin back.”

  Liam snatched my phone away and set it on the other side of him, which might as well have been Antarctica as far as retrieving it was concerned. “Leave him hanging for a few.”

  “Because he took days to text me?”

  “Probably took him that long to work up the balls,” he said, his voice all grumbly. “Still won’t hurt for him to wait.”

  I tapped my fingers on my thighs, antsy now. I was the person who replied quickly and felt bad not responding, to the point I often had these ridiculously long chains. Then, when people finally gave up having the last word—or last emoji, in most cases—I experienced a pang of sadness that they didn’t text me back. Which I fully realized made no sense.

  “Uh-oh. You’re still quiet.”

  I was going to tease him and ask if that meant he was telling me to say something, but when he’d shared about how people used to pressure him to talk more, it’d felt like a poignant moment, so I didn’t want to make light of it. Plus, he was right. My brain was spinning too fast, with so much I could hardly process it all.

  “What would you want a girl to say to you?” I asked, since it applied to texting Kevin, and more than that, I wanted to know. What did Liam Roth look for in a girl? It’d be semi-torturous when it didn’t match my traits, but strike that want from the record, because I needed to know.

  “I’d want her to be herself,” he said, and I rolled my eyes, nice and big so he’d be sure to see.

  “That’s such a mom thing to say.” A string pulled in my heart as I recalled a conversation where, after crying about not having any friends, I was told I’d probably have more if I wasn’t such an exhausting chatterbox. “One my mom never would say to me.”

  “And there we have why you don’t believe anyone would want to hang out with you, and that pisses me off.” His features changed to that deadly expression he wore when he stepped into the cage. I should take notes for my intimidation tactics, but instead the tears I’d tried to smother rose, rapid blinking doing nothing to stop it. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, you’re right. And still I feel guilty for not calling and checking in. I just know it’ll end with me going over to clean or cook something, or to buy groceries.”

  “They’ve had your cooking before, and they still ask you to do that?”

  I laughed through the tears that started to fall, and I appreciated the hell out of his ability to make me laugh right now. “I stuck to those easy boxed or mostly pre-prepared meals. Or I’d grab takeout through a drive-through, so I’m also guilty of adding to their super-unhealthy diet.”

  “You’re not responsible for them. They failed you, not the other way around.”

  I sniffed and shrugged. “If I hadn’t had you…I think I would’ve gotten lost. Maybe I would’ve ended up right along with them. But I can’t. That’s another reason why I have to secure a good high-paying job. To prove I’m contributing to society.”

  “Then I’ll help you land that job.”

  Another couple tears slipped down my cheeks. Once the crying tap turned on, it was always so hard to get it to stop.

  Worry and that helplessness that didn’t look right on Liam crept into his features. “Chels. What can I do? I feel like shit for making you cry.”

  “You didn’t make me cry. You pointed out the truth, and that made me cry.”

  He lowered his arm from the back of the couch to my shoulders and curled me to him, and I happily snuggled close. A sense of security I only felt with him wrapped around me like a blanket. I also tried not to think about how this was the least sexy thing ever. Not that being sexy around Liam was important. This whole conversation proved how much I needed him in this capacity.

  My body wasn’t exactly listening to reason, though, my heart skipping at the way his strong arms enveloped me. Instead of letting myself indulge in the emotions that tiptoed toward the sexual desire side of the line, I resolved to take steps to ensure I didn’t mess up what we had.

  And I’d start with making a date with Kevin first thing tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Liam

  No one ever tells you the things about living with girls that you should know. Not that anyone had ever told me what it was like or encouraged me to live with a girl, but my bathroom sink had been turned into a beauty salon. If I moved one thing, three things fell off the edge of the small vanity.

  Whenever I turned in the shower, same result. Bottles fell from everywhere, which made it hard to close my eyes, imagine I had company, and do what I needed to do to relieve the pressure of wanting Chelsea. I should’ve just taken the edge off with the blonde from the bar.

  So far, my attempts to do the right thing had left me extremely agitated. I hadn’t had sex in way too long, and my shower sessions weren’t doing it for me. On top of all that shittiness, Chelsea was going out with Kevin this evening.

  From now on, I was doing the wrong thing.

  Like right now, I was going to wrap my hand tighter around my cock, picture Chelsea in those little shorts, and pretend that I didn’t have to refrain from following through on the moves I wanted to make on her. With her shampoo bottles surrounding me, her familiar peach scent everywhere I turned, it was easy to picture her shoving aside the shower curtain. Stepping into the stream of warm water. That tank top she had on the night she’d been cooking growing more see-through by the second, her nipples straining against the fabric.

  A knock brought me up short. Fuck.

  “Oh, hey,” Chelsea said, her voice muffled through the bathroom door. “You are home. I wasn’t sure. Is it okay if I use the TV for the next thirty minutes?”

  I blew out a breath and worked to keep my voice even. “Go for it.”

  “Cool. Then I’ll have to hop in the shower and get ready for my date.”

  Why don’t you forget your date and get in the shower with me now? “Sounds good,” I gritted out.

  As soon as I heard her footsteps heading away from the door, I leaned my head against the shower wall, letting the spray of lukewarm water run down my back. If I didn’t get out soon, she’d end up taking a cold shower, and clearly I was the one who needed one of those…

  By the time I emerged from my bedroom, I’d about decided to take another trip to the bar tonight. But I couldn’t summon up even an ounce of excitement over the idea of going and making small talk with women, so I was back to wondering how the hell to fill my time as I walked toward the living room, thoughts on finding a snack—I was starving.

  “Push deeper into the pose and hold it,” an unfamiliar female voice said, and I stepped out of the hallway to see Chelsea in tight yoga pants, her ass up in the air, her hands down on the mat.

  I froze, and every ounce of my blood rushed south.

  Living with a girl was going
to be the fucking death of me.

  …

  I sat on the couch, drinking a beer as Chelsea’s high-heeled footsteps rushed down the hall, then back toward the living room, and then she’d swear and they’d retreat before growing louder again.

  “Okay, I think I’ve remembered everything.” Nervousness filtered into her voice. “How do I look?”

  I didn’t want to see, because I knew how she’d look—like the woman I didn’t want going out with anyone else.

  Just get it over with. A quick glance and—

  She stood there between the living room and kitchen, the light over her head illuminating every tempting inch of her. There was nothing quick about the way I drank her in, from her pulled-up hair and how it exposed her neck to her purple dress and the high heels that gave extra definition to her killer legs.

  No surprise, she looked sexy as hell. In need of a proper kiss, for sure, and everything about her practically demanded I push up her skirt and take her against the wall.

  Yeah, that scenario in the shower was nothing compared to where my imagination had strayed since, and now it was getting even more ideas.

  She smoothed a hand down her skirt, bending enough for me to get the slightest glimpse of cleavage. “Is it too much? I’ve never been to a swanky club with a dress code.”

  Of course the guy was taking her somewhere fancy. Somewhere I’d never be caught dead. It’s good for her. She’s never gotten to go to those types of places before, and I’m certainly not going to be taking her.

  The knock at the door sent her eyes wide, the frantic energy that’d been radiating off her returning.

  “You look amazing,” I said, and she smiled. Red lips and a teasing of teeth that shot me right through the heart. “You want me to get the door?” I scooted to the edge of the couch and stood. “You can make a grand entrance.”