by Cindi Madsen
Chapter Sixteen
Liam
I frowned at the vase of pink roses on the counter, with the accompanying card that read, “Had a great time.” Classy-as-fuck move on Kevin’s part, damn him. I wanted to scream that I was the one who went to bed with her last night, but there’d been about ten minutes of cuddling, followed by her pulling away.
Followed by an hour of lying there and trying not to get turned on by every noise or small movement she made and failing on all counts. Eventually, my blue balls and I had to retreat to my room to keep from going insane.
George jumped onto the counter and circled the vase of flowers. Since Chelsea had left a note about running to grab coffee, the cat and I could talk freely.
“See, that Kevin guy’s the real threat.” I lifted the package of expensive ham out of the meat drawer and tossed the cat a piece, because I was shit at following through with my bluff. “He takes her out to some fancy club and sends her flowers. Clearly, he’s trying to steal her away from us. Would you like to form an alliance? Find a way to get rid of him?”
George padded closer, and I tossed him another piece of meat. I made a protein shake and turned just in time to see the cat swipe the flowers off the counter. The vase tumbled in slow motion, yet too fast for me to catch it, then shattered on the tile, sending water, flowers, and shards of glass across the floor.
Hmm. Maybe the cat was on my side.
The door swung open, and George and I froze, both looking guilty as sin, I’m sure.
“George! Really?”
The cat leaped down, strolled over to Chelsea, and rubbed against her ankles as he purred up at her. She sighed and placed her cup of coffee on the counter.
“Be careful,” I said, grabbing the broom. “There are shards everywhere.”
“I got it.” She jerked the broom from my hand, and I wondered if she was mad or sad about losing the memento from her date. The cat and I might have to have a meeting about this later. “George loves knocking stuff over. I should’ve known better than to put them there.”
“It was nice of Kevin to send flowers,” I said. The bastard.
“Yeah.”
Something was off. For once, I was talking more than she was. “You okay?”
“Just great.” Her inflection implied the opposite. Was she purposely keeping her back to me?
Both our phones chimed, and I lifted mine. “My family’s on the way. You still up for volleyball?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Games provide lots of opportunities to be more assertive.” I slid my phone in my pocket and unhooked the dustpan from the broom handle. “You’re going to want to hold back and let other people get the ball, even when it comes right to you, but you get in there and take your best shot. I’ll cover you.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She tried to take the dustpan from me, her eyes skirting mine, but I kept my grip on it, forcing her attention to me.
“Dammit, Chelsea, I can tell when something’s wrong. Is it the flowers? Do you want me to buy some new ones?”
She simply stared at me, and maybe my intimidation lessons were working better than I thought, because my chest tightened and fear flickered. “No, I don’t want replacement flowers. I just want…” She threw up her arms. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Okay.”
We remained toe-to-toe in the middle of the kitchen, the air choked full of something I didn’t understand.
I scratched the back of my neck. “You wanna invite Kevin to play volleyball with us?” Why the hell had I said that?
“I guess I do need to properly thank him.”
The handle of the dustpan groaned under the pressure of my tightening fist, and I was a few seconds away from cracking it and adding the plastic shards to the mess on the floor.
Chelsea dropped down and began picking the flowers from the pile, and I squatted to join her.
“Be careful, there’s a lot of—”
“I’ve got it.” She whipped her hand back a second later, a piece of glass undoubtedly the culprit. Then she glared at me—like it was my fucking fault that I told her to be careful and she hadn’t been. “Don’t say it.”
Confusion and frustration boiled over, and my patience snapped. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
“It’s more what you didn’t do.”
I locked eyes with her. “Explain.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“Chels, you never stop talking. You over-explain. So let’s hear it.”
“This time, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.” She abandoned her attempts to save the flowers, chucked the whole mess in the trash, then angrily swept up the remains.
What the actual fuck? The entire reason I hadn’t crossed lines last night was so shit wouldn’t get messed up between us, but right now everything felt messy and complicated and since when could she actually pull off the silent treatment?
Surely she wasn’t mad I hadn’t slept in her tiny bed all night, where every time she or I moved I’d be pushed up against her. Hell, I wanted to push up against her now. Forget words. I’d show her exactly how I felt. Then we could both work out some frustration.
“I have to go change,” she said and stormed down the hall.
I glanced at George, who was idly licking his paw. “Any idea what that was about?”
He stared at me, and not like I expected him to tell me, but the way he turned and took off after Chelsea made it clear we were absolutely not on the same team. Evidently he was one of those guys who played the alliance angle, then screwed you over and left you holding the bag.
By the time Finn and Brooklyn arrived, irritation coursed heavy in my veins, and the last thing I wanted was to play volleyball on the crowded beach.
It would be easier to go along than fight it, though, so I grabbed the damn ball, barked a question about sunscreen at Chelsea—which earned me a clenched-jaw glare from her, as well as reproachful looks from my brother and sister. And by the time we reached the beach, I was wishing for a punching bag.
Unfortunately, spiking the stupid neon ball would have to do.
Chapter Seventeen
Chelsea
“Um, is everything okay with you guys?” Brooklyn asked me. As if I knew.
Actually, I knew I’d gotten irrationally angry that Liam hadn’t miraculously sensed how horny I’d been last night and done something about it. Not like I could admit that to his sister, either.
Those flowers should’ve made me happy, but all I could think was that they were from the wrong guy, and how the one I wanted would never express himself unless I pushed, and even then…
“Chelsea?”
“He’s…” I made a vague gesture with my hand. “You know how he gets.” I watched him and Finn bump the ball. It volleyed back and forth, and when it strayed off course and came our way, I was as surprised as anyone when I managed to catch it.
Liam leveled his eyes on me, extra intensity flaring through the blue. My chest tightened to the painful point, and I quickly threw him the ball. He caught it in the same detached manner he’d reverted to using since we’d exited his apartment, and then continued warming up with his brother.
“I do know how he gets,” Brooklyn said. “He’s usually a bit on the broody side, but this is a whole new level.”
Finn stripped off his shirt, and Liam followed suit, obliterating any chance of my pulse rate staying below normal. My attention snagged on the way the muscles in Liam’s arms and torso moved, all that lethal grace luring me in. How unfair was that? Shouldn’t our rocky morning and the resulting frustration coursing through me at least lessen my attraction a little?
I wished I could get my logical side to overrule my feelings, or for the ability to turn off the emotions tap the way Liam did—of course, he never had all that much flowing. It wasn’t the first time I’d wanted to drag some emotions from him or for him to have the ability to read mine better. Although that also scared the crap out of me.
But
no, he alternated between stoic and broody—as his sister pointed out, so see, I wasn’t alone in noticing. “Yeah. If only he didn’t give such good brood.”
Brooklyn laughed. I’d be paranoid about accidentally admitting too much, but like at the gym, she saw right through me. Might as well be able to semi-talk to someone about it.
“I’m not asking for mushy chats where we gush nonstop about our feelings, but once in a while, I’d like to find a way inside his head without going the cracking-open method. Which sounds super gross, and please forget I said that last part.”
Brooklyn squeezed my hand. “I totally get what you’re saying. All I can do is assure you he cares. When you weren’t around, he was a hundred times broodier, to the point we could hardly stand him. And if Finn or I mentioned your name and pointed out how grouchy he was without you, he’d about bite our heads off. Finally, I took it upon myself to stage an intervention to get him to call you—I’m not even joking.”
A heaviness pressed against my chest, deflating my lungs. Was that enough? For his sister to repeatedly assure me he cared? It’d be nice to hear it from him, and to know how much and in what ways.
In order to have even a chance at that happening, I’d probably have to do some confessing of my own and I wasn’t sure my boldness lessons were quite— Wait. She had to convince him to call me? I’d been so hurt by our lack of communication during those few transition months, and now I wondered if he’d picked up the phone more to get his family off his back than because he missed my voice as much as I missed his.
“Are we gonna play or what?” Liam asked.
He wanted to play? Fine. We’d play stupid volleyball. Liam and Finn were the captains, their competitive nature never giving it a rest. When Liam called my name first, I was sure I must’ve hallucinated it. Which was why I remained planted in place.
“Unless you don’t want to be on my team,” Liam said, his eyebrows scrunching together as he scrutinized me, obviously still baffled about what my deal was.
“Yeah, you can be with me,” Finn said, and his brother glared at him. “Just kidding. I have no place for redheads on my team.”
That only increased the glaring, and a laugh spilled out before I could stop it. One of Liam’s eyebrows arched, and I trudged over to his side. I kept my voice low so I wouldn’t be overheard. “I don’t need a pity pick. I’m used to being chosen last.”
“Remember that thing I said about not doing things I don’t want to.”
Hope rose up, a fragile bubble.
“Besides, your assertive training isn’t over.”
Bubble effectively popped. “Right.”
Liam placed his hand on my hip. “More than that, I want you with me. I don’t wanna fight, Chels. I don’t even know why we’re fighting. Just tell me and I’ll fix it.”
Rejection stung—whether it was more perceived than not—and it didn’t help that no matter how hard I tried, my unrequited-love problem wouldn’t simply go away. This wasn’t something he could just fix, but he wouldn’t take that news lightly. And after experiencing a few hours of friction, I told myself it was a good thing he’d been thinking clearly last night. Or maybe he didn’t have to work at it. Either way, today seemed to be showing me how badly we could damage our friendship if we blurred the lines. How already being so involved would amp up every aspect of our relationship.
This wasn’t some guy I could go on a few dates with, see how it went, and shrug it off if it didn’t work out. Liam was the one person who’d always been there for me. He’d never called me “chatty” in that snide way others had, and although he didn’t divulge as much as I did, I always knew he was listening. That if I needed him, he’d show up.
I wasn’t being fair, and panic welled as I thought about what my life would be like if I didn’t have that with him anymore. My guaranteed time with him was too short—life was too short. “I’m PMS-ing,” I said, because, well, it was the first thing that popped into my head.
I expected him to recoil from the news and fall silent. My only serious boyfriend was a guy I’d dated most of my sophomore year at SDSU, and he’d blamed every mood or feeling I ever had on my period. Heaven forbid I mention it, though, and using it as an excuse probably just set feminism back a decade or so. But Liam leaned closer. “What do you need? Tampons? Chocolate? Pain pills?”
I blinked up at him. “You have access to those things on the beach?”
“You’d be surprised the things I can get access to.”
I threw my arms around him, and after he got over what I assumed was a second or two of shock, he reciprocated, hugging me tightly to his chest. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
I did, but I appreciated that he let my bizarre behavior slide so easily. And with him thinking I’d be on my period for the next week or so, silver lining, I could tell myself he wasn’t interested in crossing lines because of that.
So…score?
“Are we going to stand around hugging, or are we going to play?” Finn asked, and Brooklyn smacked him upside the head and I’m sure scolded him for not letting us have our moment. Too bad this was a different kind of moment.
Even though I was super glad to have it.
A big shadow blocked my sun, and I cracked open an eye. Liam always seemed huge, but with me lying down and him up, up, up, he seemed even bigger than usual.
He squatted next to the beach towel I’d spread on the sand and handed me a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone.
“You didn’t have t—”
“Just eat it before it melts.” He sat down, halfway on my towel, and hooked his arms around his knees.
I nibbled at the crunchy outer shell, more than happy to obey. “For future reference, this is much more my style. No disastrous attempts to play sports, just soaking in the sun and eating ice cream.”
“You played well.”
“I constantly ran into the net and fell a ridiculous amount of times.” The one time I’d completed an impressive play was because Liam had boosted me on his shoulders to block Finn. Using the extra height, I managed to spike the ball right back at him. Pretty sure it was cheating, but no one called us on it.
“That’s what beach volleyball’s all about. Getting sand in places you didn’t even know you had.” Liam’s gaze dipped to my tiny bikini bottoms, but he quickly jerked it back up and cleared his throat. “I mean…Well, when I scooped you up, your thighs were covered, and I…” He shook his head, and I swore his skin hadn’t been that red a moment ago. “It’s just when you dive and fall in the sand like that… You know what I’m saying.”
For once, he was the one rambling, and since he was clearly embarrassed about it, I couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. “I’m not sure I do. Please, tell me more about these places I didn’t know I had.”
He jerked his chin toward my cone. “Eat your ice cream, smartass.”
I broke off a piece of the chocolate shell and tossed it in my mouth. Then I extended it to him, and he leaned in and took a bite. I focused far too much on the way his tongue darted out to catch the ice cream, and speaking of those hidden places… Shut it down.
After I finished off the cone, I wiped my hands and grabbed my phone. “I haven’t taken nearly enough pictures since I’ve been here. Scooch in.”
Liam scowled at the screen. “Are you serious? The filter with the flower crown?”
“It makes my skin look all awesome and glowy,” I said, my most winning smile in place. “Plus, sparkly eyes, and who doesn’t want sparkly eyes? Or maybe you’d prefer the one with hearts?” I swiped, and animated hearts appeared over our heads. That would probably be my preference, but I was leaving the town of Denial and living in the real world from here on out. “Or do you want to be a”—I swiped again—“pig-bear thing?”
He made a low noise, half grumble, half this close to giving in. “How will any of my opponents take me seriously if you post a picture of us like that?”
/> “Um, you’ll punch them in the face?”
“Right. Good point.”
I flipped back to the flower-crown filter. Maybe I couldn’t get him to see me as more than a friend, but an odd sense of pride filled me at convincing him to breach a few boundaries I knew he wouldn’t with anyone else, and that helped fight off the dejection that’d tugged at me since last night.
Of course he scowled at the camera, but joke was on him, because like I said earlier, he gave good brood.
Over the past several months, I’d sent him a lot of crazy pictures, and I could never talk him into sending any back. He’d send one of the gym or the beach, but never a selfie. Occasionally we’d used FaceTime, and his conversation skills were slightly better with video, although he kept commenting about how much he hated staring at himself while we talked.
Funny, because I loved staring at him while he talked.
A group of women in tiny bikinis strolled past, clearly hoping to gain his attention, and I’ll give it to him, Liam kept his eyes on me.
The warm sand felt nice against my toes, and I dug them in deeper. “You know how you, uh, get in the way of me meeting guys?”
“I recall making you get a dude’s number and him taking you out last night. And for all of an hour or so, you had flowers, too.”
“That was a one-time deal—after you scared him away to another section of the bookstore, no less—and he still asked a ton of questions about you. I could tell he’s intimidated.”
Liam leaned back on his palms, tipping his face to the sun. “Just goes to show you picked the perfect coach for intimidation lessons.”
“Oh, I’m aware. But do I ever get in the way? Of you dating?”
The line of his jaw tensed, but he didn’t seem angry. More like…regretful? Or perhaps resigned—I wasn’t sure. “I don’t have time for dating. We already talked about this, remember?”
“Right, but…has any girl ever…?” Naturally I rethought this line of questioning halfway through. As curious as I was, would the answer make it better or worse? In theory, it wouldn’t matter either way. I’d decided it was for the best if we didn’t mess with the dynamic of our friendship, and he was evidently super set on not dating at all, which ruled us out as an option on two levels. I swiped a hand through the air. “Never mind.”
