Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  “Liam.” I continued lower, lower… As soon as I reached his abs, he caught my wrist. “Ooh, quick reflexes,” I said with a giggle. Why was I giggling? This wasn’t a giggle situation.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Duh, that’s why I called you, remember?”

  “And that’s why I’m going to take you home.” He stood and tugged me up with him, catching me when I stumbled.

  Wow. I was more impaired than I realized while seated, and now the room was spinning. “Dammit, I didn’t mean to get this drunk. How’d it sneak up on me?”

  “My guess? The scotch.”

  “Dammit.”

  “You said that already,” he said with a chuckle. “And it looks like I will be carrying you out of here. Don’t worry, it’s not flattery. Just necessity.”

  “No, I—” The next instant he was carrying me, and I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so turned on by the way he scooped me into his arms and pulled me to his firm chest. But when I’d tried to make a move, he’d stopped me, which meant…ugh, I was probably going to regret everything in the morning.

  Cool night air hit me, and Liam boosted me higher in his arms, making the world around us spin again. “Where’s your car?”

  “In the parking lot.”

  His low laugh vibrated through me, awaking every cell in my body. “Never mind, I see it.”

  The next thing I knew, I was in my passenger seat, and Liam was getting behind the wheel.

  “My car emphasizes how big you are. You look like one of those Space Jam aliens, all crammed into such a small seat.” Another round of giggles burst out of me.

  “Not really sure what to say to that. Guess I’ll add that to things to ponder about myself, right after my face.”

  “Right?” A vague self-preservation instinct instructed me to zip my lips and not say anything more, but thoughts were so hard to keep hold of. The drive home only took a few minutes—or maybe my eyelids had drifted shut. Hadn’t I decided to flirt with Liam so I wouldn’t have regrets?

  Or did I decide I’d regret it?

  Dammit, I was never drinking scotch again. Plus, three margaritas. Or was it four?

  “I can walk,” I said when Liam opened the car door for me. I took his hand, though, because I did need something to hold on to. Once I was on my feet, I hooked my elbow through his arm and leaned heavily on him as we climbed the stairs.

  As soon as we reached my bedroom, I flopped onto the foot of my bed and dropped my head in my hands. “Driving made things too spinny. We should’ve walked.”

  “Next time I’ll carry you the ten miles home.” He slipped off my heels. “Because you never would’ve made it in these.”

  “Okay, that sounds good.”

  He laughed, and I peeked through my fingers at him. The room was dim, only the light from the hallway spilling inside.

  “I don’t want to end up a lonely cat lady with a bunch of regrets.”

  “Oh, please,” Liam said. “You only have one cat.”

  I stuck out my lips in a pout. “I think you’re missing the point.”

  The bed dipped as he sat next to me. “Don’t worry. If you get another cat or two, I’ll stage an intervention.”

  “Yep,” I said with a sigh, “you definitely missed it. It went right over your pretty head.” I froze. Earlier I’d said something about his face, and now I’d just called him pretty out loud. Just stop while you’re ahead. Or behind. Or before you get behinder.

  That’s definitely not a word.

  “Oh, so I’m just a dumb jock now?” He jabbed my side, and I jerked and scowled at him. “I know what you meant. But your worries are invalid.”

  I tucked up a leg so I was facing him. “Oh yeah? Why?”

  He brushed the hair off my face and secured it behind my ear, and his palm was so damn warm against my cheek I wanted to sink into it and fall asleep. And as my eyes began to drift closed, he said, “Because I’d never let you be lonely,” and suddenly I felt awake and turned on all over again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Liam

  This night was getting away from me, making me say things I shouldn’t. Chelsea’s lips parted, and more than anything, I wanted to close the distance between us and taste them. To stroke her tongue with mine until she was breathless and writhing beneath me.

  But she was drunk and apparently feeling lonely.

  God, the way she’d looked at me in the bar. The way she’d dragged her hand down my torso. I started to get hard again just thinking about it. Imagining kissing her and pinning her against the mattress didn’t help the situation.

  I stood, afraid I wouldn’t do what I should if I stayed so close to her. “I don’t want either one of us to have regrets. But if you go back to Denver, and you’re feeling lonely, give me a call, and I’ll visit you—I’ll do a better job keeping in touch and coming to see you, I swear.”

  She frowned. Not the reaction I was hoping for.

  Then she rubbed a hand across her face.

  “Need some water and pain pills? I’ll get some,” I said, without waiting for an answer. Usually she was more of a half a glass of wine girl, and I was sure she’d have a killer hangover tomorrow morning.

  I brought her aspirin and asked if she needed anything else.

  She still looked completely lost, and I wanted to make it better, but if I made the moves I wanted to, I’d only make it worse. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I have a feeling everything will look different in the light of day.”

  She nodded.

  I pivoted on my heel, ready to walk out, but something deep inside me revolted. I turned back to face her, took her head in my hands, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her fingers encircled my wrists, and I breathed her in, sorta hoping she wouldn’t remember much in the morning. “Good night, Chels.”

  “Good night,” she said, then she laid back in her bed.

  On my way out of her room, I nearly tripped over George, and he gave an offended meow to make sure I knew he didn’t appreciate it.

  “Sorry, dude. You better go in there and give her someone to cuddle with, because as much as I want to do the cuddling, it probably shouldn’t be me.”

  The cat strutted into the bedroom, and I held no pretense it was because I’d asked him to, but I was glad she had him all the same.

  Then I retreated to my bedroom so I could lie in bed and not get any sleep while I thought too much about the woman on the other side of the wall.

  Same way I’d been doing all week.

  …

  Chelsea’s singing mixed in with the running water in the shower, and I stopped next to the door, telling myself I’d just soak in the sound for a minute or two before moving on. I had to get to the gym. Finn’s fight was officially a week away, which meant it’d be a nonstop blur of training and making sure everything was set up, and on top of it all, Tautolo was starting on Monday.

  Just a few more seconds. Damn, the girl had quite the set of pipes. She’d sung to the radio here and there while we were driving around, but not nearly this loud, and I hoped that meant she wasn’t too horribly hung over.

  A loud slam cut through the air, followed by a yelp and swearing, with some “ow, ow, ow” in the mix.

  “Chelsea.” I rapped my knuckles against the door. “Are you okay? Should I send in a rescue team?” Please say yes.

  “No! I’m…just no.”

  Okay, so she really didn’t want me in there, and of course she didn’t. Last night she was just drunk and feeling lonely. Which was exactly what I’d told myself, yet it still sent a heaviness through me.

  Good thing I held back, or we could’ve made a real mess of things.

  The water cut off, and a handful of seconds later, the door swung open. I stepped back, giving her some space and feeling kind of like a stalker for being right outside the door. Don’t think about the fact that she’s naked underneath the towel.

  “Are you limping?” I asked when she took a step, favoring her left foot.

/>   “My shampoo bottle fell and hit the top of my foot, and it hurt like a bitch.”

  “I’m not surprised. Those bottles in there are giant.”

  “Not helping.”

  A red mark covered the top of her foot—there’d definitely be a bruise later. As my gaze ran up her legs, it snagged on the bottom of the towel. Then I forced it up, only to get distracted by the way she had the towel tucked tightly around her breasts.

  I swallowed hard. “Want me to get some ice?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll get some when I grab breakfast. I figured I’d just spend a lazy day here anyway, since I’m guessing you’ll be at the gym.”

  My head bobbed up and down somehow, despite the frozen-in-place sensation that’d taken over. “With Finn’s fight so close, I won’t be home much this week. We also have a new fighter coming in—the one my dad and I went to see in L.A. the other night.”

  “It’s fine. I know how to entertain myself, and thanks to my headache and…” Her cheeks flushed and she glanced at the floor. “Let’s just say I’m not going to be getting drunk again anytime soon.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had a bit too much and said and did stupid things.”

  Her head whipped up, and I held up my hands. “Not that you did or said anything stupid. I’m just saying I understand.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Because…yeah.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m getting half sentences again. You’re holding back.”

  “I’m standing here in a towel with my hair dripping a puddle on the floor. I figured if there was any time to be laconic, it’d be now.”

  “Sure. If I knew what that meant, I might agree.”

  Finally I got a smile, and the knot that’d taken over my chest loosened. I didn’t realize how much I needed things to be okay. “Succinct, pithy—using very few words. In other words, I’m doing my best impression of you.”

  “Ah. Well, I wrap my towel around my waist.” It came out before I’d thought it through, and shit. She was blushing again, and my body felt too hot all over and I’d made it weird. “I’ll, uh, let you get dressed.”

  She darted into her bedroom, and I quickly strode toward the kitchen. I’d planned on making breakfast, but I decided I’d better leave before I managed to make things any worse. “I’ve gotta get going,” I called out, “but help yourself to anything you want, and I’ll see you later.”

  A muffled “later” came from her bedroom, and I hefted my gym bag and got the hell out of Dodge.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chelsea

  Nothing says I see you as just a friend like a forehead kiss. Last night Liam had carried my drunken ass out of a bar, listened to my rambling—I only remembered parts, and it was still enough to make me want to go full ostrich. Sure, my butt would be sticking up for the world to see, but as long as my head was underground, I wouldn’t have to witness the reaction.

  Perfect plan, really.

  “George, how do I manage to botch everything up so thoroughly? Finally I’m learning how to be more assertive at work, and then I go and get ridiculously overconfident and hit on my best friend. Who had to let me down easy. Ugh.”

  George nudged my hand, so clearly he was super concerned about my well-being. That or because in my distress, I’d dared to stop petting him.

  In added proof that playing roommates with my best friend perhaps hadn’t been my smartest idea, after embarrassing myself last night, I’d had to face Liam first thing in the morning. While wearing a towel. And he’d told me that if I was going to do an impression of him, that he wrapped his towel around his waist. Usually I was the one who turned red, but this time, he had as well. Either that was a sign he wasn’t totally opposed to seeing my breasts, or I was such a nonentity he’d forgotten I had them until that moment.

  I glanced down. Not much to look at, I’m afraid. But, hey, when I get older, they’ll have nowhere to sag to.

  For a cheer-up thought, that was pretty depressing. I should just face it. I was either going to have to settle for someone who wasn’t Liam, or I was going to die a virgin.

  I picked up my phone and scrolled to Kevin’s name. Over and over I’d tried to convince myself that if I kept seeing him, gradually our intimacy would build. In the name of doing something bold that also scared me, I’d also stopped by Victoria’s Secret and bought lingerie, so I’d be prepared if I did decide it was time to say goodbye to my virginity. But I kept thinking about losing it with the wrong guy.

  If Liam liked me even a little bit, there’s no way he would’ve encouraged me to get Kevin’s number. It was time to face facts. If I didn’t do something drastic, and soon, I was going to throw myself at my best friend.

  Hell, I practically had already.

  I got a flash of him brushing my hair off my face. Because I’d never let you be lonely.

  Residual butterflies rose. It was such a beautiful, lovely statement. But he hadn’t meant it in the way I wanted him to.

  Which meant if I didn’t want to end up lonely—and I mean in the spinster, sex-deprived way—I was going to have to do more to ensure that I didn’t.

  Even if it took some work and some fake-it-till-you-make-it enthusiasm.

  …

  Liam wasn’t kidding when he said that he wouldn’t be around. We’d said a few hellos and goodbyes as we passed each other. A couple nights he’d come home super late, flopped onto the couch next to me as I was watching TV, and then promptly fell asleep.

  For once, we were better in text form. He asked about my job; I requested updates on Finn, his other fighters, and his new one.

  We lived together, yet all our interactions had this wall of caution in the way, and it was my fault, and I freaking hated it.

  On Thursday afternoon, I knocked on the door to Brooklyn and Shane’s apartment. Brooklyn answered and gave me a big grin. “Hey! I’m so ready for tonight. The guys have been talking nonstop about the fight, and I’m excited, too, but I need someone who can talk about something else.”

  “Well, I’m your girl.”

  “Thank goodness. Oh, and I also figured we’d have an Avengers marathon so we can ogle away without the guys’ added judgment.”

  “And this is why I love you.”

  “Right back at you.”

  As Brooklyn ordered a pizza, I circled her apartment, studying the paintings she’d hung around the room. “Wow, these are amazing.” She was crazy skilled at capturing emotion, pouring it into her art, and evoking a visceral response. Funny, since her brother was so incapable of expressing emotion.

  Or maybe he simply softens his to avoid hurting my feelings.

  Good thing I’m not thinking about him today.

  I gestured at the painting on the wall—the paint dripped down the canvas, over what looked like pages from a book. “I just have to ask—”

  “No books were harmed in the making of the painting,” she said with a laugh. “It’s more like I’m giving them new life. They’re from used bookstores or places that were going to trash the books, and I usually end up reading them first so I can choose which pages match up with the emotion I’m going for.”

  “I guess I’ll forgive you for dismembering them, then. This one…” A girl’s face was painted over the pasted-on, whitewashed pages. She wore a contemplative look, her chin on her fist. “I feel like… Man, it makes me sad and happy for her at the same time, and I’m not sure which I feel more, but something about it just speaks to me.”

  Pride beamed through Brooklyn’s features, and she placed a hand over her chest. “Thank you. My goal is always to evoke emotion. To me, this is that moment right before a big decision, or after one you’ve made and can’t decide if you regret it. A sort of torn between two things feeling.”

  “I totally get that.”

  “And you also feel like that?”

  I thought about downplaying or trying to bullshit my way through an answer, but I’d never been good at that, and if anyone would understand, it’d be Brookl
yn. “I don’t want to mess up my friendship with Liam, but I also feel like…” How did I even put it into words?

  “Like there might be more.”

  My pulse beat through my entire body, every thump so prominent. “Yes.” There. I’d admitted it aloud, although I didn’t think Brooklyn was shocked by any means. “But Liam’s always been there for me, and we have this easy thing, only it suddenly feels strained, and I’m worried it’s because I got a wee bit drunk and asked him if he’d ever thought about his face.”

  Her lips pressed together as she fought back a laugh. “And what did he say?”

  “That he doesn’t really think about it, since he sees it every day. And then I…” I winced. “I said that I see it every day, and it still affects me.”

  That did surprise her; I could tell by her widened eyes. She leaned in, worry and excitement radiating off her. “And what did he say to that?”

  “He told me I was drunk, which I was, then he took me home, tucked me into bed, and basically shut it down hard. I can’t remember everything we talked about, but there was a forehead kiss.”

  “Forehead kisses can be hot.”

  “This was a friends one, I could tell. And I want more than forehead kisses.” I flopped down on her couch. “There. I said it. I want more, and it terrifies me. And like that girl in the painting, I can’t decide whether to push the boundaries and hope I don’t ruin everything or to just hold on to our friendship and thank my lucky stars that I have it, because it truly is one of the best things in my life.”

  Brooklyn let that hang in the air for a moment, but I could tell she had an opinion, and when she said it, there wasn’t a note of doubt or hesitation. “You push for more.”

  “Easy for you to say. I bet you knew from the beginning that Shane wanted more.”

  She opened her mouth and then gave a sheepish shrug. “Doesn’t mean it was easy. There were a lot of complications.”

  “I just don’t think Liam sees me that way.”

  “And I think he does—I’m sure of it, actually.”

  “But he’s never told you that, has he?” I held my breath as I waited for the answer.