Page 14 of High Hopes

I swallow hard. “Right. Well . . . just make it reasonable, yeah? Quid pro quo. No weird or borderline illegal favors.”

He taps me on the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry, I’m a very reasonable person.”

I snort. “Debatable.”

“You haven’t known me long enough to make a comment like that.”

“I’m making an educated guess.”

He steps a little closer, just enough to make my pulse spike. “Guess you’ll have to spend more time with me to find out for sure.”

My cheeks flush. “Is helping me impress your dad just a ploy to get me to hang out with you?”

He laughs, a low, easy sound. “Maybe it’s a win-win.”

I shake my head. “I’ve got a bit too much on my plate to play games here, Liam.”

“No games,” he says, still grinning. “Just business.”

Business. Sure. Except nothing about this grinning, golden-haired man feels like business. It feels unpredictable, and messy, and dangerous, like getting too close to something you can’t fully control.

I pull out my phone and hand it over to him. “You should put your number in, then, forbusinesspurposes.”

He takes my phone, types in a few words, and then hands it back, still smirking like he’s in on his own private joke. I glance at the screen, expecting something ridiculous, and sure enough, he’s saved his name as “Liam (your only hope).”

I roll my eyes and pocket the phone before he can see me smile. “Real mature.”

“Always,” he replies.

“Right,” I say, stepping back a bit, trying to regain my footing in this weird push-pull dynamic we’ve got going on. “Well, thanks for agreeing to help . . . Whenever you think of something I can do, just let me know.”

“I will.” His voice is casual, but there’s a glint of something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. “Oh, and Birdie?”

His messy blond hair falls over his forehead as he leans slightly closer, like he’s about to share a secret. “You really arepretty, you know? Alarmingly so,” he says roughly. “Just—I find it a bit distracting looking at you, talking to you, that’s all.”

It’s a trite sentiment. I know it is. But it stops me in my tracks anyway.

It’s not like I haven’t heard it before. Men always try flattery as an easy in. But something about the way he says the words, like it’s not just a throwaway compliment but afact, leaves me speechless. This isn’t a man fishing for approval or trying to get in my pants. There’s no hidden agenda in his voice, just a blunt sort of honesty.

I give him a quick smile, trying to shake off the unexpected flutter in my chest. “Thanks. Er, I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re tongue-tied.”

“Small mercies,” he says and then gives a two-finger salute.

I finally turn to walk away, trying to focus on anything other than the heat crawling up my neck. But as I step back onto the path, my heart pounds in my ears, my pulse betraying me. I was right.

Inviting Liam Donovan into my world means opening the door to something messy, something unpredictable. And I think some strange, reckless part of me might actually want that.

It’s not about letting my guard down, moving on, or letting go. It’s just him. Just Liam.

6

LIAM

Chaseand the guys are scattered across our living room, eyes glued to the screen, yelling at every pass and tackle like they’ve got something personally riding on it. The Bobcats are playing the Outlaws. It’s a mid-season game with zero stakes, but everyone’s acting like it’s the goddamn Super Bowl.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, and I’m finding it hard to pretend like I care. It’s mind-numbingly dull. I’d rather be playing football than watching it. Never understood the appeal of sitting around, yelling at a bunch of guys doing something I could be doing myself.

The only reason I’m down here right now is because Chase begged me. Said something about tradition, bonding, whatever. So here I am, feet up on the coffee table, scrolling through my phone to kill time while they’re all losing their minds over some missed field goal.

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