Page 68 of Liam

“How’s that no bed deal going for ya?” I crack.

He chuckles, dropping his head between my breasts. “We’re never getting any work done, are we?” Then he pullsallthe way back, sitting sideways on the opposite side of the couch.

I curse my stupid smart-ass mouth for mentioning it at all, because now I’d give anything to go back to two seconds ago, and I miss him—even when he’s right here. I sit up, matching his position as I watch him shove his hand down his shorts, adjusting himself for the umpteenth time. “Must suck to be a boy.”

His head throws back with his laughter. “I never had this problem until you came along.”

My head tilts, confusion swirling my mind. Surely, he’s exaggerating.

He nudges my foot with his. “Tell me about your foster parents?”

“This again?” I laugh out.

He points to his lap. “In case you haven’t noticed, I still have the same problem. And besides, you basically know everything about my life. I want to know about you.”

I shrug. “I don’t really know what to say…”

“Your foster dad coaches your team?”

“Right.” I lick my lips, attempt to regain some composure. “And he coachedme, personally, throughout high school and taught me the ins and outs, the behind the scenes, which helped me get the team manager position.”

His smile showcases his perfect teeth. “Ay, look at you.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not, like, paid or anything. It’s just something to add to my resume.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, shaking his head.

“Do what?”

“Diminish your accomplishments like that.”

“Okay,bossy,” I murmur.

“What does your foster mom do?”

“Dayna has a few online stores selling handcrafted things, but she does it mostly for fun, not for income. She needs to be available at the drop of a hat in case we get emergency cases.”

“Emergency cases?”

“Kids. Usually they’re very temporary—a few days, just until the authorities find next of kin or whatever.”

“So that’s her primary job?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“It must be very fulfilling.”

I smile at his response. Griffin and Dayna are simple people, and not in a bad way. They don’t chase high-paying jobs, don’t care about the latest anything. They just want to leave this world better than they found it, and this is their way of doing exactly that.

“What’s your team’s name?” he asks, picking up his phone from the side table.

“No, don’t look!” I try to snatch his phone from him, but he’s too fast.

Now, he’s looking at me as if I’m crazy. Maybe I am. “Why not?”

Why not?Because he seems so impressed by the whole college softball thing, and Ilikethat he is, and I don’t want to burst his bubble. But here he is, holding the needle, about topophis dream. Or mine. Whatever. I sigh. “Because we have, like, forty followers, and it’s embarrassing, Mr. Gazillion fans.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Tell me.”

---