Page 18 of Until We're More
“After not having it forever, I couldn’t pass up my favorite coffee shop—their caramel macchiato is so much better than anywhere else. And I just went to take one last sip before heading into the building, but I had to tip it up to get past the foam and whipped cream, and then it all came out at once and spilled down my shirt. I had coffee boob.”
His eyes dipped, and it hit me that I’d never grabbed that bra. I tried not to be self-conscious, but the big inhale and exhale sent my chest rising and falling. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I could feel my nipples hardening, refusing to take my same stand on the just-friends thing with Liam now that he was standing so close, his masculine, soapy-fresh scent invading my senses.
He swallowed and slowly lifted his gaze to mine. For a weird beat, we simply looked at each other. The air crackled, making me think that maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling the occasional pull.
As the sizzling and popping intensified, I realized that wasn’t our chemistry—it was dinner. I spun toward the stove and did some more swearing. The bottom of the chicken and squash was black, the top a mix of raw chicken and crunchy, uncooked green and yellow.
I quickly scraped it from the skillet and flipped it, and Liam reached over me, lifting the pot of rice off the burner as it began spewing frothy water again.
I glanced back at him, expecting disappointment, the kind my family gave me when this sort of thing happened—usually thanks to the fact that I’d gotten sucked into a book—but amusement lit his features instead. He bumped me over with his hip. “No worries, it’s all salvageable.”
“You go using words like ‘salvageable,’ and I’ll worry that you don’t need your own personal dictionary anymore.”
His fingertips brushed my lower back. “I’ll always need my personal dictionary. Like for instance, what’s the word for a girl who surprises you with a rawandburned dinner?”
“Culinary goddess.”
Liam’s low laughter skated across my skin and settled deep in my core.
I shook my head as I pivoted and leaned against the counter, giving him full access to the stove—not like I had a clue how to fix it. “Probably more like ‘hot mess.’ But at least I know I’m a hot mess.”
“As long as you know,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicking up.
I twisted the bottom of my shirt in my fingers, and Liam jerked back his hand with a curse, the handle of the pan doing a 180. He stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked on it. It would’ve been funny if I didn’t feel so responsible for him having to clean up my mess. Or if I didn’t suddenly want to take over sucking his finger for him.
Whoa there, thoughts.There was inappropriate and then there was…whateverthatwas. Usually I had all the words, and I couldn’t think of one. What I needed to do was stop worrying about finding the right word and figure out how to stop thinking about anything involving his mouth.
His finger came out from between his lips with apop, and on autopilot I stepped forward, took his hand, and examined it the way he’d examined mine. “This means we can be hot messes together, right?”
Liam didn’t say anything, and I peered up at him to find him doing his best impression of a stone statue.
“Liam? Are you okay?”
Chapter Eight
Liam
Was I okay? Well, I couldn’t stop staring at my best friend’s breasts, so I wasn’t sure that was okay. And I’d planned on averting my eyes yet again, but then she’d twisted her shirt, making it go tighter across her chest, and even though it was sweltering in here, apparently one part of her was cold.
Don’t think about that. Or how nice it feels for her to drag her finger over yours.
I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna…” I gestured to the pan of blackened food I’d nearly dumped. Here I’d asked Chelsea to stay with me so I could watch over and protect her, and if I didn’t get my head right, she might need protection from me.
That’s it. I’ve really gotta get laid.My best friend wasn’t an option, but this weekend—or hell, maybe tonight—I was going to need to take the edge off before I did something stupid. I’d call Finn and have him meet me at the Fainting Goat, the bar where fighters often hung out. He was a good wingman, and he was even better at sensing which girls were down for temporary.
The scent of charred food hit me, and I quickly moved everything from the burners and shut them off before the fire alarms started blaring. The fact that they hadn’t gone off made me wonder if they actually worked.
Chelsea waved a hand through the smoky air. “I’ll open a window.” She circled the apartment, throwing wide the living room window and the sliding glass door that led out to a tiny balcony. Then she disappeared down the hallway that led to our bedrooms. When she returned, she had a bra on, something I probably shouldn’t have noticed but would hopefully prevent me from thinking about her breasts and how much I wanted to tug down the fabric and take a better look.
Or maybe the images from earlier would keep on flashing through my mind on an endless loop. Warm-up pants weren’t exactly great at concealing things downstairs, and if I didn’t get my thoughts under control, it’d be hard for her not to notice my untimely arousal.
Her front brushed my back as she leaned around me and checked out the food, and I had to think about the split-open gashes I’d seen through the years.Oozing head wounds. That burst of pain that accompanies being punched in the nose.
Holy shit, I can feel her curves and the heat coming off her body.
“Should we dump it?” she asked.
Five, four, three…I blew out my breath, glad I had practice at lowering my heart rate within a matter of seconds. “Nah. We can pick out the good parts.” Basically, we were going to have plain rice for dinner.
