Page 73 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
“Do you still listen to K-pop?” Liam asks suddenly, his tone casual but curious.
“Oh, absolutely,” I reply without hesitation. “BTS will always be my king, but I have been branching out. BLACKPINK, Stray Kids, TXT … You know, the usual.”
He raises a brow. “That’s…, quite the list.”
“What about you?” I challenge myself. “Still stuck on your generic workout playlists?”
“Hey, they’re efficient,” he defends, but there is a glint of amusement in his eyes.
We keep talking as the night deepens, the festival fading into background noise. Somewhere along the way, I lose track of how many beers I have had, way more than my three bottles from the six-pack, that’s for sure. The conversation flows effortlessly, slipping between teasing jabs and quieter, more reflective moments.
For a moment, I completely let go of the fact that he is my ex.
When the festival starts winding down, Liam insists on taking me home. I try to argue, but my feet are wobbly, and my head’s buzzing pleasantly - enough to make me admit that maybe I do need the help.
“Thanks,” I mumble as we reach my apartment door, fumbling with my keys.
“For what?” he asks, his voice low.
“For bringing me home. For…, tonight. It was fun.” I glance at him over my shoulder, and for the first time, I notice how close he is - close enough that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw.
“Anytime,” he says, his tone soft, and something in the way he looks at me sends a flutter through my chest.
I manage to get the door open, but as I step inside, I stumble slightly. Liam catches me by the elbow, steadying me. “Whoa there,” he murmurs.
“Guess I’m drunker than I thought,” I admit, laughing lightly.
He chuckles, guiding me into the living room and easing me onto the couch. “You don’t say.”
I lean back, letting my head rest against the cushions, and look up at him. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” I say, slurring slightly.
“At what?”
“Taking care of me,” I reply, blinking up at him, “it’s… nice.”
He is quiet for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he kneels in front of me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “You’ve always been a handful, Hazel,” he says.
I laugh softly, closing my eyes. “You liked it, though. Admit it.”
He does not answer right away, and when I open my eyes again, he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Liam?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
I do not know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that I’ve been holding back for so long, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “I want to feel the taste of your lips.”
His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think I have crossed some invisible line. But then he leans closer, his hand cupping my cheek. “Hazel, you’re drunk,” he says softly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
“I know,” I whisper, my gaze locked on his. “That’s why I’m this bold.”
He hesitates for the briefest of moments, and then his lips brush against mine - tentative, almost testing. It is gentle at first, but when I respond, threading my fingers through his hair, it deepens into something more.
The kiss is slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world. His hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in his warmth, in the way he tastes faintly of beer and something else - something that’s entirely Liam.
When we finally pull apart, we are both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other.
“Hazel,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “This…, we….”
