Page 38 of Hired By the Enemy
He finally turns to me. “Remember how Max would never get sick of playing fetch?”
“I remember.” There’s a lump in my throat thinking about him. My parents had to put Max down during my senior year of high school, and I’d been devastated. He’d been such a big part of my childhood.
“I never understood why he preferred playing fetch with you,” I say as we start walking again.
It was one of my pet peeves as a kid. I could be playing fetch with Max in the backyard, Liam would emerge into his backyard with a tennis ball, and suddenly, Max would be jumping the fence to get to Liam.
Liam gives me a sneaky look.
“There’s an easy answer to that,” he says.
“What is it?”
“I used to rub the tennis ball in bacon fat.”
I stop in the middle of the path. “You did what?”
He shrugs. “I’d read about it and decided to test it out. It definitely worked.”
“That’s actually kind of genius,” I admit.
Liam gives me another unfiltered smile, and my stomach gives a weird lurch.
What the hell is going on with me?
Chapter Nine
Liam
Matthew disappears off to his meeting, and I laze around the pool.
I’ve got to be honest. I spend most of my time lying in the sun with my eyes shut, replaying the highlight reel of what Matthew and I did last night and this morning.
When Matthew emerges from his meeting looking stressed, I decide to be a good fake boyfriend and make it my mission to de-stress him before lunch.
Which involves me dragging him back to the villa and dropping to my knees because, for some reason, I can’t get enough of Matthew in my mouth, of hearing the noises he makes when I’m sucking him off. Nothing is hotter than seeing Matthew come completely undone.
After lunch, there’s another group activity. This time, it’s a sandcastle-building contest.
When we arrive at the beach, there are marked grids for every pair already set out in the sand. It looks like they take their sandcastle-building seriously here at Serenity Bay Resort.
Matthew and I stand in our grid.
“So, what do you want to make?” I ask. I lean forward and lower my voice. “We should aim to dominate this like we dominated the quiz. Continue that trend.”
A line creases Matthew’s forehead. “I’m not sure what we should make. I’m not particularly creative.”
“What do you mean you’re not creative? You invented an entire app by yourself, remember?”
“That’s a different type of creativity. I’m not creative in the artistic sense. Don’t you remember that self-portrait we had to do in our freshman art class, and you ruthlessly mocked my attempt?”
That does sound vaguely familiar. Art and PE were two areas where Matthew’s genius fell, so I might have taken the opportunity to get in my insults where I could.
Looking at Matthew’s uncertainty now, something Ms. Beauton once said echoes in my head.
“You never know how your words are impacting someone.”
I swallow, looking out at the ocean. “Why don’t we make Max?” I suggest.
