Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
"Maybe you are uptight."
"Compared to you."
He catches me staring. Smiles. Smug. Victorious. Interested.
I'm not imagining things.
It's written all over his face.
He wants me too.
And I need to leave before I do away with that towel. "I should get ready."
"Lose your ex's boxers."
"I'm not—"
"For yourself. You're better than wearing his clothes, Bri."
"And if that means I walk around in my panties, so be it?"
"Yeah. So be it."
I flip him off.
"I'll ask Bree to send over pajamas if she didn't pack any."
"I don't need your pajamas."
"Have you ever worn silk pajamas?"
"I'll give you one guess."
He chuckles. That I love your sass chuckle of his. "Don't knock them till you try them."
"She has my sizes."
"I'll have her send them over."
"What if she packed them?"
"Can't hurt to have more." He motions to the hallway. "Go. Before I trash those boxers."
He isn't saying go, before I fuck you senseless.
But he's saying something close.
Something really fucking close.
Chapter Twelve
Briar
Everything on our drive from the Financial District to Columbus Circle is bustling.
The second we turn onto Park Ave, the city quiets.
The street outside Preston's building is empty. There are parked cars, sure, but there isn't a single person walking past apartments or smoking on a stoop.
I check my lipstick one more time, smooth my emerald green sundress, take a deep breath.
I can do this.
I can absolutely do this.
Liam opens the door for me. Offers his hand.
I let him pull me to my feet.
He pulls too close. Or I land too close. My hands are on his chest. My legs are pressed against his.
My lips are close to his lips.
In my wedge sandals, I'm eye to eye with him.
And, god, those deep blue eyes—
I want to stare into them forever. Watch them fill with wonder, joy, bliss.
"He's probably not watching." Liam brings his hand to the small of my back.
This dress is thin and soft, sure, but it's not enough. There's too much fabric between us.
"But you can see the street from the living room. And from Preston's bedroom." He pulls me closer.
"How do you know?"
"Are you kidding? I know every angle of every window." Liam brushes my hair behind my ear. "I spent a few weeks here every summer. Had to know how to get out unseen."
"Of course."
"My motives were pure. I was trying to help Harrison."
"Uh-huh."
"Yeah. The guy had no game. Still doesn't."
"That's why he ended up with someone so…"
"Physically attractive."
I bring my lips to his ear. "You hate her too?"
"I don't think about her enough to hate her."
"But you recognize her…" I try to find a euphemism.
"Horrific personality? Yeah."
"She tries to hide it."
"She says some snide shit about your outfit every time she sees you."
She does. But I didn't think he noticed.
"I told her to fuck off."
"You did?"
"The way I do."
"As a joke?" It's smart, really. Defuses the tension. But that's Liam. He always knows exactly what to say.
"Yeah. She pretended like it was all compliments. But I'm not an idiot. I may not know style, but I know wow, you're so brave to wear something like that to a party isn't a fucking compliment."
"You stood up for me?"
"Of course." His lips skim my ear. "The only person who's allowed to give you shit is me."
Fuck, his breath is warm on my ear. It feels good. Too good. Even in my breezy dress, I'm overheating. "Aren't you hot in that suit?"
"Baby, I'm hot in everything." He drops the sincerity. Back to shit-stirring Liam.
It's what he does when he's nervous.
But is it about kissing me again? Or is about Preston?
There's something he isn't saying. Something wearing on him. I can't believe I can see it in his posture, but I can.
Liam releases me and leads me to the door. "You ready?"
No. But when is anyone ready to convince their boss's surrogate dad of their fiancée status? "I'm starving."
He smiles, but it's missing something. Whatever it is that's weighing on him. Then he shakes his head, shakes it off, leads me inside.
Preston's place is a brownstone. Four stories, long rooms, half a dozen bedrooms and just as many bathrooms.
Eight figures of Upper East Side real estate. Elegant and old money. The opposite of Liam's modern apartment. Maybe not the exact opposite. It's still a building in Manhattan. Everything is efficient. Close together.
We walk through the first floor. A sort of living room/lobby mix. The party was here—and on the second floor—but the space looks different in the morning light.
Hardwood floors. Cream couches. Wood coffee tables. White walls adorned with art.
"The dining room's on the second floor," Liam says. "There's a bathroom down here if you need it. It's nicer than the one on that floor."
"I remember."
"Right. You were just here." He shakes his head obviously. "Shoulda had more coffee."
"Stopped at Dunkin' on the way?"
"Ordered some hazelnut vanilla thing with a hundred grams of sugar." He nods. "Sounds refreshing."
"Refreshing coffee?"