Page 11 of False Confidence

“Are you okay?” Her whisper was barely audible, but Liam jumped. Shit. He’d been so busy staring at her he hadn’t even noticed her staring back. He slung an arm around Jasmine’s shoulders and tugged her closer in to him.

“Yeah. I am, actually. I’m glad we did this.” She searched his face, the worry in her hazel eyes softening as she realized he meant it. “Thank you for being here.”

She hesitated before leaning in and leaving a light kiss on his cheek, wiping her lipstick mark away with a smile. “Red looks good on you.”

The burn of her lips lingered long after they turned back to watch the ceremony, long after the groom kissed the bride. With one brush of her lips against her cheeks, Jasmine had obliterated every wall Liam had spent the past two years building, every lie he’d told himself and anyone who asked. But he couldn’t lie to himself any longer: he’d been falling hard for Jasmine since the moment he laid eyes on her, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to do something about it.

If ever there was an argument against expensive prep schools, it was the man standing beside her. Sure, Liam was a well adjusted, well educated, person with a soul, but it seemed like every single person he’d gone to school with was fucking insufferable. Jazz knew he was insecure about the fact that he’d lost all of his friends in the breakup, but if these were the friends he’d lost? Good riddance.

Liam navigated them all like a pro, the anxious, heart-broken man she’d been expecting nowhere to be seen. It was… troublingly attractive to watch him surprise his ex-friends, who’d clearly been expecting the same. He was charming and friendly, cool as a damn cucumber, and Jazz liked it. A lot. Somehow, she had to make it through the rest of the night without throwing herself at him. She could do that. It was no big deal.

She smiled politely at yet another man named Chuck who worked for his dad’s company and drove a fancy ass car (which, it seemed, everyone here did). She turned to Liam with an expression that she hoped portrayed help me, and his lips quirked up, his arm around her waist tightening.

“If you don’t mind, Jazz and I love this song. Shall we dance, darling?”

Darling. Why the fuck was that so hot?

It wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to rip his tux off and tackle him in the middle of the dance floor. She just had to make it through the night…

Liam spun her around and pulled her in close to him, holding her tightly and ignoring the nosy eyes of the other dancers. “What are you thinking about?” He brushed a cool finger over her burning cheek, the glint in his eyes making it clear he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

Jazz took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop racing. But Liam’s fingers trailing over her bare back made it impossible. Why had she chosen a backless dress again?

“I’m thinking,” she began, pretending she couldn’t hear how badly she wanted him in her low, breathy voice, “that you’re doing amazing. Seriously. You wanted to show them you’re thriving? Consider it done. You’re actually thriving here, Liam.”

His smile softened into something almost shy. “Thanks. I realized, when India was walking down the aisle, that I don’t miss any of this. I thought I did, but… I guess distance has made me see it all more clearly for what it is.”

“Awful?” Jazz suggested, and he laughed, spinning and dipping her like he’d been dancing since he could walk. They probably taught shit like this at the school he’d gone to.

“Exactly. I still couldn’t have done it without you, though. Thank you, Jasmine. I mean it.”

Her skin warmed under his smile, her stomach doing something akin to somersaults. It was the dimples. No wonder Maggie hadn’t been able to resist Cal.

“It’s no problem. Happy to be here. With you.” Those last two words weren’t supposed to slip out. Shit. Jazz cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Liam swerved them out of the way just in time to stop her from colliding with a couple who glared like it was Jazz’s fault they couldn’t dance in a straight line. “Shoot.”

“You call me Jasmine when you’re talking to me, but when you’re talking to anyone else or introducing me, it’s Jazz. Why do you change it?”

Liam’s cheeks turned rosy—and Jazz didn’t think that had anything to do with the one glass of champagne he’d allowed himself. She’d followed suit, not wanting to drunkenly accost his ex, however tempted she was.

Liam spun her in time with the music, her dress twirling around her legs. She was so focused on him, she could hardly hear the music. “I like that it’s just our thing. Just for me and you,” he said finally. Oh.

Jazz swallowed, her fingers itching to sink under the soft fabric of his jacket.

“I like that too,” she said as the music drew to a close. Applause sounded for the band before they began their next song, but Jazz and Liam stood still, green eyes and hazel glued together. Jazz stepped away, looking down. “I have to run to the restroom. Back in a sec.”

She pulled herself out of his grip and turned on her heel, dodging dancers as she rushed across the dance floor toward the gilded hallway. Rainbow light streamed through the stained glass windows flanking the giant entrance, but Jazz turned right, scurrying down a smaller hallway and holding her breath until she was tucked safely behind the restroom door.

The restrooms were as luxurious as the rest of the place—the private room had marble flooring, gold hardware, and a giant mirror on the wall above the sink, with a mother-of-pearl frame. A vase of yet more white roses sat on the vanity, perfuming the room with a sickly sweet floral scent that made Jazz suspect they’d been sprayed with something.

She didn’t even have to pee, she just needed a little breathing room. Her breath rushed from her in a sigh. “When in Rome,” she grumbled, pulling up her dress and pushing down her underwear before sitting on the toilet.

Jazz let her head fall in her hands, trying not to smudge her makeup. What was wrong with her? Perhaps one glass of Champagne had been too many. Or maybe it was just the tux. Or the dimples. Or Liam’s dancing skills. Or that godforsaken fucking mustache.

Whatever it was, she just had to wait it out. In a few hours, they’d be in their PJs, lying several feet apart in the massive hotel bed, and she wouldn’t be so tempted to stick her tongue down his throat. Liam would be reading on his Kindle, and his cheeks would turn red when she asked him what he was reading, just to fuck with him because she already knew it was a steamy romance. She would open TikTok and pretend she was just going to scroll for five minutes, then an hour would pass and they’d go to sleep and wake up fully dressed. They would tuck their drunken hookup at Maggie and Cal’s wedding away as ancient history, and Jazz would move on with her life, making do with another decade of orgasmless sex.

She finished up in the restroom, washed and dried her hands, wrinkling her nose at the cloying rose-scented soap, and headed back into the reception room with a newfound resolve. Determination fueling her steps, she didn’t see the server carrying a tray of canapés until someone grabbed her arm and tugged her to the side.

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