Page 24 of False Confidence

“Sure. Did you have any in mind?” Liam asked, finishing his tea and setting the empty cup aside. Jazz snatched hers up before it got cold. She took a sip: lukewarm. This was why she stuck to iced coffee.

She wracked her brain. This was the kind of thing she usually spoke to Maggie about—not that she’d ever done anything like this before. Unless you counted situationships, and she absolutely did not count situationships. But she couldn’t exactly call her best friend up and say, “Hey, I know I said Liam and I weren’t going to sleep together again, but we both know I was lying and now we have an arrangement where he’s going to help me orgasm after a ten-year orgasm-drought. Any ideas to stop this going up in flames?”

Instead, she just shrugged. “I can’t think of any.”

“We can talk things out and add rules as they come up,” Liam suggested, and she nodded. At some point, she was going to have to talk to Maggie about this. Probably sooner rather than later.

“Do you have any?”

“Just one. Wait here a sec.” Liam stood and strode across the room. With his back to her, Jazz didn’t even pretend not to be checking out the long lines of his back. He really was quite beautiful. Tall, but not so tall she had to strain her neck trying to kiss him. He was a little lanky, not muscly enough to suggest he worked out often, but she’d seen him carrying heavy pieces of furniture for Maggie, so he was strong.

He bent down to rummage around in a cabinet in the kitchen and Jazz sat up taller so she could check out his ass. The man could really wear a pair of… cargo pants? Jesus, he was wearing cargo pants. In no world were cargo pants hot, but on Liam? Fuck.

Liam turned around before she had a chance to look nonchalant, a small tote bag clutched in his hand. A smirk danced around the edges of his mouth. “Are you checking me out?”

“Yes,” she said, brazenly. No point in pretending when he’d caught her red-handed.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Thumbs up,” she answered as Liam rejoined her on the couch and set the bag—which, up close, she could see was printed with a black cat wearing a beret and holding a paintbrush—down.

“A glowing review,” he said with a chuckle. From the bag, he withdrew a small chalkboard, a duster, and a box of colored chalk.

“Why do you own a chalkboard?” Jazz asked, hypocritically, since she’d dabbled in chalk art herself. And by dabbled, she meant she’d spent a hundred dollars on supplies, three hours watching YouTube videos, and only ten minutes trying the craft.

“I thought I’d be more likely to stick to a grocery list if I made it more aesthetically pleasing, but I kept forgetting to take a picture before going to the grocery store, so I just do it on my phone now. And I still never stick to my list,” Liam replied with a shrug. Honestly, she was impressed that he even made lists. Jazz grocery shopped based purely on vibes. Which is why she ended up ordering takeout so often.

Liam grabbed a piece of mostly intact chalk from the box and chewed the inside of his lip in concentration as he wrote something. He turned the chalkboard around, and Jazz snorted as she read the neat, orange cursive,

“Rule number one,” Liam said. “No faking it.”

He leaned in the doorway, watching Jasmine walk into his bedroom, look up at the ceiling, and stop in her tracks.

“Wow. You know, with anyone else, the combination of the mustache and above-bed mirror would be creepy. Why does it work for you?” She glanced at him with a mock-frown before looking back up. “I need to tell Maggie about this. She and Cal would lov—sorry.”

Liam groaned. “Can we make it a rule that you don’t talk about my dad and Maggie having sex?”

“We can try, but I’m not going to make a promise I already know I’m going to break.”

“Great.” He knew her too well to think she’d stop, could stop, but it was worth a shot.

Jasmine continued her perusal of his room, her eyes scanning every inch. It wasn’t until she ran a finger over the spines on his bookcase that Liam realized she was shaking.

“Hey.”

Instinct made him wrap his arms around her from behind, holding her to his chest. It wasn’t until she was actually in his arms that he considered they might not be there. Yet. If they ever would be.

Fuck it. He’d started digging his hole. He might as well keep going. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his breath making her hair flutter.

She relaxed into his body, and relief flooded him. “Of course. I’m fine,” she said, her voice lifting on the last word.

“You want to try that again?”

Jasmine blew out a long breath that vibrated through him. “I am. I’m just a little nervous.” She spun in his hold, but didn’t move out of his grip. She absentmindedly smoothed a wrinkle in his sweatshirt. “What if I can’t do it?” Her voice was small, quiet. When she looked up at him, doubt was etched in her hazel eyes. “We should set a time limit. Or at least a time limit on you not coming. I’ve heard you can die from that.”

He hated that she was nervous, but he couldn’t help smiling at how fucking cute she was. “That’s definitely not true. And you can do it. We can do it.”

“So you have a plan?”

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