Page 35 of False Confidence

“Are you okay? You’re quiet.” Liam wrapped his arms around her from behind, the elevator flying up to the penthouse.

Jazz leaned into him. “Yeah, just annoyed about tomorrow.”

Liam pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and Jazz watched in the mirrored wall while her stomach flip-flopped. “It’ll be fine, darling. We just have to sit through a couple of hours and then we can come back here or head to your place, and I’ll pretend not to be interested in that God awful dating show you like to watch.”

Jazz chuckled, bringing a smile to Liam’s face. “I knew you were pretending. Hey, did Maggie seem off to you tonight?”

“I didn’t notice anything.”

The elevator doors opened and Liam tugged her to his front door. She leaned against the cool wall, a relief compared to the sticky summer evening. “I was probably just imagining things after the call with my mom,” she said, offhandedly, as Liam unlocked the door. He pushed it open for her and followed her into the beautifully air-conditioned apartment.

She wasn’t imagining it. Jazz knew Maggie well enough to know something was bothering her about her arrangement with Liam, she just couldn’t tell what. And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know. Maggie was the definition of having your life together—she was happily married, a homeowner (several times over, at this point), and had a thriving business. Jazz was… Jazz. And she was happy with that, even if she did sometimes worry that Maggie was waiting for her to catch up. It was normal for best friends to move at different paces. Maggie had always been better at having her life together than Jazz. She was used to Jazz’s chaos. She wasn’t going to get tired of her after so long. Everything was fine.

“Do you want to just have a quiet night?” he asked, and there was no pressure on his face either way. “We could watch a movie or take a bath—or watch a movie in the bath.”

Jazz sucked in a deep breath. A movie in the bath sounded like a dream, but not yet. She needed to distract her racing brain first.

“That sounds nice, but maybe after the plans you promised I’d like,” she said, stepping close to him and running her hands up the inside of his t-shirt. Liam’s eyes darkened. “I like this one. Who’s this by?” she asked, nodding to the painting of the mountain printed on the soft fabric.

“Cézanne. It’s one of my favorites. I’ve always wanted to visit the mountain in Provence.”

“Maybe we could go for our Hallow-honeymoon,” she joked, lifting the t-shirt over his head and dropping it over the arm of the couch, where Liam had propped the chalkboard up. He’d added their second rule: talking about how you feel isn’t optional. Jazz dragged a finger over the painting. “Do you miss it?”

“Provence? I’ve never been.”

“The museum,” Jazz clarified.

“Oh. I miss being around the art. But working with Maggie and her team is a lot more fun.”

“I like hearing you talk about art,” she admitted. “I should’ve visited when you were still at the museum, so I could see you in your element.”

Liam smiled at her, his emerald eyes soft and his dimples pronounced. “We could go sometime.”

“I’d like that. Have you been back since you…” How did you politely say had a drunken meltdown and got fired?

“I haven’t,” Liam admitted, saving her from having to spell it out. “But if the wedding is anything to go by, I don’t mind facing scary things when you’re by my side.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that after meeting my parents.”

Liam laughed as she pulled him toward the bedroom, kicking her sandals off as she went. He stilled her as they passed through the bedroom door, pushing the waistband of her shorts and underwear down. She stepped out of them while he took off her tank top, his fingers lingering over the curve of her stomach.

Jazz wasn’t self-conscious about her body, per se, but she was a woman with a body larger than society deemed suitable, and she had her moments when those shitty societal standards got to her. She was only human. Her previous partners had all been kind about her figure, some of them more than kind, but no one had ever looked at her like Liam: like she was a work of art, created just for him. And she had no idea what to make of that.

She reached behind her to unclasp her bra, and Liam wrenched it from her body, tossing it away and nudging her to the bed.

“We haven’t talked about safe words,” he said, grasping her chin and tilting her face up so she was looking at him. “Do you have one you prefer?”

“Jingle bells,” she replied, and Liam loosed a surprised bark of laughter. “The first time someone asked me to pick one, I was at a Christmas party and Jingle Bells was playing in the background.”

“Jingle bells it is. And if you can’t speak, snap your fingers. I’ll be paying attention, no matter how into it we are. I promise.”

“I trust you,” she said, and his lips lifted. “What’s yours?”

He wrinkled his nose. “It used to be peaches until Maggie and my dad ruined that by giving me a cat sibling.”

A laugh burst from her lips. “Holy shit,” Jazz wheezed. “You know I have to tell Maggie that.”

“I absolutely do not need to know what you tell Maggie about any of this. I can’t imagine I’ll need to use a safe word, but if I do, I’ll borrow jingle bells.” He released her chin when she nodded in agreement. “On the bed, darling. Arms above your head, legs spread.”

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