Page 56 of False Confidence

“Holy shit,” Jasmine squealed, spinning around and taking the room in. “This is amazing. I swear, this is what the inside of my head looks like at all times—sexy, mustached man and all,” she added with a wink. “Do we put these on?” She held up a set of overalls before Liam could respond to the sexy, mustached man comment.

When he nodded, she tossed a set to him and pulled the overalls on over her denim shorts and t-shirt. Liam was around people in overalls every day at work, but he’d never considered them hot until they were on Jasmine’s body. He begrudgingly looked away so he could step into his own overalls and, by the time he looked up, she already had a bottle of bright turquoise paint in one hand and a container of silver glitter tucked under her arm.

Most people would look unsure, maybe even question the lack of painting tools, having lost their sense of curiosity and chaos somewhere before high school. But Jasmine wasn’t most people. She clapped her hands together, not even flinching when paint and glitter flew all over her overalls, face, and hair.

“So do we have a plan here or are we just going for it?”

And as Liam watched the turquoise paint sliding down her cheek, dripping onto the floor, his breath caught in his throat. Because love wasn’t trying to squeeze himself into a box to be the perfect boyfriend for India, and it wasn’t either of their faults that they hadn’t been right for each other.

Love was beautiful chaos, and he was deeply and desperately in love with Jasmine.

Liam had been quiet all night, but not in a distant way. In fact, he’d been almost unnervingly present. Unnerving in the sense that Jazz liked it.

Throughout dinner, he’d kept an arm around her shoulders, paying more attention to her than their food. He hadn’t even wavered when India had called and texted, and Jazz actually believed he didn’t care. Which made zero sense, because she could (and would, if requested) recite the name of every lover who’d ever wronged her and would kill to run into any of them so she could use some of the carefully rehearsed comebacks she hadn’t thought of in the moment.

After dinner, he’d taken her to a place that was a perfect combination of the two of them, and watched everything she’d done with a look of wonder. Every splash and smear of paint, every drop of glitter, every pompom thrown at the wall like a snowball. It was like she was creating a goddamn masterpiece and every step fascinated him.

Their final painting hadn’t been close to a masterpiece, but she couldn’t wait to see it once it had been sealed and varnished. Jazz had found an old red lipstick in the bottom of her purse and pressed a kiss mark above her signature, then forced Liam to do the same. It might not be a grand work of art, but it was theirs.

Between dinner, painting, and Liam’s undivided attention, the whole thing had felt almost like a date. Except a date where the other person was actually interested in getting to know her and not just what was between her legs. It had been the perfect night, and Jazz’s heart was a tangled, confused mess.

She pushed that aside as Liam followed her into her apartment, choosing to focus on the rest of her body: those feelings were loud and clear.

“Shower?” Liam asked, dropping her purse and the bag of leftovers from dinner on the couch. They’d ordered extra dessert, fully intending to work up an appetite when they got home.

“Shower,” she agreed, leading him to her bedroom.

The overalls had done an okay job of protecting their clothes, but they were both still covered in paint, glitter, and assorted crafting materials Jazz didn’t even remember seeing. She plucked a feather from Liam’s hair, causing glitter to sprinkle over his face.

He swiped at his face. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to be covered in this for the rest of our lives.”

“Whoops.” She had been just a touch overzealous on the glitter side of things.

She lifted her t-shirt over her head and tossed it on top of her laundry pile. It was relatively unscathed, but if the flecks of paint that had slipped under the overalls stained, she didn’t mind. Her shorts were totally paint free, and she kicked them off, turning around to check out how much paint was on her skin in the full-length mirror.

“What’s that? Are you hurt?”

“What?” Jazz followed Liam’s gaze down to her hip and stilled. Fuck. How the hell had she forgotten that? And how was she supposed to explain it? “Oh. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Liam squinted at the white bandage, barely hiding the clear tattoo covering. “Is that a new tattoo? When the fuck did you have time to get a tattoo? I literally saw you naked this morning.”

Jazz stepped back, wringing her hands. “It’s possible I made a really impulsive post-yoga decision.”

“And forgot to mention it?”

“Maybe,” she replied with a grimace. “Okay, here’s the thing: it’s really unhinged, and I know it’s really unhinged, but I saw the design in the window and I was thinking about how amazing last night was and how you got me to open up to you, and you opened up to me and I—” She cut herself off, her sentences were running together into one big jumble. “Okay, it’s probably easier if I just show you, but again, I know this is a highly questionable decision.”

Liam watched warily as she peeled the white bandage away. She watched his face transform, his eyes widening, jaw going slack, as he dropped to his knees to look closer.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, brushing the skin around the tattoo with his thumb. “This… I don’t even know what to say.”

She winced, rubbing her forehead with paint-flecked fingers. “In my defense, I can’t really be held accountable for my behavior less than twenty-four hours after you made me come for the first time in a decade and—what are you doing?” She stilled as Liam hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her underwear.

“Hold on to the wall, darling.”

“The wall? Wha—oh fuck.”

Snoopy. She’d tattooed goddamn Snoopy on her hip for him. Liam was careful not to touch the still fresh tattoo as he gripped her hips, burying his face against her pussy and devouring her.

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