Page 6 of False Confidence

Obviously. “I’ll tell her this week, I promise.”

“Thanks. I…” Liam’s voice was soft, hesitant. “And, uh, are we okay? We never really talked about things after the wedding and I don’t want to make things weird by asking?—”

“We’re good,” she interrupted. It had been her choice not to talk about it. Liam had tried to check in on her the morning after, but she’d just thrown his sweatshirt on over her bridesmaid dress, kissed him on the cheek, and told him she’d see him at breakfast before heading to her own room. It was easier not to talk about it. It was impossible not to think about it.

Liam was the closest she’d come to, well, coming in a decade and, as drunk as she was, the memory of how good it felt was crystal clear. She couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if they hadn’t been so drunk? What if she’d been more drunk, so she could get out of her head? What if she’d just told him instead of faking it? That was the one that plagued her most. She knew he would have taken a step back and done everything he could to get her there.

But she’d never told anyone about her inability to finish, not even Maggie. Bringing it up mid-sex for the first time probably wasn’t ideal, even with Liam.

“Jasmine?”

She started at Liam’s voice, her cheeks flushing as she realized she’d zoned out again.

“Sorry. We’re good, I swear. I get why you want me to talk to Maggie, and I will, but I’m happy to come to the wedding with you. I can’t promise to be civil, though,” she replied with a wry smile and Liam chuckled.

“I’d never expect you to. Thank you, seriously. I owe you.”

They both stood and Jazz spied a purple smudge on Liam’s Mucha t-shirt. She reached for him. “You have some—” she paused as her finger brushed the sticky purple spot. “This is frosting.”

Liam looked down, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Yeah. Sierra gave me one of your cupcakes downstairs. It was delicious,” he offered, with a smile sweeter than the pound of powdered sugar she’d dumped in the rainbow frosting the night before.

And Jazz would be damned if it didn’t make her stomach flutter.

“So theoretically, on a scale of one to ten, how weird would it be if I hooked up with your stepson?”

Maggie paused, her coffee an inch from her lips. She took a deep breath and put the cup down. “First, please don’t call him my stepson.”

“But technically?—”

“Zip it,” Maggie interrupted, pinching her brow. “Second, because I know you, did you hook up with him?”

Jazz squinted, trying to read Maggie’s tone. They’d been best friends since middle school, and, even though Maggie was happily married, Cal would never know her as well as Jazz did—something she’d made clear to him a couple of weeks before their wedding, while crying and drunkenly telling Cal, her fifty-seven-year-old millionaire boss, that she knew people if he ever hurt Maggie. She didn’t know people. But Cal had patted her on the head, offered her a cup of coffee, then waited until she was sober to reassure her he knew she would always be Maggie’s person and promise that he’d never hurt her. At that point, Jazz had zero recollection of her drunken conversation, and no doubts that Cal would never hurt Maggie. He was a great guy, and exactly what her best friend deserved.

“Jazz. Did you sleep with Liam?”

Right. They were talking. “Um, possibly?”

Maggie groaned. “Ugh. When did you even… Oh my God, Jazz, did you seriously have sex with Cal’s kid at our wedding?”

Jazz screwed up her face. “Don’t call him Cal’s kid. That makes him sound like a child.”

“He is Cal’s child.”

“Need I remind you that you once agreed to go on a date with him,” Jazz pointed out. “After you were sleeping with his dad.”

Maggie glared at her. Her almost-date with Liam, when Cal had been trying to push her away because he thought she deserved better, was something Maggie liked to forget.

“I didn’t go on that date, so it doesn’t count.” Maggie shook her head, pushing her dark hair back. “Okay. You had sex with Liam.”

“We were drunk, if it helps,” Jazz offered.

“It doesn’t. Why didn’t you tell me? That was months ago.”

“I was worried you’d be mad,” Jazz said. It wasn’t a complete lie, at least. “And I was right, clearly.”

“I’m not mad,” Maggie said with a groan. “I just… Gross. Liam’s like a brother to me.”

“That’s weirder than me sleeping with him, for the record, considering you’re married to his dad.”

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