Page 78 of Something Forever

He slips my legs off my lap and immediately I miss the warmth of our contact. “I’m gonna shower,” he says, crossing the room.

I turn off the TV and pour myself a glass of water before shuffling to my room. Maybe I’ll get lucky and I can just fall asleep before Liam gets back to the room. No whispering in the darkness. No pillow talk.

After slipping into my PJs, I crawl into bed and turn the lights to the lowest setting. I’m snuggled under the covers when I hear the door creak and shut softly. Liam is quiet as he moves around the room. My mind flashes with images of what he might be doing behind me. Is he changing clothes? Is he naked?

I’m just about to open my eyes when I feel the bed sink next to me and the covers lifting as Liam slides into bed. I shift my weight, turning over so I’m facing him. He’s shirtless — epically, beautifully shirtless — and I let my eyes fall to the ink on his chest, drawn again to the tattoo of a series of numbers on the side of his ribs.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says.

I shake my head.

“Want me to turn the light off?” he asks.

“Sure,” I whisper. He’s reaching over to turn the light off when I speak again. “What’s that tattoo? The numbers on the side of your ribs.”

His movements still as he glances back at me, his expression wary.

“It’s Luke’s birthday.”

I’m hit with a pang of sympathy at Liam’s grief. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it much; I can both respect and understand that but sometimes I wish he would share more about what he’s feeling.

“That’s sweet,” I say, not wanting to pry any further. “I like your tattoos.”

Liam just stares at me, his expression hardening. “What are you doing?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“What are you doing? What is this? Staring up at me with those fucking endless eyes of yours in nothing but a t-shirt, telling me you like my tattoos.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I glance away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I whisper.

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to sleep together again,” he reminds me.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t want to. I said that we can’t.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls.

“I’m not.” I turn to face him again. “I’m not trying to. I care about you. I don’t want to mess with your head.”

“Well, I’m fucking confused, Whit.”

I shake my head and try to turn away from him again, but he reaches for my chin, making me look at him. He waits patiently for me to speak, his gaze not leaving mine.

“I’m confused, too. I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He runs his thumb across my jawline and up to my bottom lip, pressing against it, his hazel eyes locked onto me.

“Why not? We’re fucking amazing together. You know we are.”

My lips part involuntarily, like my body knows how to respond to him. He presses his thumb further, slipping it inside my mouth, and I swirl my tongue around it, meeting his gaze purposefully.

I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t seem to stop.

“Whitney,” he growls, his eyes widening. “I want you.”

I can’t help the whimper that escapes me.

“But… ” I grasp at straws. “Your dad.”

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