Page 8 of Not That Impossible

“And you are the kind of gentle, loving sweetheart that Liam would bulldoze into the ground. I’m not having it.”

“Right. It’s not your decision one way or the other. You’re not my dad, this isn’t the 1800s, and I’m not some sort of preciousBridgertonlady.” Adam could be so domineering sometimes. “Also, I’d like to state for the record that having Liam bulldoze me into the ground sounds totally amazing.”

“Gross,” Adam said.

“Like, I’d love it if he’d just throw me down and jump on top—”

“Stop it.”

Not a chance. “Tear my clothes off. I’d tear his off. There’d be clothes everywhere. It would be like a clothes tornado. And then we’d both be hot and panting and naked, sliding around all over each other—”

“Jasper,” Adam was laughing so hard now he could barely get it out. “You have to stop.”

“No. I’m getting to the good part where I triumph, and I mercilessly take Liam like a mighty warlord takes his eager war prize and—oh no. Oh, fuck. He heard that, didn’t he?”

Adam was in stitches. He had both hands over his mouth to hold in his laughter.

Liam looked back over his shoulder at me with another of those simmering glares. He stalked ahead to open the door for his date. She’d also heard, going on the gentle shake of her Burberry trench-coated shoulders, and the muffled yet ladylike snort.

“Goddammit.” Liam’s face had been red. Mine felt like it was absolutely purple, I was blushing so hard. “You are theshittestfriend ever, I’m not even kidding. Adam! Why didn’t you stop me!”

“I tried!”

“Not hard enough!”

He was still laughing, his bright hazel eyes glittering.

I slumped in my seat, running a hand over my hair. “Crap. Wow, that’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve done worse.”

“That’s not as comforting as you seem to think.”

It was true, I had done much, much worse. Adam didn’t know the half of it.

Adam probably thought that little scenario was off the cuff. It wasn’t.

One of my very darkest secrets: I wrote Liam Nash fanfiction.

And, not exactly adarksecret, but a secret nonetheless: in all my erotic stories, I was never the warlord.

“Come on,” Adam said with a friendly jostle. “I can name five worse things off the top of my head without even thinking.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He held up a finger. “The day you met.”

I slapped his hand down.

He lifted it again, this time holding up two fingers. “His wedding day.”

It wasn’t my finest moment, that was for sure.

Adam held up another finger. “That time you—”

“Are we having lunch or not?” I said to cut him off. “Because some of us have work this afternoon.”

“Lunch,” he said. “I’m starving.”

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