Page 23 of Hate To Love You
The steady intake and exhale of breath between them, which seems to synchronize the longer they stare at each other.
Ten seconds tick by.
Then thirty.
One full minute.
And one full minute of this is longer than any other minute in Teague’s life, he realizes. The seconds slow as they tick by, filling each and every one of them with an expanse of anticipation, thick and tense and intimate.
Powerfully intimate.
Unbearably intimate, Teague is starting to realize.
It drags him inward to his mind, even while the sight of Liam and his bright eyes fill his vision, and to his innermost thoughts. He has always found Liam to be attractive, but his attraction goes far beyond mere facial features and cute, messy hair. Sure, Liam has freckles that make him look timid and fragile. And sure, when Liam gets annoyed and purses his lips in that uniquely Liam-brand way, they make the shape of a plush heart that no eye can escape. And of course, yes, when Liam is thinking too intensely about something, he scrunches his eyebrows together and wrinkles up his nose so preciously, looking both angry and adorable.
But what draws Teague to Liam is something greater than the sum of these individual things. Liam is incredibly sensitive, deep down. He’s secretly worried what others think of him and always makes an effort to put his best foot forward. Teague notices this all the time—and especially over this summer,working right next to him. Liam is also crazy focused on his studies and is book-smart, which Teague finds to be the sexiest damned thing in the world.
And now, as Teague stares into Liam’s moody blue eyes, he finds himself caught in a trap. An emotionally deadly trap.
A cruel trap.
The longer he stares, the deeper his feelings become, and the harder it is to resist the fire rushing up from his chest.
The longer he stares, the more intensely his poor heart beats behind the bony xylophone of his ribcage, as if trying to make its own music that no one but Teague hears.
The longer he stares …
“Damn, guys,” says Zeke—or is it Bernie? “Y’all are, like, really committed to this.”
“We’re approaching four minutes, by the way,” says Deena—or is it Gracie?
Nothing matters to Teague but Liam and the unbroken stare.
It is a gift to get irreversibly lost in the bottomless blue oasis of Liam’s eyes. Teague feels at peace, like nothing can touch him. Not his father’s criticism. Not the worries of figuring out what to do with his life. Not the crushing fear of inevitable lonesomeness.
With Liam, everything is perfectly fine.
“We’ve been going for quite a while,” notes Liam quietly, his words seeming to only be intended for Teague. “Are you sure you can last?”
Teague loves the taunting. “Oh, you just worry about yourself. I’m not flinching.”
“Neither am I.”
Teague reminds himself he can’t smile or laugh. He resists a funny smirk, only tilting his head slightly. “Bet you never thought you’d stare into the eyes of a horny satyr for so long.”
“Attempts to make me laugh won’t work.”
“That wasn’t an attempt. It was a cold, hard fact. Super hard, actually. Like, really …reallyhard. In my pants.”
“Still not laughing.”
Is that a twinkle of amusement in Liam’s eyes? “Did you know Pan and his satyrs were once depicted as having half-horse bodies and giant, erect dicks?” Liam’s lips don’t seem to flinch no matter what Teague says. “Hey, I’m just pointing out I could have gone in a whole other direction with this costume. Even on a dollar store budget. I wouldfindmyself a giant horse dong and tape it onto my pants if I had to.”
“Good for you.”
“As it is, everyone in this room has pretty much seen what I’m packing, thanks to these shorts I haven’t worn since my wrestling days. But since I don’t have tights or fun pants or whatever satyrs wear … I had to improvise. Not that Pan was known for his fashion more than just being a god of partying, flute music, and sexy shit.”
“Oh, so now you’re an expert in Greek gods?”
