Page 35 of The Wing
“You don’t need to do anything but ask whenever you want it,” Hemi says with another kiss on my thigh.
I brush a finger down his nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
CHAPTER NINE
Hemi
I’ve stayed in Liam’s room since he first let me in. Five nights wrapped around him. He hasn’t asked me to leave, so I’ve slept by his side since our hike and bath adventure on Sunday. Strange to think that all happened two days after I arrived.
Monday, I got to see his office and watch him sign books, which shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. I shiver as the image of him surrounded by all his ideas runs through my head. Seeing the red signature splash across the page and crowding him against his desk. The signed books lie carefully in my room, even though I’ve only been in there to get changed since Sunday.
We spent the rest of the day in his office, sprawled on the plush couch, browsing through his different sheets of paper full of complicated plot things I didn’t understand. Then we had two days of lying around and wandering beside the lake before he surprised me on Thursday with a day driving through Otago to visit famous film locations. I don’t know when he found time to organise it, but it was an unexpected and appreciated surprise. Charlie got a message full of photos, and there must have been afew of Liam in there—thankfully Mum didn’t get those—because all she sent back were suggestive emojis and winky faces. I didn’t deign to respond.
We even managed to explore the small town near Queenstown called Arrowtown, which was close enough to the tourist hot spot for me. We weren’t there long before word spread I was there, and we headed back home after the long day.
I shouldn’t call his house home because it isn’t my home, but it’s hard not thinking it. It feels like home.
Hefeels like home.
And now it’s Saturday.
The day before game day.
And I’m not there.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and hours yet before the game airs at five A.M. New Zealand time.
Liam’s sitting on the couch, watching me pace to one end of the lounge and back. I do it again and again. I gave up on reading a few hours ago when I read the same sentence three times and couldn’t understand why there was a double up of the wordthe, only to realise my eyes were going cross-eyed and I was seeing something that wasn’t there. After that, I’d regretfully shifted Liam’s legs from my lap where he was writing in his notebook beside me, and began striding through the house, thinking it would help the restless energy buzzing under my skin and the tightness in my chest.
It didn’t.
All I’ve succeeded in doing is distracting Liam and stressing myself out more every time I glance at the blank TV, knowing my team is playing in a few hours and I won’t be there.
I’m here with Liam because my stupid arm refuses to catch the fucking ball even though it isn’t fucking injured.
Not that being here with Liam is a bad thing. It’s been the best week and a half of my life…but there’s a part of me thatwishes I was with the team. Not at the expense of never meeting Liam, I just wish I could do something to help the team. I feel like I’ve failed them.
And to top everything off, tonight is my last night with Liam, and I’ll be distracted by the game in the early morning before flying to Auckland Sunday afternoon.
I shake my head and run my hands through my hair, tugging strands at the nape of my neck. Hoping it will distract me and the slimy feeling of inadequacy sliding over my skin.
I must be becoming more erratic because Liam frowns at me.
“Would going on a run help?” Liam suggests, his eyes following my pacing across the lounge.
I shake my head. “Too much time to think.” My eyes dart to the windows framing the damp grass. There’s a fairly large spot without any chairs or trees. I bite my lip. Would it help or make things worse? I bounce on my toes and roll my neck. Surely it can’t hurt at this point. If I don’t do something, I’ll pace until the carpet’s gone and ruin Liam’s house. I turn to him. “Will you throw a ball with me?”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh.” He glances outside at the dark clouds. “I don’t have a rugby ball.”
“I’ve got one,” I confess.
“You brought a rugby ball with you?” Liam says in disbelief.
“Do you go anywhere without your notebooks?”
Liam tilts his head. “Fair point. But I’m shit at rugby. My skills start and stop at playing couch referee.”
“Please?”
