Page 14 of Hold

“Hello, Liam,” she said, her eyes sliding off his face. Like he was barely in front of her.

“Thea,” he acknowledged.

The best seat was next to him, but she went to the other end of the table and sat between Chloe and David.

Well, fine. If that’s the way it’s going to be, sweetheart. Bite me.

She reached behind her with one hand to get something out of her backpack, and her breasts strained against her blouse. Nice breasts. Two small handfuls. Mouthfuls.

Shit.

He tried to focus on the class. But he’d remembered a lot more of this class than he thought he would, and his brain wouldn’t stay pinpointed on the professor.

When they stopped for break, he went to the men’s room with Seth and David. But he couldn’t hide in there, and when he came out, she was walking out of the ladies’ room with Zahra and Chloe. Chloe’s red hair bounced along in front of him, seeming to want his attention, but all he could see was the curl in Thea’s hair, which fell halfway down her back.

“How did you meet your husband?” he heard Thea ask Zahra.

They didn’t seem to notice him behind them.

“Oh, the usual. Nice Muslim girl meets tattooed biker boy. Nice Muslim girl’s mother faints. And they all lived happily ever after.”

“Really?” Thea said.

“Really.”

“She really fainted?” Chloe asked.

“Yep. Screamed that I had to be pregnant and she was going to die of shame. Turned out, I wasn’t pregnant, and he converted.” Her smile could now only be described as smug. “I’m waiting on telling her where I got my tattoo.”

Thea threw her head back and laughed so hard she had to sink into a chair a row or two above theirs. Liam walked past her, hoping to ignore her shaking shoulders.

I’m not interested.

I’m not interested.

He wasn’t sure whose voice he was hearing.

♦

“Hey, girl,” Sam said.

“Hey, you.” Thea held the phone gingerly between two rubber-gloved hands. Was bleach bad for phones? She tried to hold the phone in the crook of her neck, and it slid out and fell into the wet, bleachy bathtub. “Shit!”

“What the hell?” she heard her younger—and favorite—sister yelp as she frantically pulled off a glove.

“Hold on, hold on!” she screamed at the phone. She pulled off both gloves, reeled from the smell she’d been holding her breath against for ten minutes, and grabbed a paper towel to pick up the phone. “Nearly there!” she called. She wiped off the phone—and then panicked because she’d nearly hit the hang-up key—put the screen to sleep, wiped the phone properly, and finally held it to her ear.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” she said in her most professional voice.

“Good afternoon, weirdo. What was that?”

“Phone to bathtub.”

“Ah. You’re in the bath?”

“Nope. Cleaning it.”

“Ooh, fun.”

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