Collided: Dirty Air (Book 2)(18)
I take him in. His white shirt clings to his sculpted chest, muscles pressing against the fabric, highlighting lean yet fit arms. Ones he can wrap around me.
Dammit, Sophie, resist.
“Mm, it’s hard to sing and dance at the same time. I have a new appreciation for performers. It’s a lot of work, and it makes you sweaty.” I take another sip of my drink, the refreshing liquid soothing my sore throat.
“You know what else makes you sweaty?” His words pull my attention back to him. Light blue irises fall on my lips before his body scoots closer to mine, his warmth pressing into my side as my body becomes highly aware of him.
“Lots of things. The gym, the great outdoors, a busted AC unit. The options are endless.”
He chuckles, the sound making his chest vibrate against my arm. “Racing does. You look a little flushed, and your eyes have a wild look to them. Are you thinking of something else? Penny for your thoughts?” The low and rough tone of his voice runs against my skin like a caress.
Nope. Not touching his first question with a ten-foot checkered flag.
“Right, racing. And honestly, you’re a millionaire. You can spare more than a couple of pennies for what goes on in my mind.” I tap on my temple.
He laughs as he lifts his drink to his lips. His throat bobs while he chugs the last bit of beer, his eyes remaining on me the entire time. I hate the way I notice everything about him. Like how good his lips look wrapped around the rim of his beer bottle or the tiniest bump in his nose hinting at a previous injury. I especially dislike the way he looks at me right now, like he doesn’t know which way he wants to fuck me first. And most of all, I hate how much I love every second of his attention.
His eyes lazily trace over my face before they fall on my chest. The audacity of this man.
“Cute shirt.” His lips twitch.
Like an idiot, I glance down. The sweet Free Hugs saying mocks me, pressing against my bust with the words centered above a prickly cactus. That’s me: a woman who has an affection level comparable to a desert plant.
“Thanks. I love graphic tees.” That sounds as stupid in my head as it does when it leaves my lips. I cringe at my inability to play it cool around Liam.
“Do I make you nervous?” Liam takes advantage of my flustered state. The contact of his hand grasping mine sparks excitement from me, an involuntary reaction I want to control. His fingers brush against my knuckles and leave behind a trail of heat. Safe to say, our stint of attraction still burns strong, unwavering with time.
I never thought holding hands could be such a sensory experience. But my mind takes control, not wanting to go there with someone like him, prompting me to pull my hand away from his.
He laughs, a full throaty sound tugging at my restraint. “You don’t need to be scared. Have a little fun.”
“I think we both have two different definitions of fun.” My version includes a laminated list of items, while his includes screwing around until he gets bored or detached.
On paper, Liam seems like a good option to help me complete my Fuck It list. But in reality, Liam would be the worst choice—too good-looking, too accessible, too risky. Not to mention, he drives for a rival team, which could result in extra unwanted press for both of us.
And to be extra honest, courtesy of tequila, completing items with Liam scares me. I thought I’d cross them off with random guys from different countries, not with one I have to see every week. Avoiding Liam will be damn near impossible, so why bother making things awkward?
Sirens sound off in my head despite an alcohol-induced haziness, warning me why being with him is not worth it. I stand, my head swimming. My body finds balance and a fragment of mental clarity again as I grab my purse off the table. A ride-share sounds like a great idea.
I avoid direct eye contact with Liam as I fumble through the items in my purse, grabbing things left and right. He sits and watches me with a smirk on his face. Unable to find my phone, I curse to myself. My hands sift through the contents again. My fingertips brush against the rough texture of my phone case at the bottom. As I pull it out, I find my list attached to the back of my case, stuck together by static or voodoo. I watch with horror as the laminated paper flutters to the ground.
Liam grabs it off the cement floor before I have a chance to pick it up. “What’s this?”
Unlike movies where horrific moments are slowed down, my heart speeds up and I attempt to snatch the paper with lightning speed. “Let me have that. It’s nothing, just a shopping list.” My voice fails to hide how horrified I feel.
Liam grips the paper harder as he sends me a devilish grin that liquefies my insides. “Tsk, tsk. How rude of you to grab something from my hands. You greedy little thing.” He pulls the paper toward his eyes as he attempts to make out the letters in the dimly lit bar. I barely breathe, taking in enough oxygen to not pass out. Although a medical scare sounds like a great diversion.
He holds back a laugh. “A Fuck It list? I’m curious about what type of things you’re shopping for here.”
“I hate groceries, so fuck it. Right?” I dash for the list again. My fingers grasp the slick plastic coating before Liam lifts himself from the couch.
Liam has to be a foot taller than me, my list no longer in reaching distance. A growl of frustration escapes my lips as I stomp my foot. He smiles down at me like he finds my irritated display cute.
I teeter on my feet, my hands grabbing onto his arms for stability. The warm skin of his biceps heats my fingers. His rigid muscles tense under my hands, teasing me to feel him up like a creep.