Bonus Chapter One (Liam’s POV)

FGK Bonus Chapter One

In Their College Years

Warning: This Chapter Contains Adult Language

“Kelly, your girl’s here.” Owen Jacobs tips his chin toward the oak door littered with bumper stickers swinging in the mild Alabama winter breeze.

“Oh, which one’s his girl?” A petite brunette draped on his lap perks up. I feel bad, but I have no clue what her name is, and honestly, I don’t think Owen does either. Since he’s decided he’s entering the draft this year, he’s been careful not to get too attached to anyone.

Lucky bastard.

“She’s the redhead,” he supplies, sipping his beer.

“She’s strawberry blonde, and she’s not my girl.” I swirl the foam remnants of my room-temperature draft beer, keeping my eyes trained on the bubbles slowly dissipating along the bottom of the glass. I’m desperate for something to focus on so my vision doesn’t wander and drink in the thing it’s really thirsting for.

“Oh, he does have it bad.” The girl on Owen’s lap laughs, wiggling until she draws out a hearty grunt. “Why weren’t you like that with me?”

“Because I’m a mature man who acts on his feelings,” Owen teases into the woman’s ear loud enough for me to hear because he meant it for me. His lower hushed cadence as he whispers something more private confirms it. He’s always giving me shit for how I act around Evie, and I get it. I swear I can be charming with just about everyone but her. But he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have held a candle for someone for so long that the line between where I begin and the flame burning for her ends is one big blurry mess, and no matter how many times I try to suffocate the damn thing, it seems to burn harder, faster, deeper, never letting up, always on the edge of engulfing me whole.

The drag of the stool next to me pulls me out of my sulk. Owen rises as the brunette holds his hand and tugs him towards the door. “One sec.” He grins. A firm hand falls on my shoulder. “Maybe take a page out of my flattery is the best form of flirting playbook instead of whatever playground shit you normally go with.”

“Or I could sit here and brood while she ignores me because it’s easier, and I’m more comfortable with familiar rejection instead of getting kicked in the balls a new way.”

“Right. That’s not pathetic at all. Listen, we’re going to—”

“It’s fine. Desert me here even though you were the one who forced me out.”

“Any chance—”

“I don’t know her name either.”

Owen and I started rooming together Freshman year, and as a quarterback and wide receiver tandem, we’ve worked hard to know each other on a finishes-each-other-sentence level.

“Ah. Shit.” He scratches his head with a sheepish look as he approaches the girl at the door and strands me with an empty beer glass as my only distraction against doom.

Which doesn’t amount to anything when the temptation of turning and getting a dose of Evie itches at my core.

The guards to protect my heart slam into place. I know I shouldn’t look, but I’m not strong enough to deny myself the brief high. From the moment I saw her when I was little, looking at Evie has always been this spellbinding, paradoxical experience. Like the hold that gazing up into the first quiet, glittering fall of snow every year has somehow mixed with the rush of running onto the field to the deafening roar of a hundred thousand fans.

Out of the corner of my eye, her strawberry hair catches my attention, and I can’t hold back any longer. I shift my gaze in her direction, drinking her in before she realizes I’m staring, and an icy front slams down over her soft features.

Her curls tumble down near her back, falling along her shoulder. Her posture holds straight and perfect, with a high jutted chin, like she’s always held herself. Grace suits her in her stillness, even if her coordination betrays her at other times.

I don’t have much time to admire her Pacific-blue eyes before she senses my stare and shifts her gaze in my direction. The thin-lipped scowl and the hardening of her features should follow any second now.

An unfamiliar twinkle passes over her face as she lifts her hand, waving at me, and a smile curls her pink-bee-stung lips up.

My heart somersaults in my chest. Okay, this is good. We can work with this.

Oh, wait. No. She’s not waving her hand. She’s waving a finger.

The middle one, specifically.

Yeah, that sounds more like it.

I shake my head, letting a little dimpled smirk sit on my face because stuff like that isn’t supposed to get to me, and in some weird ways, it doesn’t. Although, I wish we were both playing this game because we liked to tease each other and not the one-sided game it’s become over the years.

Toasting her with my glass, I take a sip. Her brow furrows while I come up empty on the beer front. Right, I had already established that there wasn’t any beer left in this glass.

Well. It was an empty gesture anyway, seeing as Evie’s leaving tomorrow for a semester abroad, and I don’t feel cheery about it. Since my mom broke the news to me, it’s consumed me. No doubt she’s going to meet some charming French man who has a thing for doe-eyes and hair that shimmers in the sun, and I’ll be doomed to a life relegated on the sidelines watching her unbridled happiness with someone else at family parties.

Being in love with the sister of the guy who adopted you into his family is a curse.

Shit. Focus, turn back, and face front, Evie’s head this way.

Lilacs and rosewater hit my nostrils before she brushes against the side of me, shimmying to make room for herself, even though the other side of the bar had plenty of openings. She leans her lithe body over the countertop, propping herself up on her forearms and rising on her toes to grab the bartender’s attention. Her ass during all of this finds its way directly in front of my face.

Don’t stare.

She moves a bit, not obvious, but enough to draw my attention. And hell, she has to know what she’s doing, right?

I could try Owen’s suggestion for once. Compliment something. Her cardigan. Her dress. No, she’d only be suspicious. Maybe I could ignore her. Not take the bait. Be strong.

“Stalking me again, Peaches?”

I am a weak, weak man.

Her shoulders bunch high to her ears with tension, and I can feel the accompanying eye roll even if I can’t see it from this angle. Slowly, I push my long sleeves up to my elbows. When she meets my gaze again, her eyes will snap to my exposed forearms and linger there. Embers of hope will spark along my skin with her appreciative glance, and then it’ll vanish the minute she meets my eyes. Evie’s attracted to me. It’s not a secret, and sometimes it boosts my ego. Still, most of the time, it’s just a slap in the face. A reminder that no matter how physically attracted she is to me, my personality is so repulsive that I’ll never be able to overcome that part.

“You know, it’s funny, Wonder Boy, that you traveled halfway across town to the bar near my dorm when you have a perfectly adequate one near your own house.”

It is funny. It’s also a point I argued with Owen when he suggested coming here, but his argument for coming was compelling, even if it’s staring at me with a scowl right now. “They have the coldest beer in town. Didn’t you see?” I hitch a thumb to the fluorescent sign in the window boasting that claim.

It’s top five at best.

Evie’s lips twitch in amusement before locking in on my flexed forearm with parted lips. When she does this, I wish I could tuck my finger under her chin and lean in, brushing my mouth against hers, being granted access with earnest and a long suffering sigh of relief.

I shake the imaginary reality free from my head. Daydreams aren’t something I typically entertain since all they do is inspire false hope.

“What are you doing out, anyway? Shouldn’t you be packing?” I try to keep the bitter edge off my tone. I know she’s not deserting me here, but I’m a little sensitive to being left for some traumatic reason that I don’t feel like revisiting.

“Already done, so the girls wanted to take me out for one last celebration.” She nods over my shoulder at the group of women she’s hung out with since freshman year. I’ve tried to talk to a few of them, but I always get this weird feeling that our conversations are being assessed to see if I’m marriage material. A prospect I’m not interested in since I’m the last person on earth the woman with my heart would want to marry.

Evie grabs a tray of shots and turns. Her chest brushes against mine, and her eyes widen with the contact. There’s a beat where she stills. Her breath hitches, and her eyes flicker to my lips with a heavy-lidded gaze. Huh. That’s new.

My tongue darts out, swiping the beads of beer lingering there, and her breaths come in slower and more pronounced. It’s subtle. Something an outsider would miss. But I see her—and right now, Evie isn’t just attracted to me—there’s something more profound, and I’ve been chasing this girl for so freaking long that I’m not ready to let it go tomorrow.

“And you didn’t invite your oldest friend to celebrate with you? Peaches, I’m hurt.”

She meets my stare. A challenging gleam hangs in her eyes. “You want to celebrate me, Wonder Boy, be my guest. You know where we’ll be, what with your cute little stalker tendencies.”

Unfortunately, I am a creeper, so I do know. She’ll move into the other wing of the bar, where there’s a dance floor, with her friends. Evie never dances, instead she’ll sit on a couch alone as her friends gather on the dance floor after a few shots.

I’d feel bad, but she seems happier alone, like she’s trying to force friendships that don’t fit.

“I won’t be holding my breath for you, though, so if I don’t see you, I’d say it’s been fun, but you know.” She shrugs and her cardigan falls slightly, exposing her bare shoulder. The tray wobbles in her grip, and I shoot off my stool, catching the bottom of it with a sigh before she’s covered with cheap liquor.

“Who the hell thought sending you to get the damn tray was a good idea?” I groan, taking ownership. “Go, I’ll get myself one too and be over.”

Heaven knows I’ll need it with what I’m about to try to do—get Evie to admit that maybe there is something more there. Leave her thinking about me as she leaves for France. Something. I don’t know. But I’m sick of being a footnote in her life when she’s everything to me.

“How do I know you won’t poison mine?” She arches a brow, assessing me with a skeptical gaze. “Maybe I should stay here.”

Scratch that. I’m not a footnote. I’m the fucking villain.

Why do I prefer that to being nothing?

“Sure, spend more time with me because you don’t trust me. What do I care?” I glance down at her, and my lips curl. Evie was a good five inches taller than me until our junior year of high school, and she used her height to her advantage, lording it over me in our fights, so there’s a silly part of me that revels in winning some weird vertical competition we silently had.

A tiny groan passes over her lips, and I raise a brow. “Okay, my company isn’t that bad.” I grump.

“Not every moan I make is about you, Kelly.”

And cue choking on air.

“I meant—I didn’t mean. I—fuck.” She presses in on her abdomen, and I want to tease her and make her blush over her choice of words, but I also know as much as Evie tries to hide it when she’s in pain, and right now, that’s the case.

“Okay, why don’t we get you sitting with your friends, and I’ll come back for my shot.” Grabbing the crook of her elbow, I navigate her toward the back room.

“I could have waited. I was fine.”

“Mhm.” I ignore her. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to moan too much without me.” With a wink I drop the tray on the table.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want you here.” She hollers over her shoulder.

“Too late, Peaches. I’m ready to celebrate the fuck out of you.”

I take a deep breath and head to the bar, her tiny breath hitch playing in my mind. Maybe Owen is right; I need to change how I approach this.

Better late than never, right?

***

“How can you drink this much?” Evie giggles. Her palm falls on my arm, and flames lick up my forearm, headed straight to my heart with the contact. “I fucking hate you right now.”

“It’s your fault for making everything a goddamn competition.” I laugh back, reveling in a moment I can’t help but feel has been fifteen years in the making. For the past thirty minutes, my ass has remained firmly in the same spot, and yet, what started as a wide gap of separation between us has somehow diminished to nothing. Evie’s knee is brushing against mine, the heat of her scorching my side, and she’s flirting with me. She has been, I swear, since she walked into the bar.

As if the heat was too much for her, Evie threw her cardigan off not too long ago, and now her silky bare arms are millimeters from pressing up against mine.

I hate to say it, but I owe Owen an apology. I’m not doing the whole flattery for the sake of flirting thing, but for once, I’m just being honest and open with Evie, saying what I’m thinking.

“That dress looks nice on you,” I yell over the dance music blaring in this part of the bar.

Evie considers me, tilting her head to the side. “Why are you being so nice tonight?”

I angle my body into her and my fingers gently caress the bare skin of her arms. A satisfied hum passes over Evie’s lips, and I’m tempted to cup her cheek, dip my head, and feel that vibration against my mouth. Instead I settle for brushing a loose lock of hair out of her face. “Because I’m going to miss you. You’re my Peaches, you know?”

Pink dusts her cheeks as she smiles bashfully, peering at me beneath fluttering lashes. “Come dance with me,” she says, pulling on my hand and stands.

I’ve never seen Ms. Finishing School let loose before. Honestly, I wasn’t aware that she could dance. But I’d follow her anywhere because she’s talking to and touching me.

Unfortunately my willingness to follow obediently doesn’t translate into understanding what the hell is happening and I make little sense of it for a good minute, staring as Evie blinks back at me, but then she takes my hands, placing them on her hips. The intimate contact scorches my fingertips and my senses in an instant. In my stupor, I, Mr. Charming himself, can’t do a damn thing. I blink and stare. And oh fuck. I’m making this awkward.

In an instant, Evie’s face drops from hopeful to anxious to downright mortified. I register everything in a file in my brain labeled “things that are concerning and we should act on right away.” Unfortunately, my filing system gets set on fire whenever Evie is around, so it’ll take two-to-never business days for me to process the information.

“Was this stupid? This was stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t know—I just thought,” she yells over the music. “I’ve seen you dance with other women, so I thought you liked it.”

“I do. Like dancing.” I blink, still as a statue. Move Liam. Move.

“But not with me. Right, so this was a silly idea. Just forget it.”

New memo. Evie is nervous.

Around me?

Evie shifts like she’s about to move off the dance floor, and my stupor clears.

Focus, man.

She’s suddenly acting like she’s an awkward teenager around you.

You know she’s always been attracted to you.

You’re a decent dancer.

There is hope.

“No. No. It’s fine.” I grip her waist, slowly moving up to her arms and guiding them over my shoulders. “I’m just worried you might fall more in love with me like this, and I don’t want you to spend your time in Paris mooning over me. Seems like a waste.”

Her lips twitch. “I’ll try not to fall for you suddenly, Wonder Boy.” She pats my cheek. “I know it’s hard to believe someone might be immune to your charms. But I’ve never been a prince of the underworld kind of gal.”

“Relax into me then, Peaches.”

“I don’t want you to drop me.”

“I’m not going to—your feet are on the ground.” I groan, my lips press into a thin line, and this, not my attempt at being charming or whatever I just tried, gets her to relax into me.

She looks up, her lips quirked, and I see the new challenge. Dance with me, and I’ll try not to fall in love.

We sway like that, neither of us acknowledging the new competition. Who will cave from the tension and kiss the other person first?

For a brief second, Evie’s eyes flit up to meet mine, and the challenge I expect to greet me is absent. Her chest heaves against mine, and it’s no longer a competition. We can both win this. All I have to do is lower my lips to hers, and she’ll gladly accept them.

I pause. I’ve imagined our first kiss for way too long for it to be on a sweaty dance floor surrounded by people grinding on each other.

There aren’t too many romantic options in this bar but I know one picture in a far private corner that’s serviceable.

“Come with me,” I whisper, pulling on her hand.

She follows, and I bring her down a hallway near the bathroom where an old picture of some Alabama alum in Paris is.

“No, Liam Kelly, I will not have bathroom sex with you.” She giggles.

“I thought maybe we’d settle for a kiss tonight, Peaches.” I take a step, and her eyes widen.

“Why, why would I—” She stammers, but in that second she drops her mask, our eyes meet, and everything I’ve felt, everything I feel, is reflected there, the pining, the yearning for our lips to touch, the desire for something more. Hope swells in my chest. Ladies and gentlemen, Evelina Peaches O’Shea, the great pretender, has snapped.

“I mean, if you got the impression, I’m sorry–but I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I only harbor ill feelings towards you—” Her lip quivers.

“You know. Sometimes, I wonder, Peaches. If you hate me for real, or if this is all a game of make believe to you.” I take another step toward her, and she doesn’t budge. Her chin tilts up to mine, and I relish the heave of her chest. The slow breaths she drags through her lungs. That’s right, Peaches, you can feel what it’s like to be fucking breathless for once.

Every step towards her feels like a cautious approach. She’s always been so quick to close up, and if I misstep here, I’m done for. I may never have another shot.

“You’re the one who makes everything a game, not me,” she rasps.

“Nope, just the one who wins them. Come to think of it, have you ever won anything with me, Peaches?”

I rest my forearm above her head.

“No, but extenuating circumstances have prohibited me from competing at a fair level.”

Evie bites her lip, peering at me through an ocean of blue that has threatened to capsize me for years. She flickers again to my lips. Ah. So that’s the kind of circumstance she means. Maybe I haven’t been clear enough with how I feel about her.

“Maybe we’re on a closer level with that circumstance than you think.”

Her mouth presses into a harsh, thin line. “I doubt that.”  

Her tone cuts, edged with the knife she uses to keep me at arm’s length. But the hands fisting swaths of my shirt and tugging me closer to her tell a different story.

My hand itches. I want to wrap it behind her back, pull her against me, coax that lip out, and taste her for the first time in my life, but I need to let her finish the lean.

Please. My famished brain whispers as my lips hover slowly. She rises on her toes, and my lips curl up in response like they know they’re about to have the satisfaction they’ve craved for years. “Why don’t you give in and admit I’ve won, Peaches? Aren’t you tired of the chase?” The words are soaked with liquid courage I rarely possess around this woman.

My slow-growing grin snaps something in our pull, and Evie withdraws, eyes wide as saucers. “I’m not a fucking game,” she mutters.

And then the scowl I’m far more accustomed to on her face slams down over her. No. No. What did I do? Shit.

“No, I know—Evie—I—”

“You know all I’ve been doing the past few days is questioning if going to Paris is a good idea, but thank you for this because I’m so happy now that tomorrow I’m going to Paris, to become something without your huge shadow looming over me, and you’ll be stuck here, staying the self-centered irritating ass you’ve always been.”

I snap the mask down over my face to hide the wounds her words carve out on my chest. I need to get out of here. Whatever hope I had was stupid. I’ve learned my lesson with Evie. Never hope. “We’ll see, Peaches,” is all I say as I storm towards the door.

I’ll get over her while she’s in Paris. Without her here, I can snuff this damn thing out once and for all.