Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  “Yeah, they’re just friends,” Finn said in an exaggerated way that warned me I wouldn’t like what came out of his big mouth next. “That’s why he had to flee his apartment Monday night and go to the Fainting Goat to get laid. Because he lives with his pretty friend now, and it’s driving him crazy.”

  Brooklyn whipped her head toward me. “You hooked up with some random girl at the bar? Does Chelsea know?”

  “Thanks, asshole,” I aimed at Finn before addressing Brooklyn. “No, I didn’t hook up with anyone. Thought about it, though. But before you go reading more into it, I wasn’t feeling it.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Brooklyn sighed. “Why can’t you just admit you have feelings for Chelsea? We all see it. Even Shane.”

  Shane held up his hands. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “I’m not explaining this to you guys one more time.” I tipped back the last of my beer and tossed the bottle into the recycling half of the trash can. “Besides, she’s going to leave in a month.” And one week. Not that I was counting.

  “Otherwise you’d do something about it?” my sister asked, and I groaned. Why did I bother trying to talk to them about this? I should stay quiet like usual. For a moment, I envied Chelsea for having a family that didn’t constantly insert themselves into her life. Out of sight, out of mind would be nice right about now.

  Then I immediately felt bad because as big a pain in the ass as they were, I had no doubt they cared and thought they were doing what was best for me.

  Brooklyn nudged Shane toward Finn. “Go check out the cat.”

  “Wow, a cat,” Shane said, super loud. “It has ears and a tail, too.”

  My little sister walked over to me, crossed her arms, and stared up at me.

  I crossed my arms and stared right back. “You can’t intimidate me.”

  “How about talk some sense into you?”

  “Nope,” I said, then I accidentally laughed, and so did she.

  Her features softened, and I’d rather take the glaring any day. “Liam, I’m afraid that if you don’t do something—if you don’t make a move—you’ll regret it.”

  And I was afraid that if I did make a move, I’d regret it. Eventually. After the part that would undoubtedly be amazing. But I wasn’t going to say that to her—it’d give her ideas, and obviously she had more than enough already. “I appreciate that you care, but I need you to stay out of it. Chelsea and I are going to hang out for a month, and then she’ll go back to Colorado. On top of getting Finn ready for his match weekend after next, I have a huge fight to train for—the biggest fight of my career, B. That’s the long and short of it. Don’t try to turn it into something it’s not.”

  “I swear, you’re as stubborn as Dad.”

  “Right back at you.”

  She frowned. “Low blow. And don’t try to use logic on me and say I said it first.”

  “I gave up using logic on you a long time ago.”

  Brooklyn’s jaw dropped, and I raised my voice and looked over her head at Shane and Finn. “So, what’s the deal? Are we going to this party or what?” I grabbed my keys and tossed them to my sister. I wasn’t drunk—and at this point, I was wishing I were—but I’d already had a beer and planned to have several more. No driving for me.

  My sister sighed, but then she was pushing us out of the apartment, and we were on our way to a party that should be plenty loud enough to stop her attempts to talk me into something I already wanted to do.

  …

  By the time I made it home, I was sick of small talk—sick of talking in general. Also, I’d sobered up significantly, although it took me two tries to get the key into the lock. Drunk and exhausted wasn’t a great combo for the reflexes.

  I tripped on something the second I stepped inside, further proving my point. I glanced down to see Chelsea’s high heels and purse. While I was a neat freak, she left stuff everywhere, and if it were anyone else, I might be annoyed. As it was, I stared at those items, my mood immediately improving upon seeing them on the floor. It meant she hadn’t stayed the night with Mr. Upstanding.

  I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, chugged half of it, and then noticed the figure on the couch. Moonlight streamed in through the blinds, highlighting Chelsea’s sleeping form. She still had on the dress, but her hair was down around her shoulders, and she had an open book across her stomach.

  As I moved closer, I noticed George tucked next to her, his nose against her breast, and then I was jealous of a cat. He peered up at me, quickly dismissed me, and returned his head to its alluring perch.

  I reached over the back of the couch and lifted the book off her. Since I didn’t want to lose her spot, I almost bent one corner before remembering some rant she’d gone on about people doing that to library books. A pen sat on the side table, and I stuck it in place and set the book there.

  A sigh fell from Chelsea’s lips, and she shifted, not opening her eyes but clearly struggling to get comfortable.

  “Hey.” I skimmed my fingertips down the smooth skin of her arm. “I’d leave you here, but I worry you’ll have knots and kinks in the morning.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she squinted up at me. “Where am I?”

  “The couch.”

  She rubbed her neck. “Guess I’m not entirely used to being here instead of my apartment. Did you…have fun tonight?”

  “Finn, Brooklyn, and Shane came over and dragged me to a party one of the guys was throwing.” Obviously I left out the bit about how they’d asked about her and kept on talking about her at the party. Brooklyn played cockblocker all night with every woman who so much as looked my way.

  Unnecessarily, at that. I hadn’t been able to seriously think about sex with another girl since Chelsea showed up. Even the night at the bar, I’d only been fooling myself, and doing a shit job of it, too.

  “Aw, I keep missing your brother and sister. I mean, I see them at the gym, but going out is different. You all are different outside the gym.”

  “Brooklyn wants to play volleyball on the beach tomorrow. She asked me to see if you’d join us.”

  “That sounds fun. Probably humiliating, too, but I’m down.” Her eyelids drifted closed, and she made a cute humming noise.

  “What about you? Did you”—the burning in my gut made it hard to continue, but I forced out the rest of the question—“have fun?”

  “It was…yeah. It was…nice.”

  Nice. My mind flashed back to my earlier sentiment about taking care of her in bed, and it would be far from nice. Sex that was nice was take-it-or-leave-it sex, the kind you might skip in favor of changing clothes while on the run from bad guys. I wanted to push her up against the wall. To leave her breathless with my kisses; tease her into a panting, needy state; explore every inch of her skin with my hands and mouth; and make her scream my name.

  But I couldn’t think about that, even if inside I was celebrating the fact that she looked unrumpled and definitely not like her date had gone any further than perhaps a polite kiss.

  “Need me to carry you?” I asked, hoping she was sleepy enough to miss the desire-roughened edge to my voice.

  “No. I’ll…” She yawned, and her eyelids drifted closed again. “Eventually.”

  Yeah, right. I was still slightly buzzed, but not enough that I couldn’t easily carry her. Not enough to prevent thoughts about her legs in that dress or her red lips or that amazing hair that she’d better never dye, either. I stepped around the couch and scooped her sleep-warmed body into my arms.

  George gave an offended meow, his expression even grouchier than usual, and I tightened my grip on her. She’s mine tonight, dude.

  At least for the few minutes from here to her room. I took my sweet time, soaking in the way her delicate features showcased her full lips, her silky hair against my arm, the press of her curves, her scent, all things Chelsea. Since she never bothered making her bed, I didn’t have to peel back the covers. I gently set her down
and considered her dress. It probably wouldn’t be very comfortable to sleep in, but it’d be hard not to get carried away and drag my fingers over more of her skin, and on top of that being a bad idea, she wasn’t awake enough to okay it, so it was a definite no go.

  “Hey, wait,” she said as I turned to leave. “Remember when we used to snuggle up and watch movies?”

  “And you’d always insist on a second movie, even though you fell asleep during it every single time.”

  A drowsy version of her signature smile curved her lips. “Yeah. I miss that. You’re a really comfy pillow.” She stretched her arms over her head, and her eyes drifted open. “Did you know they have these boyfriend pillows? They look like a headless dude with one arm.”

  “Disturbing.”

  She laughed. “But then you can snuggle on his”—she made sloppy air quotes—“‘chest,’ while his ‘arm’ is around you. Like, seriously, you wrap the stuffed arm around you.”

  “Do you have one of these pillows?”

  Her attempt at a dirty look was valiant but still too cute to be scary. “No. I’m pretty sure if you order one, it sends an alert to your friends and family so they can stage an intervention.”

  I leaned a hip against the doorframe, wanting to keep her talking in the half-sleepy, semi-drunk-sounding state—apparently I wasn’t sick of talk, just the wrong people doing all the talking. “Wouldn’t they lose money if they did that?”

  “You’d think. But see, the friends and family shame you, so you have to get rid of it. Only by that time, you’re too used to it and now rely on it to fall asleep, so naturally you buy another one and pay the company even more money if they promise not to alert your family. Anyway, that’s what I think they should do, if they were smart.”

  “No wonder you’re in marketing,” I said with a chuckle. “Evil genius stuff right there.”

  “Sadly, it still wouldn’t be as good as the real thing. You were always so warm, and your heart was, like, the perfect white noise.” She patted the spot next to her. “Come on. Let’s have one of those heart-to-hearts where you keep shushing me and claiming you’re missing the movie.”

  I was about to point out that there wasn’t a movie playing, but before I could, she added, “Although sometimes, if I talked long enough, you’d get chatty, too—well, chatty for you. Those were my favorite nights.”

  Climbing in bed with her was the worst idea ever, and man did I want to say fuck it and do it anyway.

  “We just need to get in jammies first.” She flung off the covers. Then she shoved me toward the door. “You promised living with you would be like that sleepover we had when both our parents were out of town, so don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You tell me I have to be more assertive, so here’s me saying what I want, and that’s a slumber party with snuggling. Now, go get in your jammies.”

  To confess or not to confess that my “jammies” were nothing but my boxer briefs?

  Not to. Definitely. I had plenty of warm-up pants and sweats. Sure. That’d work, as long as I also added a jock strap with a protective cup to keep myself in check and prevent her from noticing when I couldn’t. I gave one last shot to saving myself from a night of heavenly torment. “I probably smell like a brewery.”

  She leaned in close enough for her breasts to brush my chest and sniffed my neck and holy shit, the woman was testing me tonight. “You smell good. You smell like you. Meet you back here in five.”

  What could I do but go along? It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience in fighting or anything.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chelsea

  What was I doing?

  No idea, honestly. But I was pushing myself to voice the ideas I had, good or bad, and what I wanted more than anything was to snuggle up with Liam and talk like we used to. I was telling the truth when I said he was the best pillow ever. And okay, maybe I wouldn’t have said that—or the whole thing about the boyfriend pillow—if I hadn’t been half-asleep. But once he returned wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, I wasn’t about to take it back. Not when I longed to be wrapped up in his arms, his steady heartbeat against my ear.

  Plus, it could count as the one thing that scared or challenged me for the week. I just wasn’t sure if the challenge would be persuading myself to test the boundaries or convincing myself that I’d be perfectly satisfied if we never explored the option of more. Both equally terrified me, so win?

  I scooted over to make room, and the bed dipped with his weight. To accommodate his size, I teetered on the edge while he lay back, and then I settled my head on his chest. His arm came around me, and everything inside me unraveled.

  “I bet a boyfriend pillow is softer,” he said, his breath stirring my hair.

  “Who wants soft?” I accidentally asked before thinking it through. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re much better than a boyfriend pillow. Not that you’re…you know what I mean.”

  “Mm,” was all that he said, so I wasn’t sure if he did.

  “So, Liam Roth, tell me your hopes and your dreams.”

  “Starting with the easy stuff, I see.”

  I smiled and bit my lip. “It’s been a while since I checked in on them, so I thought I should find out if they’ve changed any.”

  “Nope. Same old boring hopes and dreams.”

  I lifted my head, and whoa, his face was so close, his eyes so blue. I swallowed, hoping it didn’t sound as loud to him as it did in my head. “Running your dad’s gym with him and becoming the light heavyweight champion isn’t boring. Becoming a marketing manager is way more boring.”

  His fingers drifted up my spine, and my heart stuttered. “What ever happened to your dream of owning a bookstore?”

  Since we were touching each other, I brushed the hair from his eyes and let my hand trail down the side of his face. “I had to get a more realistic dream. Unfortunately, owning a bookstore isn’t very lucrative these days, and I also found out I’d be expected to do more than sit inside and read all the books.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  Warmth filled me, inside and out. “Right?” I dropped my head back down on his chest, getting lost in the drag of his fingers and the corresponding zip in my core. My skeptical side had wondered before if the consuming type of attraction written in books was strictly fiction. As heat built, and a burgeoning ache traveled up my thighs and intensified in my very center until my desire annihilated every other feeling, I could finally profess the truthfulness.

  And the shittiness.

  The only person who’d ever turned me on was my best friend. And here I was indulging in it. I really didn’t want to be a virgin forever—something my body was making crystal clear right now—and I wanted someone who’d make my first time special. According to statistics, the first time wouldn’t be the best for me, but I hoped that same person would be patient and show me the ropes so we could progress to “the right kind of sex.” The kind that’d make me understand why people might skip things like eating and other life necessities in favor of getting it on.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite assertive or bold enough to ask Liam to take my virginity. Or fortunately—I wasn’t sure. Maybe if I made a flirty move, just to test the waters? Surely along the way he would find something he could work with…

  Oh, jeez, what if we started, only for him to begrudgingly confess he’s not attracted enough to me to go through with it? Talk about a friendship ruiner.

  And since I had zero experience, well, that would leave me adrift in a sea of attraction without a paddle.

  Shit. My heart pounded so hard he could surely feel the rapid rhythm against his chest.

  “If you wanted to own a bookstore, I’m sure you could find a way to make it happen,” he said.

  Great. He was thinking about the bookstore dream I had in high school while I was thinking of straddling him and asking him to have sex with me. Clearly not on the same page.

  Not even in the same book.

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks for you
r faith, but I like what I do. I wish certain aspects were different and that I had more control over what projects I work on, but I’m good at my job and enjoy thinking outside the box. If I could get rid of my insecurities and boldly state my ideas, I’d be even better at it.”

  Thanks, irony, for choosing now to whisper the same would be true about my growing sexual frustration. With it at the consuming point, I was going to have to take care of it myself like I always had to. Not that I can do that with Liam right next to me, so great idea on the sleepover, Chelsea. Absolutely killing it tonight.

  I shifted, and the throbbing bundle of nerves currently driving me insane pressed against his solid hipbone. Heat flared, my body getting all the wrong ideas. I could probably come from humping his leg right now. Yeah, that’d be super sexy.

  Since that would be more of a nightmare scenario instead of the dream one, I exhaled a shallow breath. “Wow, it just hit me how tired I am.” I rolled over. And immediately missed his warmth, his steady heartbeat, and the way his scent had invaded my senses. “Anyway, guess we should get some shut-eye.”

  Disappointment flooded my body even as it raged at me, screaming that he was right there, and I needed the release.

  Stupid, stupid idea, and why doesn’t he want me? Surely if he did, he’d make a move, right? Making moves really shouldn’t be up to someone like me.

  Two attempts to swallow later, I finally forced words from my mouth. “Good night, Liam.”

  It was so quiet, the kind of silence that coated everything with its heaviness, that I figured he must’ve fallen asleep.

  But then the bed shifted, and his breath hit my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. His lips touched my cheek, along with a quick scrape of his whiskers, the peck over before I could even think of turning my head—not that my cowardly ass would follow through anyway. “Good night, Chelsea.”

  With the swirl of emotions making a mess of my insides and that pulsing ache between my thighs escalating by the second, I was pretty sure it was going to be the most frustrating night ever.