Page 36 of Over the Line

“Yes. I’d last about three seconds before I’d just be on the floor sobbing.”

I cocked a brow. “Says the guy who routinely gets hit with pucks and flying bodies?”

“Yeah, but that’s just like bruises and stitches and shit. Having my whole system hijacked by a kid who’s going to basically remodel it from the inside out? No, thank you.”

I barked a laugh. “God, when you put it like that…”

He chuckled. “Hey, anyone who can carry and deliver a kid has my respect. I’ll stick with potentially stopping pucks with my teeth.”

Shuddering, I said, “I’ll pass on both, now that you mention it.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “Not everyone can be a tough guy.”

I pursed my lips. “I kind of want to be insulted, but honestly, I’m a hundred percent fine with not being tough enough to be pregnant or take a puck to the teeth.”

“Fair enough. You want tough as nails, though?” He whistled. “I have some friends who play in the Women’s League and they have kids. They do both.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“Right? Weaker sex, my ass.”

“Seriously. Anyway, uh, I guess we should get going? I shouldn’t keep you up later than I already have.”

Did he have to lick his lips just then? Did he really? Did he have any idea what that did to my remaining brain cells?

Evidently not, because he led me out of the kitchen and into the garage. The cold air slapped me in the face and snapped me out of my thoughts, which kept me from falling on my ass or…

Look, I was going to check out his jean-clad ass and that was all there was to it. But at least I didn’t get caught staring.

His enormous house had a four-car garage, and two of the bays were currently occupied. In one, there was a black Mercedes SUV. In the other, a sleek bright orange sports car that I couldn’t identify. I could pick out Porsches, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis at a glance, but the smooth curves and low profile on this one didn’t ring a bell. It was definitely more in line with what I’d expected to see in his driveway, earlier.

I stared at the cars, then turned to Liam, who was fighting a grin.

Gesturing at them, he asked, “Any preference?”

“Uh.” I blinked. “They’re your cars.”

He shrugged. “I’d say let’s take that one”—he nodded at the sports car—“but I think the weather has gone to shit.”

I glanced out the window, and sure enough, at some point while we’d all been inside, the sky had opened up. Rain ran in sheets down the glass and, now that I listened for it, pounded on the roof above our heads. “It has definitely gone to shit.”

“Yep. So…” He gestured at the Mercedes.

“Fine by me.” As we got in, I asked, “What make is that, anyway? The sports car?”

“It’s a McLaren 750s.” The pride in his voice was kind of adorable.

I whistled. “It’s sexy as hell.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, which was also seriously cute. “Maybe when the weather’s better, I can take you out in it.”

I froze, wondering which part of that I liked better—going for a ride in the McLaren, or Liam taking me out. In anything. At all. Especially in a car with only two seats.

Fortunately, I recovered and found my dignity. As I pulled on my seat belt, I tried to sound casual. “That sounds like a blast. I’ve never been in one.”

He shifted into Reverse as the garage door rumbled open behind us. “You into cars?”

“I mean, I don’t know much about them. But I definitely do appreciate a nice car. Like…” I pointed at the McLaren.