Page 44 of Over the Line

Fuck yes, I’m doing this.

My God, this man never failed to be gorgeous. He was barefoot in a pair of jeans and a Pittsburgh Phantoms hoodie, his dark blond hair slightly damp and finger-combed. One look at him and I forgot my own name.

Fortunately, though, it only took me a second to get my brain (mostly) back online, and I didn’t completely forget what to do when he smiled and said, “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I stepped into the house. “Uh, shoes on? Off?” Heat rushed into my face as I added, “I can’t remember from Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t worry about it. Shoes off, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” I toed off my sneakers as he shut the door.

“Any preference for a drink?” he asked. “I’ve got pretty much everything. Not a lot of soda, but…”

“Probably nothing alcoholic.” I nudged my shoes up against the wall beside his. “I, uh… I have to drive.”

Liam nodded. “Of course. Iced tea?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He flashed me a smile and led me into his kitchen, the creak of the floors echoing off the high ceilings. The whole place somehow seemed even quieter and emptier than it had after everyone had left on Thanksgiving. As if that night, the house had still echoed with guests’ voices and movement even after they’d gone, but now, apart from us, everything was just silent and still.

Or I might’ve just been nervous and wondering how I’d manage to screw this up—whatever “this” was—or… I didn’t know. I was in Liam St. Clair’s house, and he was pouring us a couple of drinks, and my mind might never recover.

“I hope this wasn’t too out of the blue.” Did he sound nervous? Or was I imagining things? “Figured if we’re going to be texting anyway, might as well have a drink and watch a game, too.”

I laughed. “I mean, why not? It’s a lot easier to concentrate on conversation and a game than texting and a game.”

“I know, right?” He handed me a glass of iced tea. “I can multitask, but don’t ask me to do it while I’m reading or writing something.”

“Yes, exactly. My old boss’ favorite thing in the world was to come in and talk to me while I was in the middle of typing something.” I rolled my eyes. “Like, dude—give me a second to finish my sentence?”

“That would drive me nuts.” He gestured for me to follow him into the living room. “And that reminds me—I never did ask: what do you do?”

“Nothing super exciting.”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

I tried to ignore the heat in my cheeks or the way my pulse jumped. I really should’ve been used to shit like that happening around him. As we settled onto the couch, a wide cushion’s worth of space between us, I said, “The short version is that I manage production and quality assurance for a—holy shit, are you okay?”

Liam glanced up from arranging some icepacks in various places, and he chuckled. “Just some aches and pains. Hockey, you know?”

“Oh. Oh, right.”

“Anyway. Production and quality assurance for…?” He raised his eyebrows as he pushed an icepack under his knee.

“Um.” I shook myself. “A fastener manufacturer.” That was oversimplifying it a bit, but I found most people’s eyes would glaze over if I started getting into the, well, nuts and bolts of my job.

“Ah, interesting.” He tucked the last icepack up against his neck, resting it in top of his shoulder. “Production and quality assurance? That sounds like a job with a lot of spinning plates.”

I barked a laugh. “God, it really is. I mean, I like it. And I’m finally putting that MBA to use after everyone told me it was such a good investment.” I rolled my eyes.

Liam studied me. “You don’t think it was?”

“Ehh…” I rocked my head from side to side. “It set me back a fuckload of money, and it didn’t open as many doors as I’d hoped. But when I was finally up for this promotion, they said the MBA was one of the deciding factors. So, it was a good investment… eventually?”

“Better late than never, right? Do you like the job?”

“Oh, yeah. And the company I work for now is a lot less nuts than the previous one.”