𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 I’d Do Anything – Simple Plan
WHEN LIAM TURNS up at my apartment at 7am on Christmas Day, red-faced and dressed for a run, I blink away the sleep in my crusty eyes and don’t question why he’s here, just trudge back to bed and climb under the covers.
I hear him chuckle but to be honest, it’s 7am.
On Christmas goddamn Day.
It takes me a while to remember that but when I do, I shriek, “Liam?”
No answer.
Wait—did I dream all that?
I mean, he’s been the star of a few recently. What, with how touchy-feely he’s become, my subconscious has gone into overdrive.
Since I saw him in the locker room, half-naked, it’s been getting worse.
Watching him suck his self-imposed allotment of maple syrup off the spoon twice a day has also started featuring heavily in my fantasies.
It’s only fair that he pays well because good vibrators aren’t cheap and I’m burning them out with how weird he’s been acting lately.
As I contemplate whether I should go back to sleep or make myself a coffee, that’s when I hear the sound of water coming on.
“So he is here,” I mutter, rubbing my sleepy eyes.
Then, it hits me.
He’s naked.
I flop back onto my bed.
“This is torture,” I whisper, trying not to think about what he’s seeing right this second.
Since I started working for him, his pecs are bigger.
His shoulders wider.
His abs more defined.
He might be finding clean living a strain, but my God, it’s doing him a world of good.
In the middle of an all-out swoon, I finally realize the shower turned off.
The door doesn’t open but I can hear footsteps.
“Did he just shower with the bathroom door open?!” I can’t cope with that knowledge, knowledge that proves I’m a peeping Thomasina because I would so have looked if I’d have known, I shriek, “LIAM!”
“Yeah?” I can tell he’s nearer because he doesn’t shout as he asks, “You decent?”
“Never,” I mumble. “What the fuck are you doing here? I booked your flight. You were scheduled to leave last night.”
Last night when I came home, ate too much ice cream because I was missing him already, and dove face-first into the case study I have to hand in on January 3rd.
“Didn’t feel like going.” When he pops his head around the door, his cheeks are loaded with shaving foam and one of my razors is in his hand. “Figured I’d come and keep you company after I went for my morning run.”
That, right there, is why when my dad tried to make me a hockey player, it never worked out. Not only is my coordination shit and I’m short as fuck, but I can’t cope with this whole torture thing they do on the daily. Even if I can appreciate the end result.
“You ran here?”
He knows what I’m asking. “It was rough but I did it. I sent Jonathan home too… so what are we going to do?”
“I sleep on Christmas Day. And you should as well. Who runs on Christmas morning?! Before 7am?” I mock-retch, trying not to swoon when he leans against the doorframe and I see he’s wearing gray sweatpants.
Gray. Motherfucking. Sweatpants.
Santa really did visit good girls last night…
“You sleep?” he demands, ignoring my criticism. “The whole day?”
“I do. It’s tradition.” One I made for myself after I left Canada.
No arguing, no brothers, no hockey. No sports.
Heaven.
“A tradition,” he repeats.
“If you’re going to parrot everything I say, you can fuck off into the kitchen and make me some coffee.”
“Latte with two shots of espresso?”
Ugh. He knows me too well.
Squinting at him, I whine, “You’re a monster. Who wakes someone up on Christmas Day at 7am who’s over the age of five?”
His snicker is all the answer I get.
I hear him return to the kitchen, next comes the hisses and spitting from my coffee machine, and then he’s back with liquid gold in his hands, sans the shaving foam and with a jaw made of silk housing a grin I’d want to smack if he weren’t so pretty.
When he settles it on my nightstand, I yawn around a mumble: “You didn’t use a Liam cup.”
Dropping to one knee beside the bed, he studies me with a perplexed frown. “A Liam cup?”
Sleepily, I nod. “My ‘You are here’ cups. I have fifteen now and you go pick an old mug?”
He clears his throat. “I’ll know for next time.”
“Good. Coffee tastes better in them.” Because he bought them for me.
His dopey grin makes my heart flutter. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’m glad. Just, you know, wanted you to remember I was thinking of you when I’m on the road.”
He’s so sweet that he’s going to make me diabetic.
Curling onto my side to hide my face in the comforter, I mutter, “You’re supposed to be at Mom and Dad’s now.”
“Didn’t feel like going.”
“Since when do you not feel like going home for Christmas?”
He hitches a shoulder. “Since I didn’t feel like going.”
What with that and the run, concerned, I flip around and lean on my elbow so I can touch his forehead. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
Backing off, he snorts. “I’m not sick. I just didn’t want to travel. It’s been a hectic month.”
I continue studying him. “I’m not going to entertain you.”
“You entertain me without trying, Gracie,” he says glibly, but I can see the hint of amusement in his eyes that backs up his words. “Like when you cornered Condon on his way to the Killer Whales’ bus? Priceless.”
“His sister wasn’t answering her phone,” I dismiss. “I wasn’t about to let him get away with…”
My words fade as he crawls onto the bed beside me.
And he says, “Scoot over. I didn’t get to sleep until late.”
My mouth rounds and any cerebral short-circuiting at Liam’s presence in my bed fades as I screech, “You could have slept in in your own damn bed and not have woken me up!”
“And you could have flown with me to Winnipeg,” he snipes. “Decisions have consequences. This is one. You’re right, though—I shouldn’t have gone out so early. Now, I want to nap too.”
Appeased because he admitted I was right, I shift aside, letting him have more space. Even so, his feet stick over the edge.
Sucks to be him.
That’s when he stuns me by snagging me in his hold and sliding his arms around my waist. Eyes wide, I don’t shift a muscle as he tucks me into him so that his head is resting on my shoulder, my back is pressed up against his chest, and my butt is in the curve of his thighs.
“Now sleep,” he retorts.
I’m about to start hyperventilating here! How the hell can I sleep?
Oh, God, he feels so good.
And he smells even better.
And he’s this wall at my back.
Fuck.
He’s so warm.
This is—
“You made me coffee,” I croak. “I should drink it.”
He doesn’t let go of me when I stick out a hand to grab my cup.
“You can drink it when it’s cold. I’ll even put ice cubes in for you and transfer it to one of your Liam water bottles and that’s when we’ll exchange gifts.”
“You ran here with it?”
“Sure did.”
Before I can respond, a round of bullets sounds on the TV that has us both jolting in surprise.
“I’m making an executive decision,” he declares, twisting around while somehow maintaining that firm grip on me. I try not to think about other places he could be gripping right now. Goddammit, he’s so close. I could reach back and— “No news on Christmas Day.”
Without waiting on an answer from me, he reaches over my head and snags the remote. In the background, I can hear—
I groan. “Not It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“Only you’d have a problem with a classic.”
“It’s sad.”
“It’s a classic!”
“Classics are sad. Put something else on.”
“Do you know you’re difficult?”
I don’t know why I do it.
I really don’t.
I wriggle my hips.
Then, I still when I realize what I just did.
Both of us are frozen on the mattress.
Both of us remain locked in place as, in the background, all of George’s prayers are answered with a basketful of cash.
Then, I release a breath.
He does too—I can feel it whistle past my cheek.
I could turn around.
I could kiss him.
I could—
“Do you want to order Chinese food?” I choke out. “If I have to watch this, then you can break with the health freak stuff for the rest of the day.”
He turns his head. My heart feels like it’s going to start stuttering in my chest. His nose rubs gently against my cheek. “General Tso’s cauliflower sound good to you?”
I snort, and the tension between us breaks. “No. Not if you’re going to make me watch suicide films on Christmas Day.”
“It’s a classic!”
“If you’re just going to keep on saying that, I’ll put the news back on.”
“It was nominated for five Oscars.”
“Nominated. Not won. Even the judges agreed with me.”
“National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?”
“Deal.” I rock my head back to study him and that’s when I do something stupid…
But he’s so mussed, and clean, and gorgeous, and he smells better—honestly, it’d be a crime not to—
I press my lips to his.
And it’s like the world itself stops turning.
The kiss is chaste.
Nothing fiery. Not passionate. No tongues, even.
It’s still the best kiss I’ve ever had.
He pushes his forehead onto mine and for endless moments, we just breathe each other’s breaths.
“Merry Christmas, Liam,” I whisper, aware that my tone is deep and warm and sugar-cookie sweet, needing him to know that he just made my morning.
Fuck, my year.
He swallows. “Merry Christmas, Gracie.”
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
Something flickers to life in his gaze that has me jerking back and rasping, “Is it too early for takeout?”
He chuckles, which shatters the lingering tension between us.
But… that was relief in his eyes, wasn’t it?
My heart sinks.
What did I expect?
For him to tip me back onto the sheets and ravish me?
The agoraphobe ran through Manhattan before 7am on Christmas Day to avoid crowds and people with his bodyguard yet here I am, mauling him—
“Yeah. Nap. We can order after.”
When he curls me into him again, it comes as a surprise.
I don’t know what I was doing, and I don’t know what he’s doing either, but when I settle against him, I feel him.
My eyes are wide as I look at the wall opposite my bed in my sardine-can bedroom and I try not to be aware that a simple, chaste peck on the lips gave Liam Donnghal a boner.
So, why didn’t he—
I’m confused.
He wants me. I can feel it. It’s not as if he’s ashamed of it, but he doesn’t act on it, just holds me close.
Adrenaline is winging around my veins, so there’s no way I can sleep, but it’s good. Nice. It’s Liam. And me. We’re here. Together. It’s Christmas Day.
Which is when I realize a solid truth.
There’s no one else I’d rather spend it with than… him.
Which is also when I realize we’re on the same page. Because his presence in my apartment tells me he feels it too.
We want to kiss each other.
We want more but more puts this, us, in danger, doesn’t it?
It could put pressure on a relationship that is starting to feel like solid ground for me. For him too, maybe. I know he’s been brighter since I came in and organized his life.
Messing with the status quo, doing something that could potentially destroy this?
I can’t.
I… just can’t.
And that’s why he didn’t deepen that kiss.
Because he can’t lose me either.
That right there is the moment I start to cry.
Silently, so he doesn’t know that my heart feels like it’s breaking.
