I’M WET.
Really wet.
And I’m pouting.
Really pouting.
The craving for him sticks with me as we ride toward the event because every time his knee brushes against mine in the backseat of the SUV, my dumb body reacts like I’m jilling off.
It’s a crazy phenomenon, one I’ll call the ‘Donnghal Effect.’
Still, it’s better than just being nervous.
Which I am.
Very.
This is the first time we’ll be out in public and, to be honest, I almost wish we’d stayed back at the apartment. That kitchen counter and I have very fond memories and I’d have appreciated being bent over it and fucked into oblivion.
Instead, I’m here, wearing a suit that’ll probably get shredded in the gossip rags for being inappropriate attire at an event like this, but it doesn’t make me feel as if I’m selling out.
I hate dresses and skirts. Hate girly shit. It’s just not me. This was the outfit I was supposed to wear to the Christmas formal event at my college last year but I didn’t get the chance—I’ve never been so happy to get the flu in my life.
With my nerves at an all-time high, that I feel authentic in my skin as well as horny is a good sign, I think.
It’s a reminder of why I’m even going through with any of this.
The ‘Donnghal Effect.’
And man, it packs a punch.
When we get out of the car, I know I’m not the only one in the throes of experiencing it.
How the reporters swoon as we hover for photos and they beckon him nearer for interviews says it all. But, that’s when he proves he can still surprise me.
One of the reporters from the sports networks calls out, “Liam, can we get a photo alone?”
I immediately start to move aside, letting go of my hold on his waist to slip away.
Liam, however, shakes his head and casts an easy smile at the blonde chick behind the microphone.
His hand digs into my hip, where it’s been clamped since we alighted from the car, and he whispers in my ear, “We’re in this together, Gracie.”
I knew Liam had the ability to steal my breath, but this? This goes so much deeper.
All the cameras, the intensity of the flashes, the general body heat from so many people being in such confines—it’s a lot. More than I’m used to. More, in fact, than I’ve ever given my brothers credit for handling.
Having never been in the spotlight before, this is my first time and it’s overwhelming.
But his words sink into me.
He means them, and that means I can believe in them.
So, I settle into his side but I look up at him and gift him with a smile. Not a nervous one. Not one that’s loaded with anxiety. A private one.
He presses a kiss to my lips.
I can feel the flashes from a hundred cameras, but I don’t mind that this kiss will be in the papers tomorrow or that my mom will be calling to yell at me about it.
I just revel in this moment.
Because it’s Liam and he makes me feel crazy and he kisses me like there’s nothing more important to him in the world than us reaffirming our connection to one another.
“How will you respond to fans who say you lost against Tampa Bay and broke the Stars’ winning streak because of your new relationship, Liam?”
That has me tensing up, but Liam acts as if he didn’t hear the reporter at all.
When he pushes his forehead to mine, he murmurs, “You doing okay, bébé?”
Heat immediately flashes through me, erasing the bitter chill that came from the reporter’s bitchy question.
“No fair,” I mumble.
His grin is wicked. “What isn’t fair?”
“Bringing out the French.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Payback’s a bitch.”
That wicked grin widens, turning devious and so much hotter, as he agrees, “It is when you dole it out.”
“So long as you’re aware you’re walking on thin ice.”
“I’m a pro ice walker, Gracie. Literally a part of my job description.”
His cockiness should be annoying but, actually, it’s pretty adorable. Though I’d never admit that to him. Not under pain of death.
Still, our short conversation gives me the buzz I didn’t know I needed to get through the pre-party bullshit. Once we’re inside, it’s all ass-licking and cheek kisses. Mwah-mwah nonsense isn’t my thing.
Liam’s ease in this situation doesn’t come as much of a surprise seeing as this has been his life for years, but later, when we’re in the car and he slumps back in his seat, I know how much this evening has drained him.
For months, Kara, his publicist, has been complaining about how few parties he attends, trying to encourage me to push him, but I never have because hockey is the priority, not parties. Still, now, I’m glad I haven’t.
This is why he’s been a hermit when he wasn’t before.
The charade is too much for him.
For whatever reason, that makes me like him a little bit more than I already do.
It also means that Kara’s job got that much harder because to get him to attend, she’ll have to go through me.
And that’s a feat not even Kow can manage.
