Page 31 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Addie

I’m in a daze as I walk up the Preston driveway the following day.

One of those dream-like dazes that comes in the aftermath of experiencing something extraordinary.

Something once in a lifetime. And I’m not saying that being with Liam Preston is some life-altering event, but I’m also not saying it isn’t.

After we finished showering together and cut off the water, we heard Lincoln talking.

To be honest, being as in-the-moment as we were, I think we both forgot that Lincoln was there for most of our…

“ intimate engagement.” Liam flooded me with apologies for having to leave me right away, but he had to deal with whatever shitstorm was brewing.

I told him I understood, even though I didn’t.

Not really . He promised he’d tell me later and that he’d get Linc out of the cabin so I could get back to work.

He also told me to let Roman know not to pick me up so we could spend the afternoon and evening together.

Liam got back to the cabin a few hours later, looking a lot worse than he did when he left, and—as promised—he gave me the details of the shitstorm.

The person he was on the phone to when I got out of the shower the first time was Knox, his boxing trainer—the man we’d just spent an hour and a half with. Liam had fired him on that call for no other reason than… he didn’t like the way Knox looked at me. Or the way he touched me.

I didn’t think he looked or touched me any type of way, but then again, I was too focused on trying not to look like an absolute fool in front of Liam.

I paid approximately zero attention to the forty-year-old man showing me how to move.

When I told Liam that, he gave me very detailed examples, and…

I don’t know. Maybe he had a right to be pissed.

Either way, Knox didn’t like what happened, so like most disgruntled humans in today’s society, he took to social media.

Cue the shitstorm. Cue the Preston Twins PR rep that Lincoln was on the phone to when I got out of the shower the second time.

Cue the hours it took for Liam to calm Lincoln down.

Cue a phone call to some tech billionaire to wipe the Internet of negative press.

And, finally, cue my curiosity for exactly how famous Liam and Lincoln actually are.

I knew their YouTube channel had millions of followers.

I knew they had fans.

I knew they made enough money to build and fit out a state-of-the-art gym.

But… maybe I don’t know enough? Because to me, they’re just two brothers who grew up in the same small town I did.

After Liam explained the Knox situation, we picked up some food and went back to the cabin to eat.

He asked me to pick a movie to watch while we ate, but I wasn’t really a movie person, so I let him decide.

He chose a documentary about how ancient Egyptians worshiped onions—something about how their layers mirrored the layers of the afterlife.

I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention myself, too focused on how much attention Liam was giving it.

He seemed captivated by the documentary. Completely engrossed by it.

“It’s a boy thing,” is all he said when I questioned him about it. Which didn’t really explain anything, but I guess I’ll take his word for it.

He drove me home after that, and once we were parked outside Roman’s apartment, we just…

sat in his minivan. We didn’t do anything more physically.

We didn’t make out. We didn’t even kiss, and yet…

neither of us wanted the night to end. So we got out and went for a walk.

He took my hand, linked our fingers, and I held on to his arm, and we talked .

A lot.

He asked about my life back home. About my classes, and previous jobs, and I was an open book. Then he asked about other foster kids who have come and gone, and I told him about the kids, but out of respect, I leave out the details of their circumstances.

Then I asked him about his work, and it was, like…

like watching him remove each layer of flesh in real time.

I felt like the luckiest person on earth, because I got to see the bones of Liam Preston.

He was so open about it all that I had to sit back in wonder at the change in him since we first met.

Or, met again, I should say. He told me he loves creating content, coming up with ideas, and the creative side of it all.

He doesn’t even mind the research and analytics.

But he loathes everything else. He never wanted to become so big that he needed all these extra people.

He never wanted the pressure, or the constant fear of letting a single person down, or worse—being canceled over something he had no idea about.

He’s grateful Linc is opposite to him in that way, so that he can handle all the things he hates, but still, in a way, he wishes he could go back in time and just be “two punk kids filming dumb shit” just for the fun of being two punk kids filming dumb shit.

He also mentioned that he can only share videos after he edits them, because it means he gets to pick and choose how the world sees him.

He’s never been confident enough to go live , just in case he does something he deems stupid that will spike his anxiety, keep him up at night with thoughts of throwing in the towel.

It’s incredibly sad in a way—the amount of pressure he puts on himself, but at least he acknowledges it and, going by the way he spoke about it, those insecurities are something he hopes to overcome, and soon.

We walked and talked until the sun went down, doing more laps of the block than I could count. And when it was time to say goodnight, Liam walked me to my door, kissed my cheek, and waited until I was safely inside.

It was perfect.

The best date I’d ever been on, even if it wasn’t a date at all.

Now, I’m standing in the doorway of Liam’s bedroom, smiling as I watch him sleep… like an absolute fucking creep of a sociopath.

He looks so cute and peaceful, I almost feel bad for disturbing him.

Almost.

Clearly, my need to be near him outweighs that thought, because I carefully lift the covers and slide in beside him, cozying into the crook of his arm. And even though I just escaped the blistering heat outside, Liam’s sleep warmth is something else. Something more.

Still flat on his back with his eyes closed, his hand immediately finds the curve of my hip, and he smiles to one side—all carefree and drowsy. “Mmm, I could get used to this.”

Before I can respond, he’s up and out of the bed, his eyes barely open as he stumbles his way to the bathroom. A moment passes before the toilet flushes, then the water runs, and then the distinct sound of brushing teeth.

He returns a couple of minutes later and gets under the covers again. Only this time, he’s on his side, facing me, one hand tucked beneath him. “Mornin’” he says, his voice all deep and scratchy from sleep.

“Morning.”

He moves in, his nose brushing mine. “Fuck,” he murmurs, shifting until he’s on top of me, his legs between mine, his weight held up by his forearms. “Mornin’”

I giggle. “You said that already.”

“I did?”

I tap his temple. “You’re still half-asleep.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“I don’t know. Am I naked?”

His bleary blue eyes trail down the length of me, then right back up. “Not yet,” he murmurs, right before pressing his erection against my core. “So…” he starts.

“So…” I repeat.

“Are you going to kiss me again or leave me hanging?”

“Um…” I narrow my eyes at him. “ You kissed me.”

“Absolute blatant lie.”

“No, you—” His mouth meets mine, blocking my words, my breaths, my thoughts…

His kiss is soft—toothpaste minty, and his lips are warm as they play with mine, and then his tongue…

When he finally pulls away, I keep my eyes closed, remember every moment. “God, Addie. I was up all night just thinking about doing that again.”

I finally open my eyes. “Me too.”

“Christ,” he says, pulling away and rolling to his side. He immediately adjusts himself, then glances sideways at me. “Tell me more about your foster parents.”

I laugh once. “That’s a sharp turn in the complete opposite direction.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But I need a distraction from”—his gaze drops to the bulge tenting his boxer shorts—“this.” He gets up, standing at the side of the bed, hands covering his erection as he looks down at me. “In fact, we should set some rules.”

I’m still drunk on desire when I ask, “Rules?”

He nods. “Boundaries.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds lame, but okay.”

He chuckles at that, but continues, “Rule one: No lying in bed during work hours.” He offers me his hand, and I reluctantly take it so he can pull me out of the bed. I wait until he’s dressed and leave the bedroom with him.

Ten minutes later, we’re on the couch, me on my back, him between my legs.

It’s the exact same position he forced us to abort, only now there’s less room, bringing us physically closer.

My fingers curl around his hair when he bites down on the collar of my shirt, tugging it lower to reveal my bra.

He licks a line at the top of my bra, heating my flesh, and I jerk my hips in response.

“Jesus, Liam,” I whisper, then laugh suddenly.

He stops, his eyes lifting to mine, eyebrows raised in question.

“How’s that no bed deal going for ya?” I crack.

He chuckles, dropping his head between my breasts. “We’re never getting any work done, are we?” Then he pulls all the way back, sitting sideways on the opposite side of the couch.

I curse my stupid smart-ass mouth for mentioning it at all, because now I’d give anything to go back to two seconds ago, and I miss him—even when he’s right here.

I sit up, matching his position as I watch him shove his hand down his shorts, adjusting himself for the umpteenth time. “Must suck to be a boy.”

His head throws back with his laughter. “I never had this problem until you came along.”