Page 14

As the committee moves on, Piper turns to me, brown eyes wide. "That was perfect. How did you know exactly what to say?"

"I didn't," I admit. "I just said what I actually think."

She studies me for a moment. "You surprise me sometimes, Sullivan."

"Good surprised or bad surprised?"

"Just... surprised." She glances toward the dance floor, where couples sway to a slow jazz number. "We should probably dance. For the experiment. To observe physical coordination and non-verbal cues."

"For science.”

I nod, taking her hand and leading her toward the music.

The dance floor is dimly lit, the overhead lights replaced by the soft glow of string lights and artificial stars projected onto the ceiling.

I place one hand gently at Piper's waist, taking her other hand in mine as she rests her palm on my shoulder.

"This feels suspiciously like my junior prom," I comment as we begin to move to the music.

"Did you wear a hockey jersey to that too?" she teases.

"Actually, I wore a powder blue tux. With ruffles."

"Please tell me there are photos."

"Absolutely not. I burned them all in a sacred ritual."

She laughs, the sound warm, and I find myself pulling her slightly closer.

"So," I say, unable to help myself, "am I living up to the experimental parameters?"

"Your physical proximity cues are adequately convincing," she replies, her voice softer than usual. “Your dancing technique could use some refinement."

"Are you saying I can't dance, Thompson?"

"I'm saying your natural habitat involves ice skates and body checking."

"I can be gentle," I murmur, my thumb tracing a small circle where it rests at her waist.

Her breath catches —so soft I almost don’t hear it. "I've seen no empirical evidence of that claim."

"Maybe you haven't been conducting the right experiments."

Her eyes meet mine, the teasing atmosphere shifting into something crackling—something electric.

We're still moving to the music, but the space between us has shrunk, her body now flush against mine.

My hand splays wider against her back, feeling the heat of her soft skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Liam," she whispers, and my name on her lips sounds different somehow.

Not “Sullivan.” Not “jock.”

Just Liam.

"Yeah?"

"I think we should?—"

"Piper! There you are!"

We spring apart as Abigail appears, eyes bright that dims slightly when she registers the moment she's interrupted.

"Sorry," she winces. "But Professor Bennett is looking for you. Something about introducing you to the dean?"

Piper nods. “Yes, I—Of course. I'll be right there." She turns to me, composure mostly restored. "I should?—"

"Go," I finish. “Fellowship stuff. I get it."

"You don't mind?"

"I'll get us drinks.” I grin. “Go be brilliant."

She squeezes my hand briefly before following Abigail, leaving me alone on the dance floor with the phantom feeling of her body against mine and a dangerous sense of wanting more.

Two hours later, the formal begins winding down.

Piper has made her rounds, impressed all the right people, and collected enough business cards to start a small stationery store.

Throughout it all, we've maintained our couple charade flawlessly.

Exchanging glances across the room. Finding each other for brief check-ins.

Standing close enough that our hands occasionally brush in ways that send electricity up my arm.

"Ready to head out?" I ask as she stifles a yawn behind her hand.

"Definitely," she admits. "These heels are weapons of mass destruction on my feet."

As we step outside, the night greets us with an unexpected downpour—the gentle snowfall from earlier now transformed into freezing December rain.

"Perfect," Piper groans, looking up at the torrent. "I didn't bring an umbrella."

"The parking garage is three blocks away," I note, already shrugging out of my blazer. "Here."

Before she can protest, I drape the jacket over her head and shoulders.

"That's not going to help much," she points out, but clutches it nonetheless.

"We could make a run for it?"

She looks down at her heels. "In these? I'd break an ankle."

"Or…we could wait it out in there."

I nod toward the small campus art gallery adjacent to the Great Hall, its lights still on despite the late hour.

We dash across the short distance, arriving at the gallery entrance breathless and already half-soaked.

The door opens to my push, revealing an empty, warmly lit space filled with student artwork.

"Are we allowed to be in here?" Piper asks, looking around.

"Technically, it's open until midnight for finals week," I explain. "Wren mentioned it earlier—something about giving art students extra time to study the exhibitions."

Piper removes my blazer from her head, revealing damp chestnut hair that curls more wildly around her face.

Chunky raindrops decorate her long eyelashes, carving wet paths down her cheeks that I'm suddenly desperate to follow with my fingertips.

"You're soaked.” She reaches up to brush moisture from my shoulders.

“Worth it.” My eyes lock on her pretty face. “You okay?"

She nods, but shivers slightly, wrapping her damp arms around herself.

Without thinking, I pull her closer, rubbing my hands gently up and down her arms. "Better?"

Her cocoa-brown irises widen, growing soft and dark in the gallery's soft lighting. "Your jacket's probably ruined."

"I have others."

We stand like that, too close, my hands still on her arms, her face tilted up to mine, the only sound our slightly elevated breathing and the rain pounding against the windows.

"Piper…” I begin.

She shakes her head, each word now a whisper. “This wasn't in the experimental parameters.”

"No?"

Her head shakes again, bus she makes no move to step away. "We should probably record our observations while they're fresh. For the podcast."

"Right now?"

"Or..." Her gaze drops to my mouth. "We could try a different experiment."

I can barely think, barely move. Barely breathe. “What kind of experiment?"

"The kind with no data collection. No analysis. Just...Just feeling."

Something in me snaps at her words.

My hands move from her arms to frame her face, tilting it gently upward as I lower my mouth to hers.

Unlike our first tentative kiss at the café, this one ignites immediately.

Her lips part under mine, warm and eager, her hands fisting in my damp shirt to pull me closer.

I back her slowly against the nearest wall, pinning her with my body as the kiss deepens, diving into an eroticism that has my entire body humming.

"This is a terrible idea," she gasps against my mouth, even as her fingers weave into my hair.

"The worst," I agree, trailing kisses down her neck. "Absolutely no scientific validity whatsoever."

She laughs breathlessly, the sound transforming into a soft moan as my mouth closes at a tender spot near her collarbone. “We’re asking for trouble."

"Definitely," I murmur, though my hands are already skimming down her sides, mapping the curves of her body through the damp fabric of her dress.

“My brother will kill you," she reminds me, even as she arches into my touch.

"Worth it," I repeat, capturing her mouth again.

Her fingers work at my shirt buttons, slipping inside to trace fire across my chest.

I respond by nudging the thin strap of her dress off one shoulder, pressing kisses to the newly exposed skin.

"Not here," she manages, pulling back slightly despite the desire clouding her eyes. "Not like this."

I force myself to take a step back, breathing hard. "You're right. I'm sorry, I got carried away?—"

"My apartment.” She straightens her dress with trembling hands. "Abigail's staying at her boyfriend's tonight."

For a moment, I just stare at her, processing the implication.

"Unless you don't want to," she adds. “I don’t know what I was?—“

"I want to," I inhale deeply, heart pounding. “God, Piper, I've wanted to since?—"

"Since when?"

"Since you ambushed me into being your co-host," I admit with a laugh. "Even when I wanted to strangle you, I also kind of wanted to kiss you."

She smiles. "That's not very scientifically sound."

"I'm discovering I don't particularly care about scientific soundness right now," I tell her, tugging her close again. "But I care about doing this right. Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, she rises on her tiptoes and presses a soft, deliberate kiss to my lips.

"Let's go," she answers.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a gentle drizzle. I take her hand, lacing our fingers together as we hurry toward the parking garage.

No pretense now. No experimental parameters.

Or podcast research.

Just us…

Piper and Liam.

Headed somewhere neither of us planned to go but suddenly can't imagine avoiding.

Derek is going to murder me.

But as Piper looks up at me with those intelligent eyes, hair curling wildly from the rain, lips swollen from my kisses, I realize some things are worth the risk.

Even if my best friend kills me tomorrow, tonight I'll be with the most fascinating, infuriating, brilliant woman I've ever met.

And I can't think of a better way to go.