Page 20 of The Reality of Wanting Him (Love Without Labels #1)

LIAM

Producer: What’s the best date you’ve ever been on?

Liam: I’m more of a slow evening at home kind of person. I’d rather just stay in, cook together, talk. Something simple where it feels like we’re actually getting to know each other.

B lake really does seem completely unaffected by the idea of being with a man, and honestly, it’s confusing as fuck.

It’s like none of this even fazes him. Like waking up next to me, sharing a space, living with a guy he thought was a woman this whole time, is just another normal day.

He passed right out last night too. No late-night tossing and turning, contemplating if he really wanted to do this.

He just accepted it without barely a moment of reflection or hesitation.

Maybe that’s just who he is—completely confident that everything will always work out for him. It’s messing with my head.

Him coming into the bathroom while I’m showering so he can pee and brush his teeth? Not considerate. But then thanking me for making breakfast and getting our coffees and plates? That definitely is.

I’m trying to put all the pieces together from all our dates and it just doesn’t add up. I don’t know what to think about him.

Then there’s the thing I’ve been trying to get out of my head since this morning, but can’t seem to stop thinking about.

He was hard this morning when I woke up.

I was lying there trying to figure out how to escape from his hold without waking him so he wouldn’t realize how he’d wrapped himself around me in his sleep.

But before I could figure it out, he was awake, and he didn’t even care.

At all . I was expecting him to finally have some sort of sexual identity crisis realizing his hard dick was rubbing against me, but Blake wasn’t even remotely panicked. He was even excited about it.

I don’t know what to make of him. Every time I think I have him figured out, he surprises me again. It’s like, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get a read on him, but I can’t help but think the way he’s handled his apparent sexual awakening is… sweet? Endearing?

Which just makes this harder. I’m not sure how to describe him, and I hate that I’m spending this much time thinking about a potential relationship with him when this will probably be over before it really begins anyway.

“So,” I start, trying to stop the loop my mind is on. “You mentioned football and locker rooms last night. Is there anything you didn’t tell me when we were blind dating that you want to tell me now?”

He seems to consider it for a moment before nodding his head. “I think there are two things, really. One likely isn’t a surprise, though, since you’ve made a comment already.”

Okay, that has my curiosity piqued.

“The first thing is that I do come from money, but my parents are kind of sick of my shit, so we’ll see if I still have it by the end of this.

” He laughs. Maybe his parents don’t approve of him on this show.

“The other is that I don’t have a job. I’ve actually never had a real job.

It’s why I help my mom with her charity work.

It was a compromise of sorts. At least, initially. I really do like it now.”

He never mentioned a job when we were talking and I didn’t want to ask in case it was a touchy subject, but I guess that makes sense. No one’s mom does charity work seemingly full-time unless they’re rich. It’s not a luxury the working class has.

Blake sighs. “I know how it sounds.”

“Do you?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Yeah, I do. Trust fund baby, parents cutting me off, no real ambition, the whole stereotype. I get it.”

I cross my arms. “And is it wrong?”

Blake shrugs. “Not really. But to be fair, I did have a plan. It just… didn’t work out.”

“Let me guess, something with football?”

Blake rubs the back of his neck, he’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yep. I got drafted to the NFL, thought I was set, and then… well. I wasn’t.”

I just look at him, unsure what to say. I didn’t realize you could be drafted and not actually play in the NFL, but that just goes to show how little I know about sports.

He shrugs then continues. “It never went anywhere. Didn’t even make it through training camp. I thought it was my entire future, and then it was nothing.”

I give him a nod and think about what he just said. “So, what, you played football for a while, it didn’t work out, and then you just… didn’t try anything else?”

He doesn’t react right away, but I can see him lick his lips before he swallows and looks up at me.

He finally exhales. “Uh, yeah. It’s kind of embarrassing when you put it that way.

I was pretty lost for a while until I got Lucky.

She keeps me busy and a lot of my friends were in similar situations—not needing to work—so I didn’t think much of it until my parents called me out.

The last year and a half has really given me a lot of new awareness. ”

At least he acknowledges it. It explains why he said he didn’t care about the money from the show.

It won’t do anything to change his life, but it’d sure as hell change mine .

There have been moments since we met where I think I could really like him.

Moments when he’s funny, or thoughtful, and he actually seems like a real person with depth.

And then there are moments like this, where I’m just left staring at him, wondering what the hell I got myself into.

There are layers to everyone, him included .

So, instead of making him feel worse, I decide to lighten things up and switch the conversation back to the here and now.

“Well, since I cooked, do you think you can handle the dishes? Can’t burn those,” I tease.

Blake perks up instantly, like the emotional moment never even happened. “You’re assigning me chores now? Damn, so bossy. At least take me out to dinner first.”

I shake my head, pushing my plate forward. “You’re about to eat my cooking every day. That’s better than paying someone else to cook for us.”

“Is it?” he questions, but his tone is still teasing. “Fine. Since you asked so nicely, I guess I can grace you with my dishwashing skills.”

Except, I quickly learn he does not have dishwashing skills.

After watching what’s unfolding in the sink, I don’t know if Blake has ever washed a dish in his life.

He turned the water on full blast, grabbed a plate, and just sort of waved it under the water like that’s enough.

He hasn’t even reached for the soap or the brush, and then he just sets it on the counter.

“What are you doing?” I can’t take this anymore. As amusing as he is, I have to say something.

“Uh, washing the dishes?” he responds with a smile, but his tone makes it clear he’s confused about why I’m asking .

“Well, if you’re going to wash the dishes, you need to actually wash the dishes. That means getting soap on the sponge and scrubbing them clean,” I explain. I know what I’m about to ask is likely condescending, but I need to know . “Blake, uh, have you ever washed dishes before?”

He scoffs. “Duh. Of course I’ve washed dishes before.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” I laugh and shake my head. “But this is painful to watch.” There’s no way he’s ever washed a dish properly . I’m sure he had a housekeeper or someone come in behind him and rewash them all without him knowing. It’s kind of cute, really.

“Then don’t watch.” He tosses me a wink before going back to not washing the dishes, and I can’t help but laugh again.

I should be annoyed, but the way he’s standing there, sleeves pushed up, abs peeking out where his too tight shirt rides up? I can’t look away, and I hate myself a little for even noticing. But damn, he looks good. What am I supposed to do? Not look?

Ignoring my intuition, I come up right behind him and say, “I’m taking over. There’s no use when I'll have to rewash everything anyway at this rate.”

My shoulder is brushing against his, and I feel him lean in a little when I reach around him for the sponge, before he steps aside, motioning toward the sink. “Be my guest. But if you wanted to get all handsy with me, you could’ve just said so.”

I go still for half a second, dropping the sponge into the sink as I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. What the actual hell is happening right now?

This man—this allegedly-self-proclaimed-straight-man-as-of-yesterday —is flirting with me. Intentionally flirting with me, after being excited about apparently getting hard thinking about me this morning. No hesitation, no awkward backpedaling. He’s just in it like he said.

I’m moving before I really make a conscious decision, and apparently the only thing my brain can think of in this moment is to take the now wet and soapy sponge and throw it at him.

It hits him square in the chest when he doesn’t move out of the way in time.

His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open as he stares at me in shock.

I’m a little surprised myself, I don’t know why I even did that, but I clearly did.

“Oh, you little—” He doesn’t finish, and I see why a second too late to react. He lunges for the sink hose, grinning like crazy, and squeezes the handle as he aims it at me. Cold water sprays me right in the face, and Blake absolutely loses it laughing.

“You asshole!” I cry, laughing too.

He drops the sprayer like it’s on fire and starts running through the apartment, still laughing his ass off. When I catch up to him, I don’t think as I grab his wrist and pull him back into me. We’re chest to chest as we crash into each other, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

We’re both breathless from laughing. Water is dripping down my hair and face, and my fingers are still curled around his wrist. I can feel the rapid flutter of his heartbeat in my grip as his breath ghosts across my face.

His hazel gaze bounces between my eyes, and I get distracted by all of the colors I hadn’t noticed in his before this moment. Are they more brown or green?

I have no idea how long we’ve been standing here staring at each other, chests heaving, when Blake ruins it by opening his mouth. “I don’t think you know how to wash the dishes either.”

Jesus. His comment pulls me out of whatever trance I was just in.

I shake my head and let go of his wrist, stepping back with a shaky laugh.

I don’t know what else to do. I’m definitely way too turned on to think properly, so I point toward the sink.

“Wash the dishes, Blake. With soap and a sponge this time.”

Then, before he can say anything else, I turn on my heel and walk away.

Because what the fuck was that ?

Of course, Blake has to get in the last word.

He calls out, “Yes, sir!” with so much innuendo in it that I almost turn around to see if his expression is all teasing or if he might actually be into the idea of me bossing him around.

But I stay strong in my resolve and continue into the safety of the bedroom.

Our bedroom. Where we share a bed. Fuck, this isn’t helping.

I take out my phone, because I desperately need a distraction, and send a text to JR.

LM:

I think I’m losing my mind.

JR:

Dramatic much? What happened now?

LM:

He called me ‘sir’ with the filthiest fucking tone I’ve ever heard in my life and I swear we almost kissed.

JR:

What did you do?

LM:

I got the hell out of there before I did something stupid. I don’t want to let myself fall for him if this is all one big experiment or something he’s doing to save face in front of the cameras.

JR:

We really ended up in weird situations, huh? Wouldn’t have called it for either of us two days ago.

LM:

You could say that again.