Page 20 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

“When’s that?”

“May. Kelowna is actually hosting it this year. At Northridge.” She doesn’t specify the timing further, although she knows the dates by heart. It’s the same weekend as her team’s final soccer tournament. And she knows exactly which of those she would choose to attend, but that’s a later problem.

“Maybe I should come watch. I’ve been wondering how it works,” Liam says. “For some reason I just picture arguing over a table.”

TJ snickers. “It’s not apolitician’sdebate. There’s rules. Like, in Cross-Examination Style, you can’t interrupt people’s speeches, but you have a whole two minutes at the end just to grill them. I love that one.” It’s so deliciously bloody. Too bad it’s mostly used for novice and junior categories. “Then there’s Canadian National Style, which lets you stand up in the middle of people’s speeches and ask questions. They get to decide whether theyletyou ask, but itismore of an immediate clash. They say one thing, you stand up and question it right away, watch them put together an answer on the spot. It’s fun.”

Liam sets his bag of M&M’s down, nodding along, but his eyes have darkened, and she suspects he’s not really listening anymore.

“Then there’s British Parliamentary Style,” she blabs, because his proximity is suddenly making her nervous. “We don’t do that one, though. It’s more of a university-level debate thing. I did watch this taping of a debate at World’s—”

He cuts her off by kissing her.

She relaxes almost at once. Why was she even nervous? She doesn’t remember, not when his arms wrap around her waist almost reverently; she leans into his body, running a hand through his hair. He tastes like icing and candy. She wantsmore.

If only the hardwood floor wasn’t torturing her knees. But he seems to sense her discomfort, because he pulls her flush against him. “Hold on,” he murmurs, and then rises in one fluid motion. She squeaks in surprise, but he just deposits her on the couch and crawls over her. His hands drift under her sweater and then up. “This okay?”

TJ responds by pulling her sweater off. She gets drunk on the look in his eyes when he takes her in, mint satin bra and all. “See something you like?”

Liam’s voice is a low growl. “Yeah. Everything.”

He reaches down to trace the button of her jeans, popping it open. TJ’s breath hitches as he drags the zipper down. The world slows and focuses all into one point—that is, his hand, dipping into—

His fingers still.

“What?” TJ says breathlessly.

“Nothing.” He pauses. “I just... thought you, um, were getting this done.”

Her heart drops. The world rushes back. And with it, the problem that she had somehow, momentarily, forgotten.

She props herself up on her elbows, her limbs suddenly feeling clumsy and awkward. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she says in a small voice.

His eyebrows rise. “Didn’t you say you were making an appointment?”

Her heart drops further. “I cancelled it.”

“What? Why?”

His tone is sharp suddenly. It snaps her out of her strange shyness. She narrows her eyes. “Why?” she repeats. “Why does it matter? Does a little hair scare you?”

He’s quick to reply. “No. I just—uh, didn’t expect this much.” He clears his throat. “We could always do this later, if you want.”

TJ’s face burns as the full impact of his words hits her. Her own boyfriend can’t bear to have sex with her if she has a full bush. He can hardly even look at her.

After the crappy week she’s had, it’s the last straw.

She shoves his hands away and sits up. “I’m going home.”

He pales and reaches for her. She jerks away and yanks her sweater back over her head. It takes her a few tries, but eventually she gets it on and stands.

“TJ,” Liam sighs, “don’t be like this—”

She can hardly see through her blurred vision long enough to rebutton her jeans. “Go to hell, Liam.” She practically runs to the closet to get her coat.

He follows. “I’m sorry, okay? I just meant if you weren’t ready for tonight then you could’ve said so!” He sounds upset. “Don’t leave. How are you even going to get home?”

She whirls around at the door. “Don’t follow me!” She shouts it, pretty much, but her voice catches, so the effect is probably nil.