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  Stars peppered the night sky and a thumbnail moon peeked from behind the clouds when I got to the address he provided. The perfectly restored Queen Anne wasn’t the biggest house on the block, but it was close. I hesitated for a moment, tugging at my sweater, before I finally found the courage to ring the doorbell.

  A petite redhead threw open the door and grabbed my hands. The hair around her temples was graying, which, other than a few light lines around her eyes, was the only indication of her age. “You must be Jillian. Liam is expecting you.”

  “Vivian!” Liam’s voice called from somewhere in the depths of the house.

  “He’s worried I’ll embarrass him.” Vivian draped an arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hall. The house was tastefully decorated with expensive antiques and Persian rugs, and I felt more out of place than ever as I treaded on them in my worn-out TOMS. “But I’ve promised to stay out of your hair. I’m just thrilled he’s brought a girl over. He’s quite the catch, don’t you think?”

  I managed not to grimace at the thought. “Liam and I are class partners.”

  “Oh, I know. He told me, but I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

  I suddenly wished a large sinkhole would open in the floor and suck me through it. How much had Liam told this woman about our relationship? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but it was clear that she viewed me as a romantic possibility.

  “You two sound…close,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Are you related?”

  “Heavens no! My husband helped to arrange Liam’s year in the States. He’s a biology professor at Olympic State. Dr. Kemp?” She waited as if expecting me to know the name.

  “I haven’t taken many science classes,” I admitted.

  “Neither did I,” Vivian whispered, as though we were part of some conspiracy. “I’m more artsy.” She pointed to a large canvas hanging on the wall. I recognized the sweeping expanse of Olympic Bay carefully captured in soft brushstrokes.

  “It’s lovely,” I said as she steered me out of the hall and into the kitchen. Liam was busily stirring a pot over the stove, but he looked up and shot me a grin.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I am making you dinner,” he said.

  “Why?” I couldn’t contain the question even though it came out more rudely than I had intended.

  Vivian, perhaps sensing the tension in the air between Liam and I, clutched my hand one last time, disappearing into the hallway with a “it was so nice to meet you” before I could respond.

  “As as I see it, cooking dinner for a woman upends gender expectations. But cooking dinner for you is the perfect way to tend to your needs,” he said, holding up a spoon.

  I slurped the sauce off it cautiously, nodding my approval, even though I didn’t see how this met my needs at all. I needed to write a paper, not go on a date, and cooking dinner for me felt very much like a date. “I’m not sure I follow your logic.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said with a shrug. “I’m the one who has to write the paper.”

  He had a point, but that didn’t help me with my paper. How was I supposed to get material for my own paper with Liam babying me all night? I watched as he pulled bread from the oven and considered what he needed from me at the moment. Markson’s whole point for this assignment was to force me to consider what the other person needed based on what I knew about him.

  I thought back to the first activity we did together. Liam came from a large family, full of women, and apparently he spent a lot of time in the kitchen.

  “How can I help you?” I asked him, seizing on the most productive way to deal with the situation.

  “You can set the table,” he suggested.

  As he finished cooking the pasta, I opened cabinets and drawers looking for plates and utensils. It was a relief that he hadn’t gone over-the-top and presented me with a fancy, laid out dinner. There was something easy and natural about being in the kitchen with him like this. We moved like clockwork around each other as I pulled forks from the drawer, and he grabbed a salad from the fridge. When we sat down a few minutes later, I dug into the pasta, surprised by how well-cooked it was. It seemed Liam’s talents were not confined to waffle-making.

  “This is really good,” I said as I tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up some of the sauce with it.

  “You sound surprised.” Liam poured wine into two glasses and brought them over to us.

  “I thought the waffles might be a hat trick,” I said. “You know, that one thing you can do to impress girls.”

  Liam smirked as he took a sip of wine. “I’d like to think I have many ways to impress girls.”

  He leaned back in his chair, watching me eat, with more than casual interest. Meanwhile, I tried to ignore the strip of exposed skin right over his stomach where his fitted shirt had ridden up.

  “So Vivian seems nice,” I said in an attempt to change the subject.

  “She’s great,” he said. “Housing cost almost prevented me from coming this year, but she and Dr. Kemp offered to let me stay here. Their son started grad school this fall, so I think they like having me around. She was very chuffed that you were coming tonight.”

  “I’m an only child, and my parents wouldn’t even let me have sleepovers. I’m always surprised that there are people that like having me around,” I admitted, immediately wishing I could take it back. The confession made me even more vulnerable to him, and I didn’t like it.

  “Your parents sound like real pieces of work. I can’t even imagine my parents making me feel that way.”

  “Obviously, you have like twenty sisters, right?” It was one of the things I remembered from our earlier class assignment.

  “Five,” he said with a laugh. “But sometimes it feels like twenty.”

  “I hope you have more than one bathroom in your house.”

  “We have two. Why do you think I came to the States?” he asked, brushing his arm against mine as he reached for the garlic bread.

  The small gesture did funny things to my stomach, and I laid my fork down, not sure I could eat another bite.

  “Done?” he asked, his hand reaching out to grab my plate.

  “Yes. It was delicious, just as good as your waffles.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Liam stood and moved to the sink. He rinsed the plate and bent over the dishwasher, revealing his tight ass. I couldn’t look away even as Jess’s words flashed through my mind: Remember! A week!

  Except I wasn’t going to sleep with him. That would send him the wrong message, and between our conversations in class and tonight’s dinner, I was increasingly convinced that Liam was a relationship kind of guy. I stacked the rest of the dishes from the table and carried them to him in a bid to distract myself from staring at his ass any longer.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking them from me. “I got this.”

  “I’ll help,” I offered, but when I reached for a glass, it tumbled from my hand, shattering across the floor. I cursed and bent to start collecting the pieces.

  “Let me,” he said, retrieving a broom from the pantry.

  “I’m really sorry. I’m so clumsy.” I didn’t add that I wasn’t just a helpless clutz. I had a real reason for my clumsiness, but that was one thing I didn’t want to wind up in his paper.

  “It’s just a glass, Jillian. Sit down so you don’t get glass in your shoes.”

  I looked down at my TOMS and realized he had a point, so I watched as he swept up my accident. As soon as he was done, I jumped up and turned on the faucet, filling the sink with soapy water for the pots.

  “You don’t listen, do you?” he asked.

  I pointed to the pasta pot, and he passed it to me. “I don’t like feeling useless.”

  I left it at that, not bothering to explain that my body made me feel useless on a near daily basis. It was only going to get worse, too, so I might as well do as much as I could now before I became dependent on other people to do things for me.

  �
��You are practically writing this paper for me.” He moved next to me and took the washed pot from me to rinse.

  “Am I that full of neurosis?” I asked him, reaching for the next pan.

  “It’s not a psych class.”

  “It might as well be. We’re supposed to spend all of our time analyzing each other,” I pointed out.

  “And what have you discovered about me?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, unsure how to answer. Despite how worried I’d been about spending the night analyzing Liam, I hadn’t done much of it. I’d been too obsessed with what he was thinking about me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t come up with something. “You love your family, and you have a lot of respect for women.”

  “You got all that from spaghetti?” he asked, bumping his elbow into my side.

  “You cook and you help do dishes. I’m not sure my Dad knows how to turn on the dishwasher,” I said.

  “Perhaps I’m trying to lure an unsuspecting woman to my bed by pretending I like to do dishes,” he suggested.

  I splashed some water at him. “One: I don’t buy that. I think you like to do dishes. Two: I suspect your motives deeply, so your plan is foiled.”

  “Curses." Liam snapped his fingers. "It’s not such a bad thing to make something that’s dirty clean again.”

  I burst into laughter, barely able to stay upright.

  “I know, I know. That’s what she said.”

  “You sound like an evangelical minister,” I teased him when I could speak again.

  “I would do the sign of the cross, but, you know, blasphemy,” he said in a serious tone.

  “Are you Catholic?” The question jumped out of me.

  “I think you know better than to ask me that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not really religious.”

  “Me either.”

  We finished the dishes, and I lingered at the edge of the sink, unsure if I should stay or go.

  “Another glass of wine?” he offered.

  “No,” I said. It didn’t seem like a good idea to stay for another drink. “I should get home.”

  “Early class?”

  “Yeah.” It was a lie. I never scheduled classes before noon if I could help it, but sticking around with Liam would almost certainly result in Cassie winning the bet, especially if more wine was involved.

  “Can I walk you home?” he offered.

  “I’m fine. I’m only a block away.” Of course, Liam already knew that. I wanted to avoid the awkward parting at my door, and it wasn’t late enough to warrant an escort home.

  Liam followed me to the door, pausing as he opened it for me. “We should do this again sometime.”

  “I don’t think Markson will ask us to go on any more dates. I mean, do more projects,” I backpedalled. This was not a date, I reminded myself as I ducked through the open door.

  “That’s a shame. I like seeing you outside of class,” he said, stepping out behind me.

  The awkward pause came anyway, despite refusing his offer to walk me home. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. If I told him I liked seeing him outside of class too, he would certainly make an effort to make it happen again. But I had a bigger problem than that. I liked the idea of seeing him again. His dinner invitation tempted me too much. That’s why I had to get out of here.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I said, turning to face him.

  He hesitated and then reached out and ran a finger down my face. “I will make you dinner any time. Breakfast, if you’ll let me.”

  My breath caught in my throat as I struggled for something to say in response to this. I should put a stop to whatever was shifting between us right now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I murmured a good-bye and flew down the sidewalk, safely out of his reach. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Liam McAvoy any more. I only knew I should stay away from him, even as I realized that I didn’t want to.

  Chapter Ten

  The beat of the latest Macklemore single pumped through the bar. Sweaty bodies pushed around me, calling out drink orders, while I sipped on a gin and tonic. I searched the crowd for Jess or Cassie, not sure I would even see them when they finally made an appearance. It felt good to be at Garrett’s, like I’d rediscovered my equilibrium after a week of flirtations with Liam. He hadn’t asked me out again, but it was pretty clear from our interactions in Markson’s class that the offer stood. Here at Garrett’s, I was reminded of who I was: a girl who didn’t need a boy. It was fun to bring them home once in a while, but I wasn’t about to get into anything serious, especially with a guy on a temporary student visa.

  A hand grabbed my body, and I shoved the guy next to me.

  "Sorry," he slurred. "Lost my balance."

  "Try grabbing for the bar next time," I barked.

  So far I’d spotted no likely candidates for an adventure this evening. There was a table of frat guys looking at me, but I avoided eye contact with them. I’d learned early on in my college career that they were more trouble than they were worth. I’d slept with one guy freshman year only to have his entire fraternity label me as an easy target.

  I might be a little easy, but I wasn’t anyone’s target.

  The music slowed to a steady pulse and the deejay took the mic. "I hope you’ve had enough to drink because it’s karaoke time," he announced. "And whether you have the balls to get up here and sing, or you have to listen to all the American Idol wannabes, you’re going to need liquor."

  His proclamation elicited a chorus of shouts. I raised my glass.

  "Does this mean you’re going to sing?" a voice next to me asked.

  I didn’t bother to turn towards Liam. "I don’t sing."

  "Not enough booze?" he guessed.

  "There is not enough booze in the world to make me get up there and sing," I said, not taking my eyes of the swarm of co-eds.

  A girl named Stacey stumbled to the stage and grabbed the mic as the opening beats of a vintage No Doubt song began. Stacey could not sing, although she’d drank enough to think she could.

  "This is unfortunate," Liam said.

  I couldn’t help but giggle. Stacey sounded a bit like a drowned cat although she was gyrating her hips like she was Gwen Stefani.

  "This is why I don’t sing," I told him as I finally turned to face him.

  "Because you sound like someone is murdering you?" he asked.

  "Definitely."

  Liam grabbed my free hand. "Dance with me?"

  He tipped his head toward the dance floor and tugged me along, but I planted my feet in place and shook my head. "I’m not dancing to that."

  Was this his idea of being romantic?

  "Come on. It will be ironic," he pleaded. The bar’s pulsing lights landed in shadows and highlights on his smooth face, accenting his strong jawline. For a minute, I imagined licking it. But that would break rule #1: Don’t bring the same guy home twice. Of course, I was the only one still abiding by that code these days. Then there was the fact that we had committed to being friends and class partners. Nothing more.

  "I’m waiting for Jess," I told him. It was as good of an excuse as any to get rid of him.

  Just then the drunk guy from earlier careened into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. The guy caught me around the waist and gave me a boozy smile. "Hello, beautiful."

  I pulled at his hands, trying to pry him off me. Every year I spent more and more time peeling the lightweights off of me. But the guy just pressed closer to me. I think he was trying to dance with me, which felt a lot more like getting humped than any type of rhythm.

  "Let me go," I demanded in a firm voice.

  "Don’t be that way," he said. His mouth was so close to my face that I felt like I could get contact drunk.

  Liam appeared behind us and placed a hand on the guy’s shoulder. "The lady asked you to let her go."

  "She can tell me that," he said, shrugging out of Liam’s grip but not letting me go.

  "I did tell you that." I shimmied out of his grasp, bu
t he lunged for me.

  Liam caught him by the shirt, allowing me enough time to escape. "Walk away, mate."

  "Mate?" the guy said in a mocking voice. "Are you some sissy Brit?"

  Liam actually grinned at this when he shook his head. "I’m from Scotland, and no one has ever accused the Scots of being sissies."

  "Shouldn’t you be wearing a skirt?" the guy asked.

  I gulped. Liam might the most laid-back man I knew, but if he was feeling half as angry as I was, this wasn’t going to be good.

  As if to prove me right, Liam’s fist cracked into the guy’s face, knocking him flat on the floor. He never stood a chance against those biceps even if he hadn’t been drinking. Liam peered over him and leaned down while a group of gawkers gathered around us.

  "We call them kilts, and we wear them so we can let our enormous cocks breathe."

  I didn’t usually go in for the alpha male types, and maybe if I didn’t know Liam so well, I wouldn’t feel the need to screw him on the spot.

  An overweight bouncer I’d never seen before waddled over and grabbed Liam’s arm. "You’re out of here."

  "He was defending me," I said. I couldn’t let him get kicked out for helping me get rid of that piece of dirt.

  "You can leave, too, if you like," the bouncer growled at me.

  I balked. I’d been coming to Garrett’s for three years, since I was a wee thing with a fresh, new fake ID. They knew me here. I looked around for Frank but he was nowhere in sight. My sense of injustice flared in my chest, and I set my jaw, marching past the bouncer and out the door. The cool night air was my first reminder that I had no Plan B. Jess and Cassie would be looking for me. I didn’t have a ride home, and I was wearing completely impractical shoes. I shuffled down the sidewalk, hoping to prolong the onset of blisters from the mile walk back to my apartment as I texted Cassie and Jess that there was a change of plans.

  "Hey," Liam called, catching up to me. "You didn’t have to leave."