Catching Liam (Good Girls Don't)
Copyright © 2013 by Sophia Bleu All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 0-6158117-5-2
ISBN-13 9780615811758
Sophia Bleu
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2008 by
simonmcconico
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark of iPhones, MacBooks, and any other product mentioned in this fictional work.
prologue
Monday was boy catching night. A fact we’d established about two weeks into our freshman year. And this Monday was the first boy catching night of the season, following the start of fall classes at Olympic State, but tonight I was alone, putting on my best coral lipstick in a shade called Trouble, and silently cursing Cassie, who had already called to beg out, making up an excuse about a communications paper. I knew that meant Trevor wanted her to stay in. I’d written it off, because going boy catching with someone who was already caught was no fun. It still sucked though.
I pushed aside my disappointment as I wiggled my feet into my most impractical three-inch wedges. This was the closest I came to commitment—my shoes
.
Once they were chosen, I was married to them. It was one of our rules. We wouldn’t be those girls who walked home barefoot from the bar. Because
gross
. I’d seen enough freshman puking on the sidewalks and guys taking a leak in alleys near Pine Street to know exactly what I’d be walking through. It was still warm in coastal Washington, so I shrugged on a slip of a dress and silently dared Jessica to cancel on me.
Tonight was going to be epic—no matter what.
I had no idea how right I was.
chapter one
The scent of vanilla woke me up, which was pretty impossible because I owned nothing vanilla—no candles, no lotions, and certainly no extract. What junior does? Jess’s and my galley kitchen barely had room for more than a pot and some Dixie cups, and then there was the fact that I was in bed. Jessica had begged out early from our usual Monday night plans to meet up with Brett, which meant I should be alone in the apartment.
I rolled over to discover the other side of my bed mussed up from its previous occupant. I sifted through memories of last night until I found him. Cute, but otherwise nondescript, although that could be a result of too many drinks and too little thinking. Although as more flashes of last night’s activities replayed, I remembered that he had a truly stunning six-pack. If beer tasted like those abs looked, I would be a lifelong drinker.
An off-key rendition of a Mumford & Sons song further explained the smell wafting through my room.
This was not happening.
Struggling out of bed, I grabbed for a wadded t-shirt and pulled it over my head. I tied my hair into a messy pile on top of my head and decided to skip the bathroom and head straight to investigate the shenanigans occurring in my kitchen.
As I rounded the corner of our small two bedroom apartment, I froze in my tracks. Standing stark-ass naked in the middle of my kitchen was six feet of smoking hotness. I remembered he was cute, and he was. He had a good face. It wasn’t the kind that would grace any movie posters, but it was symmetrical with a well-defined nose and a strong jawline. His eyes were a sky-blue and his dark blondish hair was untidy enough to look a little sexy. But his body was another story, right down to his absolutely perfect, carved-by-the-gods-themselves calves.
“Hello, beautiful.” He had an accent. How had I forgotten that he had an accent? Mercifully, his name popped into my head as soon as he spoke. Liam. I guess that explained the accent. Even if I hadn’t been looking to catch a boy last night, I wouldn’t have been able to resist that trace of Scotland on his tongue.
I propped myself against the bar, leaning over to discover every dish in my kitchen strewn across the counter.
“That’s a meat tenderizer,” I said, reaching for the strange contraption my mother had
gifted
me for my apartment. It was one of my mom’s particular talents to give me all the home goods she’d never used and make me feel obliged to keep them.
“Sorry, I’ll clean up. But these will be worth it,” he said as he held up a mixing bowl.
“You know it’s common decency to just sneak out the door in the morning without destroying a girl’s entire house.”
“My mother raised me to be polite.”
“This is polite?” I asked him.
“Making a beautiful woman breakfast after a night of debauchery is the definition of polite.”
“You really don’t have to,” I started and then groaned as he pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. This was my fault, I really should know better than to bring a boy home to a full fridge. I made a mental note to make sure it was empty before next week.
“You should never make waffles without eggs,” he advised me as he cracked one into the bowl.
“Wait? We have a waffle-maker?” I asked. I looked around my kitchen, not entirely sure I was in the right house anymore. It seemed like my kitchen, down to the crocheted dish towels from my MeMa that skirted the hipster line well enough to look cool. It wasn’t until my gaze landed on a carton of Chiclets that I relaxed.
“Technically you have two waffle-makers,” he said, nodding to the stainless steel bowl in front of him, its gleaming surface reflecting back a tight set of abs.
“How very meta of you.” I desperately hoped he hadn’t caught me staring at his muscles on the mixing bowl. The quick cheep of a timer finally distracted me from them, er, him, but it wasn’t the sound of the oven going off.
Liam noticed at the same time. “I have no clue what that is. It’s been beeping for an hour or so.”
“Shit!” I yelled as I scrambled toward the cabinet doing math in my head. One hour late equals—
Liam’s arms interrupted my calculation and admittedly the sight of his very naked body distracted me as he pulled me to him. So what was another five minutes late at this point? Or ten, I thought, as his lips trailed along my throat. The scruff of his five o’clock shadow scratched softly against my skin, sending slight trembles of anticipation rippling along my neck. It was way too soon, yet way too long, before his mouth closed over mine, but when it did, I crushed my body into his, letting our hips lock together as eagerly as our lips. Liam’s hands stole down my back and gripped my hips for a moment. They were strong and hot against my bare flesh and then they slid down further, cupping my ass and lifting me off the ground. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he set me against the counter.
Right onto the meat tenderizer.
“Ouch!” I yelped, throwing myself against him and away from the offending gadget. He caught me, stumbling back against the kitchen pantry as we collapsed in laughter.
“Maybe the kitchen isn’t the best place for….” He wiggled his eyebrows—a clear invitation for a follow-up in the bedroom.
“The waffles,” I reminded him.
“What waffles?” a sleepy voice called from the hall. “You made waffles?”
Liam’s eyes widened and we both looked down at
all his glory
.
“Crap, Jess is home,” I said, pushing back against the giggle bubbling up my throat.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Liam said.
“Good, because you’re about to.” I tossed him one of MeMa’s dishtowels. “Here! Cover up.”
Liam covered himself, but given our very recent close encounter with the counter, it looked like he had pitched a small crocheted tent over his lower extremities.
“That’s not going to work,” he said, grinning at me. My stomach flip-flopped as he grabbed my hand and pulled me in front of him. Not three seconds later, Jess stumbled into the living room, rubbing her eyes which got large when they landed on me acting as Liam’s fig leaf.
“Good morning!” she said brightly.
“I thought you were at Brett’s,” I said, trying hard to not get distracted by the naked Scottish boy behind me or by thoughts of poor MeMa’s kitchen towel.
“Nope.” She smiled wickedly at us. I’d somehow managed to prevent a boy from sleeping over for years. My freshman year boyfriend was probably the last, and that had only gone on for two or three weeks. Clearly, Jess was enjoying this a bit too much, especially because I had recently walked in on her and Brett on the couch. They weren’t studying.
“I never heard you come in,” I said in a weak voice. She wasn’t going to be nice and excuse herself, which meant I was going to have to find a way to get her out of the room so Liam could get dressed.
And hopefully go home.
“I imagine you didn’t,” she said knowingly. “You seemed rather absorbed in your…activity.”
“Jess—” I started, prepared to tell her to leave, even if she would pout about it the rest of the week.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Liam piped up, cutting me off. “I’m making waffles.”
“I would
love
waffles,” she said, her eyes fixed on mine. They glimmered with the kind of
I’m-dragging-this-out-as-long-as-possible
amusement that only a best friend can muster.
“Fan-tastic,” I said. “The toilet is leaking again. Can you help me with it?”
It was the lamest excuse ever, and all three of us knew it. But Jess gestured for me to meet her in the bathroom, and I hurried after her, turning once to mouth a quick “sorry” to Liam. He waved it off, but I stopped in my bedroom, found his jeans and threw them into the living room before I followed Jess into the bathroom.
Jess crossed her thin arms over her chest and waited while I checked myself out in the mirror. It was totally unfair that Jess’s blonde hair hung so perfectly straight first thing in the morning while my unruly dark waves looked like they had been through a hurricane. Everything about my best friend was precise and well-behaved down to her size six waist and her med school prospects. Meanwhile my curves were as out of control as my hair and my grades weren’t much better.
“I hate my hair,” I complained.
“You look fabulous,” Jess said. “Your hair is so untamed, it’s sexy, and you have that just-screwed glow about you.”
I winked at her in the mirror, glad she’d noticed.
“Just tell me that just-screwed glow is not courtesy of the kitchen counter,” she begged.
I lifted my shirt to show her the patterned dents on my butt cheek. “Saved by the meat tenderizer.”
“Oh! Is that what you’re supposed to do with it?” We both giggled, and I grabbed for a brush to run through my hair. My hands went momentarily limp, and I dropped it, cursing. The familiar frustration I felt with my body crept through me, turning my skin hot with anger and leaving blotches across my chest.
“It’s okay,” Jess said in a quiet voice. She picked up the brush and started to sweep it through my tangles, but I pulled away from her.
“Can you get rid of him?” I asked, and she nodded. No questions asked. Jess always understood.
“Make sure you take—”
“I know,” I cut her off. “The more important thing right now is that there is a naked Scottish dude in our kitchen.”
“Making waffles,” she reminded me.
I rolled my eyes at her to show that I didn’t care about Liam or his waffles or the feeling of his breath on my neck or wrapping my legs around his tight waist. No, I didn’t care one bit.
“Fine,” Jess said. “I’ll get rid of him, but for the record, he seemed nice.”
“You say that about all the boys.”
“That is not true!” Jess whirled back toward me. “Most of them are—”
I pushed her out into the hallway and shut the door in her face. I didn’t need one of Jess’s lectures today. I already knew she was right about boys and school and everything else, because Jess had her shit together. She had a future. But Jess couldn’t see the gray space my life occupied, even if she tried harder than anyone else. Although, she was wrong about one thing: a nice guy wasn’t going to fix me.
Besides, I wasn’t interested in catching for keeps, but when I thought of Liam’s lopsided grin and unearthly body, I almost changed my mind.