Page 78 of Fall For Me
They’re having an entire silent conversation made of micro-expressions I can’t decode. Rebecca clears her throat. “Well, guys, sorry to interrupt, but the farm is about to close, and we need to get everyone out of the maze.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “Oh my gosh, I’m so embarrassed we couldn’t clear it. Kids can do it.”
“You’re not the first rescue we’ve had to make,” Rebecca says with a grin. “But you are the most… disheveled. The corn can beconfusing. Especially when you’re too busy looking down each other’s throats to find the exit.”
“Clearly they’ve been distracted by that newlywed bliss,” Lila chirps.
I don’t know what she’s getting at. Despite catching us kissing, she knows the marriage is fake.
Liam shoots her a death glare. “Stop being obnoxious.”
“Never.” She winks at me. “Come on, lovebirds. Let me show you how it’s done.”
* * *
Liam is silent the entire drive home. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight the expensive leather creaks in protest every time we take a curve. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road. I watch the farmland blur past my window and replay the kiss on a loop in my mind.
His tongue in my mouth. His hands in my hair. The sound he made when I pressed closer.
I squeeze my thighs together and stare harder at the passing trees.
When we pull into the driveway, the glass house gleams in the sunset. Liam kills the engine but doesn’t move.
I grab our carved pumpkins from the backseat—my grinning face and his mangled experiment—and carry them to the porch. I set them side by side on the top step. His and hers. Matching jack-o’-lanterns for our fake family.
Inside the house, the high ceilings magnify every sound: the click of the door closing, the soft pad of our footsteps, the rustle of jackets being removed.
We drift into the kitchen. Should I ask him what he wants for dinner?
The tension is unbearable.
I can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “For making you kiss me.”
Liam stops mid-pace. He turns to face me, his expression unreadable.
“You didn’t make me do anything.”
He speaks with a terrifyingly quiet calm.
“I asked you to?—”
“And I wanted to.” He steps closer. His gray eyes pin me in place. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the stadium. Since before the stadium. Don’t apologize for giving me permission to do something I was already dying to do.”
My breath catches.
He holds my gaze, steady and unflinching. “Is it out of your system yet?”
I should lie. Say that yes, I got what I needed, I’m cured of this inconvenient attraction and ready to go back to being platonic roommates who share a bed but nothing else.
“Not really,” I admit.
He nods slowly. “Me neither.”
He looks at me for a long moment, conflict warring in his eyes. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “We can never kiss at home.”
I frown. “Why?”
