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Liam eyed her carefully. “Am I supposed to carry food everywhere now?” he asked.
“Pretty much. Better get a manbag.”
“What the fuck is that?”
I exhaled a laugh. “Probably not your thing.”
“Probably not.”
He glanced over at me as we walked toward the checkout. When we’d pass someone, he’d garner an occasional look of recognition, but so far, no one had approached him. He was wearing a dark cap, the brim tugged low, but it was impossible to hide the sheer breadth of his frame.
With the way it sat on his head, there were moments when I looked at him and could see only the hard line of his jaw and his firm, unsmiling mouth. His eyes were hidden, and I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
It was his eyes that softened him, I’d realized. Guarded as they were, they gave away when he was letting his walls down, even the tiniest bit.
The question popped into my mind immediately.
“Do you hate the fame that comes with playing?”
Liam stopped, that green, green gaze fully visible now as he pivoted to face me. “That your question?” His voice was a low, bone-shivering rumble.
Somewhat breathless from asking it, I nodded slowly.
He licked at his bottom lip and glanced across the store. “It’s a yes-or-no question, Valentine. You sure you don’t want to rephrase?”
My mouth curled in a smile. “How do you feel about the fame of playing?”
We started walking again, the aisles wide enough that we could stay side by side. He was so much taller than me, but he matched the length of my strides so that I didn’t have to hurry.
The skin of his arm was warm, and even when we didn’t touch, I could feel that warmth coming off him like an aura.
“It’s complicated.” He inhaled, and his arm touched my shoulder. I didn’t move away. His eyes flicked down to mine before he continued. “I don’t mind when people come up to me, ask for a picture or whatever. Most are nice.”
“But?”
Again, the corners of his lips hooked up incrementally. So close.
“But,” he added, “I never want to disappoint a fan if I’m not some smiling, outgoing guy. I’m just ... me. And that won’t always be enough for people looking to meet someone they idolize, whether they should or not.”
This new side of Liam, which I was just now uncovering, left a warm, aching sensation crawling up through my throat.
He was far more self-aware than I gave him credit for. That much was undoubtedly true.
And like I had conjured their existence by asking the question, a little boy and his sister approached carefully, their mom standing back about fifteen feet with an encouraging smile on her face.
Liam and I stopped, and he gentled his face. Just a bit.
The boy opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. His sister, a bit taller than him, nudged him in the back. They were both wearing Denver shirts.
His freckled cheeks flushed pink the longer they stood there, and his eyes darted down to the ground.
“What’s your name?” Liam asked.
The boy’s eyes darted up. “N-Nathan Maxwell.”
Liam held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Nathan. What about you?” he asked the sister.
“I’m Daisy. He was too nervous to come say hi by himself.”
