Page 17 of Landing Liam

The corners of her mouth twitch as I pull away and look down at her. She’s trying not to smile, and for the first time, I think she might actually be into me.

“Tell me about yourself, Liam,” Maggie says just loud enough to carry over the crackling speaker. Her tone is calm, measured, like she’s trying to keep things neutral, but her eyes give her away. She’s curious, even if she doesn’t want me to know it.

“What do you want to know?” I reply, keeping things light as her arm hesitantly snakes around my neck. She’s stiff, awkward even, like she’s navigating unfamiliar territory. I get the feeling dive bars aren’t her usual scene. She doesn’t seem clumsy, though. Note to self: rethink Clumsy Coffee Girl nickname.

“What do you do for fun?” she asks, her tone casual but probing.

I grin. “I dance with a girl like you in a bar.”

She rolls her blue eyes, unamused. “You can turn anything into a line, can’t you?”

“Comes naturally,” I say with a shrug, leaning just slightly closer. Her shampoo—subtle, clean, and just a little floral—catches me again, and it’s ridiculously distracting. “But honestly? I don’t usually have fun. I let loose.”

Her brow arches, intrigued but skeptical. “Is there a difference between having fun and letting loose?”

“Well,” I say, tilting my head to the side as we sway to the lazy rhythm of the music. “Fun implies doing something because you want to. Letting loose… that’s more about needing to. With my job, you kind of have to.”

“Letting loose does imply a level of fun, does it not?” she counters, sharp but playful.

I chuckle. “Depends on what you’re doing to let loose. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

Her laugh is soft but a little self-deprecating. “I don’t have fun. I’m responsible.”

“Responsible?” I repeat, giving her a teasing look. “What does that even mean?”

She shrugs, her gaze darting briefly to the ceiling like she’s debating how honest to be. “It means I’m usually working, paying bills, or cleaning up after other people. Fun doesn’t exactly fit into that schedule.”

I study her for a second, my grin softening. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” she says, and for the first time, I catch a flicker of something behind her cool exterior—a hint of weariness, maybe even vulnerability. “But someone’s got to do it.”

“Well,” I say, squeezing her waist just enough to steady her when she stumbles slightly on the uneven floor, “you’re here now. That counts as fun, right?”

She smirks, tilting her head to look up at me. “I’ll let you know when the night’s over.”

Something about the way she says it—half challenge, half promise—makes me grin.

“So,” Maggie clears her throat and starts to pull her arm from around my neck, her movements deliberate but hesitant. “I think that’s enough dancing for me tonight.”

Without even thinking, I tighten my grip on her waist, keeping her close. “We barely just started.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and for a second, I swear I see the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. But then she swallows hard, the delicate curve of her throat catching my attention as she does. “I don’t want to hog you. I know how popular you are with the ladies.”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Have you been stalking me?”

Her cheeks flush a sexy shade of pink, and she shifts her weight like she’s debating whether to bolt or fire back. Finally, she meets my gaze with a look of defiance, maybe a little amusement. “No. Just… observing. From my table in the corner. You’re basically royalty on this mountain, if you didn’t know.”

I chuckle, tilting my head. “Observing, huh? Sounds suspiciously like stalking.”

“It’s called research,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Ever heard of it?”

“Oh, I see,” I tease, leaning in just enough to watch her breath hitch. “Research. Tell me, what’s your conclusion, Maggie No Last Name? Am I living up to the hype?”

“Hmm,” she muses, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Let’s just say the jury’s still out.”

I laugh, the sound low and genuine, and her smile widens like she knows she’s gotten under my skin. “You’re tough to impress.”

“Or maybe I just have high standards,” she quips, stepping back slightly, though I keep my hands on her waist. But she doesn’t pull away completely, which tells me I’m not the only one enjoying this little game.