Page 21 of Landing Liam

I pause, weighing my options. If I agree to drinks, it might give me a chance to dig deeper, to get more information about his life, his activities—illegal or otherwise. This could be dangerous in ways I’m not sure I’m willing to admit to myself. But digging for information, even if that entails drinks with a hot snowboarder? That comes with the territory, I suppose.

“Fine.” I finally cave. “Yes.”

“Yes?” His brows lift, his smile stretching wider.

“Yes, to drinks,” I clarify, crossing my arms as if that’ll shield me from whatever spell he’s casting.

Liam pumps a victorious fist in the air before handing me my bag. “Don’t worry, Maggie Cooper. This will be the best first date of your life.”

“Date?” I squeak, my eyes going wide. “You said drinks. Drinks are not a date.”

“Oh, but they are,” he says smoothly, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. “See you around, Cooper.”

Before I can fire back, he turns and saunters down the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. My eyes betray me, drifting down to the way his jeans fit snugly against his—

“Are you checking out my butt?” he calls out without looking back, his tone full of teasing amusement.

I exhale sharply and slam the door shut, my heart pounding. Liam Thompson is infuriating. Maddening. Completely, utterly frustrating. And, damn it, he’s also ridiculously hot.

“Oh. My. GAWD!” Odie’s voice suddenly blares through my phone, and I glance down in horror. I never actually hung up.

“Did you hear that whole thing?” I ask, horrified.

“Girrrrl,” Odie cackles, the sound echoing like a victory bell. “You are so hung up on him.”

“I am not,” I protest, though even I don’t sound convinced.

“Are too,” Odie sing-songs.

“I have to go,” I lie, fumbling to end the call. “Bye.”

This time, I double-check to make sure I’ve hung up, glaring at the phone as if it’s the one to blame for my embarrassment.

Finally, I toss it onto the bedside table and crawl under the covers, frustration and exhaustion battling for dominance. But as I close my eyes, all I can see is Liam’s grin, his stupidly perfect face, and, yes, his jeans.

My hand slides between my legs, and a quiet sigh escapes me. Liam Thompson may be the subject of my story, but damn it, right now, all I can think about is the way his ass fills out his jeans. And how much trouble I know I’m already in.

Chapter Nine

Liam

I toss and turn, my legs tangling in the sheets as I glare at my phone on the bedside table. The glowing numbers mock me—2:03 a.m.—and sleep feels farther away than ever. My mind is a relentless loop, circling around one thought: This could be my last competition.

It’s a truth I’ve been avoiding, but tonight, in the silence of my childhood bedroom, there’s nowhere to hide from it. I’ve spent my entire life working toward this—every grueling gym session, every snow-packed holiday, every sacrifice that pushed me further away from normalcy and closer to a dream I’m not sure I even want anymore. Is it still my dream? Or just an echo of something I used to want?

I let out a frustrated sigh, tossing the covers off and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe a glass of water will help, though I doubt there’s a cure for the kind of restlessness running through me tonight.

The familiar creak of the stairs under my feet feels like a welcome distraction as I make my way to the kitchen. The house is dark, quiet, the kind of stillness that used to soothe me. Now? It just feels heavy.

When I round the corner, I’m not even surprised to find Mom sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands. She looks up, her face softening with quiet concern only moms seem to master.

“I thought you might show up,” she says, motioning to a second mug waiting across from her.

Of course, she knew. She always knows.

I sink into the chair across from her, letting out a heavy breath. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either,” Mom sighs, cupping her mug with both hands. Her fingers tap idly against the ceramic as her gaze flickers to me. “I kept thinking, ‘What if I never get to see him compete again?’”