Page 25 of Landing Liam

That doesn’t sound like “asking her out for drinks” to me, but I plaster on a smile and nod as if this is all wildly fascinating. I let her continue, sitting through her blow-by-blow recounting of their year-long relationship. She paints a picture of Liam as disciplined to a fault: clean eating, obsessive exercise, relentless training routines. Every detail is another piece of the puzzle I’m trying to solve, but so far, I’ve found nothing that screams doping.

“It must be exhausting,” I finally say when she finishes listing every kale smoothie and protein-packed meal Liam has ever consumed.

“Oh, for sure,” Lyla agrees, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “He’s insane about it. With the exception of the occasional drink he allows himself when he’s out, his body is like a freaking temple. And let me tell you…” Her voice dips lower, dripping with suggestion as she leans in closer. “When that body is on top of you—or beneath you—it’s like a solid slab of muscle. Absolute perfection.”

I feel the blood drain from my face, my stomach twisting into a knot I don’t want to analyze. Before I can respond—or fake a polite laugh—the bell above the door jingles, and Lyla’s gaze shifts over my shoulder. Her face lights up.

“Speak of the devil,” she purrs, lifting her hand high. “Liam!”

My blood turns to ice as I feel him before I see him and all I can think is: Please don’t see me. Please don’t recognize me.

But knowing my luck, I’m sure he will.

Liam’s presence is impossible to ignore—big, loud, and magnetic—as he strides over to our table. Lyla, ever the performer, stands and blocks me, wrapping her arms around him like she’s staking a claim. I can’t help but notice the way he stiffly pats her back, his smile polite but distant.

“Lyla,” he says, his tone measured.

She steps aside, finally revealing me, and her manicured hand sweeps toward me like I’m some sort of prize to present. “Maggie’s a reporter here covering your competition.”

I stand quickly, extending a hand. “Maggie Cooper. Reporter for The Pine Cone Chronicle.”

Liam blinks at me, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he decides to play along. “Liam Thompson. Professional snowboarder.”

The way he says it—deadpan, serious—almost makes me laugh. He’s trying so hard, and it’s kind of adorable.

“Oh, shoot!” Lyla suddenly stomps her leather boot as her phone rings. “I’m late.” She turns to me, her expression slipping back into that award-winning smile. “It was so nice to meet you, Maggie. I have to go.”

Without waiting for a response, she flips around and runs a hand down Liam’s chest in a way that makes me roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. “I’ll see you later,” she purrs before grabbing her coffee and sauntering out the door.

Ew.

The second Lyla is gone, Liam crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze locking onto me. “So, you’re a reporter.”

I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m here to report on the snowboarding competition.”

“Right.” His tone is skeptical, his eyebrow quirking. “Then why are you talking to someone who isn’t even competing today?”

“We were waiting for our coffee at the same time,” I say as I sit back down, “and when I mentioned why I was here, she practically started salivating as she told me how amazing you are—on and off the slopes.”

His lips twitch, but he recovers quickly. “You sound jealous.” There’s a beat before he adds, “This is starting to become a theme with you, Cooper, isn’t it?”

“I’m not jealous,” I say firmly, though my tone might give me away just a little.

“Then why are you digging into my ex-girlfriend?” He slides into the chair Lyla just vacated, studying me like I’m the most fascinating puzzle he’s ever seen.

I cross my arms. “Covering all my bases.”

“Bases?” His smirk grows, and damn if it doesn’t do something to my insides. “Are you sure it’s not me you’re interested in?”

I narrow my eyes at him, refusing to let him rattle me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Thompson. You’re just part of the story.”

“Right,” he says, his smirk never faltering. “And you’re just doing your job.”

But the way his eyes glint with amusement tells me he doesn’t believe that for a second

“You seem to have a pretty strict routine,” I say, aiming for casual, though my pulse betrays me, thrumming erratically in my chest.

“No.” Liam shakes his head, his voice low and firm. “You’re not starting an interview.”