Catching Liam (Good Girls Don't) Read online

  The game of wit was interrupted by Taylor Swift belting out a song about breaking up. Liam snatched my phone up from the counter. “It says Tara.”

  “My mom. Ignore it. I’ll call her back later,” I said, grabbing it and hitting the ignore button. The last thing I needed right now was a chat with Tara.

  “Jillian.” Jess’s voice held a familiar warning edge. She knew not taking a call from Tara was tantamount to raising the national security level. Of course, Jess had been there when the campus police knocked on my door sophomore year to check on a report of a missing person only to discover the missing person was at home, ignoring her mother’s phone calls. My mom could be a tad too dramatic.

  “I will call her later,” I repeated. I turned my gaze on my friend and flashed her my phone. “Don’t you need to get going?”

  “Crap.” Jess shoveled her last bite in her mouth and scrambled off her chair. “It was lovely to meet you, Liam. Feel free to come back and feed us anytime.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Liam’s lips curved into a crooked smile.

  Damn, he was really cute.

  As soon as Jess made for her bedroom, I grabbed my plate and dared entry into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure you don’t want seconds?” Liam asked. From his tone, I couldn’t tell if we were talking about waffles or something else.

  “The thing is that I don’t go back for seconds,” I said, putting my plate into the sink.

  “Not even another waffle?” Liam asked. “I hear they’re delicious.”

  “If your student visa runs out, you should get a job at the waffle house,” I said.

  “High praise from the snow queen!” he cried, scooping a waffle off the iron and buttering it.

  “I am not a snow queen.” Liam had known me all of five minutes. Apparently having sex with someone unlocked their innermost secrets now. “Why are you still here?”

  “Not done with breakfast.”

  “And then you’ll leave?” I asked.

  “I have other plans after breakfast.” He abandoned the slightly burned waffle and lunged for me. I stepped back, and he planted his hands on either side of the counter, trapping me between him and freedom. He was close enough to touch but he hovered just inches away.

  “And they are?” I breathed.

  “Warm up the snow queen.”

  “I’m not the snow—”

  His lips were over mine before I finished the sentence. It didn’t matter anyway as his arms circled around me, and I dissolved against him, momentarily too distracted by his mouth to think logically. Only my thin t-shirt lay between me and his coiled muscles, and when I ran my fingers down them, I could feel each rigidly cut ab. This was what people meant when they said washboard.

  “What were you saying about seconds?” he whispered in my ear, nipping at it with his teeth.

  “I never go back for them.”

  “Sure about that?” he asked.

  His stubble tickled just behind my earlobe, raising goosebumps along my arms. I wrapped them around his neck and brushed my lips against his. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  But before he could kiss me back, I ducked out from his embrace.

  “That’s not fair,” Liam said.

  “Sorry.” I tossed his wadded up t-shirt at him. “I have class.”

  I watched as he pulled the shirt over his head, admiring the way it tousled his light hair. I imagined running my fingers through it and skin and sweat and...

  Class, I thought firmly.

  “Why don’t you skip today?” he suggested as he leaned against the counter. The tight knit of his shirt showcased his chiseled upper body. It didn’t seem possible, but he might look even better with a shirt on. “We have to work off those waffles, and if you behave, I’ll show you how I make a naked lunch.”

  “That’s a book,” I said automatically, forcing myself to look at his face and change the subject.

  “I know.”

  God, I hoped he wasn’t going to try to talk about it with me. I’d used an online study guide to squeak by on the test.

  “I’ve never read it,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly.

  There was something insanely sexy about his confession. I’d encountered enough guys on campus who waxed philosophical to try to get into my pants. Liam, on the other hand, seemed smart without being pretentious, which made me want to jump him more.

  A warning bell went off in my head.

  “What do you say?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “Forget about the work-out. We can just hang out.”

  It was a sweet offer, and I could tell by the way his blue eyes grew wide with hope that he was being sincere. Nothing sounded better than staying in bed with him for one last hurrah before I avoided him for the rest of the academic year, but this time I was telling the truth. I couldn’t skip class. “It’s not that. I have to maintain a certain grade point average or I’m outta here.”

  “Scholarship?” he asked. He sounded too interested.

  “Something like that.” I skirted around the question to avoid the twenty more questions it would raise. I’d learned a long time ago that it was easier to let people think I was dependent on financial aid than to explain the strange deal I had struck with my mother. “Look, I’m going to be late and I hate being late.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  He leaned over and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek, which I took as a sign that I’d finally won. I practically strutted over to the front door to let him out. At the last second, he turned to say something, but I cut him off with a firm “good-bye” and closed the door in his face.

  As I locked it behind him, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was about to tell me. Probably something cheesy like “thank you” or worse yet—”I’ll call you.” He might have even meant it.

  For now.

  “You don’t have class for three hours,” Jess said, startling me from my thoughts.

  “He doesn’t know that,” I said as I pushed past her towards my bedroom.

  “He’s nice.” Jess followed me, despite the fact that she did actually have a nine o’clock lab. Unlike my reduced schedule, Jess was taking more classes than two sane people combined.

  “That’s exactly why I wanted him to go,” I said. He was nice. Too nice.

  Jess opened her mouth and shut it again. She’d learned a long time ago this was one point I wouldn’t budge on. Getting attached at the hip just meant heartbreak. It was better to get attached at the groin once and call it a good night.

  “Call your mom,” she finally said. “I’ve got to get to Anatomy.”

  “Enjoy!” I called. Jess didn’t respond, so I knew she was pissed at me, even though she’d dropped the issue. Later tonight, I would swipe her textbook and put naughty Post-It notes in it, labeling all the bodily organs with dirty words. She had enough stress in her life without me adding to it, but nothing cheered a girl up like a well-placed series of the-birds-and-the-bees inspired commentary in your Anatomy text.

  When the front door locked, I picked up my phone and did the last thing I felt like doing. I called my mother. I figured I may as well get all the crappy stuff out of the way before 9 a.m. Besides, maybe she had more useless kitchen gadgets for me.

  chapter three

  I got to my first Interpersonal Communications class in time to slide into a seat in the back. It was the perfect spot to guarantee that the professor wouldn’t call on me to answer questions on chapters I wasn’t going to read. I unpacked my laptop and popped onto Facebook. Jess had recommended the class, but Cassie, who was majoring in Public Relations, was the one who had assured me it would be cake and that I would have plenty of time to screw around online. I was well into checking status updates from my friends, many of whom I hadn’t seen since summer vacation ended, when the professor walked in.

  “Good afternoon, or should I say good morning? I’m Professor Markson,” he said as he pulled a stack
of stapled papers from his messenger bag. He was in his late twenties but wore a sweater vest in a bid to gain the respect of students that weren’t much his junior and probably to hide the fact that he was otherwise gorgeous. Maybe Hispanic, I couldn’t be sure with the distraction of the horrible sweater. Regardless, I could guess why Jess found the class so interesting.

  There was a smattering of appreciative laughs throughout the room. It was well-established on the Olympic State campus that you shouldn’t plan a Thursday morning class. Everyone went out on Wednesday nights, so the earliest acceptable class time was after noon, preferably later if you were someone like me. But this semester, I couldn’t do any better than twelve, so I went with it.

  “I’m sure a lot of you are hoping for an easy A this semester, and I’m happy to grant you that,” the professor continued. I perked up. This was very good news.

  “But—”

  Crap, there was always a but. This didn’t bode well.

  “I’m going to make you work for that A while you are in class.” He smiled as several people groaned. “First of all, they’ve given us a really big classroom, so I’m going to ask all of you who snuck into the back to move up and join the rest of us.”

  This time I was the one who groaned, but I grabbed my laptop and bag and found a seat near the front of the room.

  “You’ll be working with partners this semester, so take a look to your left or right and find your new best friend.”

  I did as I was told, but as I turned my head I found myself face to face with Liam. He was grinning, his arms folded behind his head, looking rather triumphant. He’d tamed his hair, but a few pieces stuck up, and I liked to think I’d given him a case of unbreakable bedhead.

  “Hey, chicken,” he said.

  I immediately looked to the other side of me and found the chair empty.

  “My name is Jillian,” I reminded him, turning back to him.

  “I know. Sorry, I won’t call you chicken anymore.” He looked a little hurt, which made him look a little sexy. Fantastic.

  I immediately began to think of all the ways I was going to murder Jess for suggesting this class. Strangling? Too nice. Hit and run? Too much work. I finally landed on spoon just as a syllabus slid onto the desk in front of me.

  “You two will be partners,” Markson said.

  I wanted to thank him for the reminder, but I was too busy trying to avoid eye contact with Liam.

  “As you can see, there are a variety of exercises you will work through with your partner in class. If you’re lucky, you will each have landed with someone who actually does the reading, but the statistics aren’t in your favor. So may I suggest you do the readings just in case?”

  I scanned the syllabus and realized with horror that the final wasn’t going to be a test but a conversation in front of the whole class with my partner. I was sure they’d be thrilled to listen in on Liam and I debating our one-night stand. I imagined how it would go down. In my head, the entire argument came down to the meat tenderizer. Or maybe the mysterious waffle iron.

  “This doesn’t look bad,” Liam said, scooting his desk a bit closer to mine.

  “I’m dropping this class,” I announced.

  “You’d go that far to avoid talking to me, huh?” Liam asked. “You’re going to give me a complex. Am I that bad in bed?”

  The answer was definitely not, so I kept it to myself.

  “I was told this class was easy,” I said. I didn’t actually want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to encourage them either.

  “It looks easy. We’ll learn to communicate better.”

  “I can talk already. Thanks,” I said.

  “But if you talked to me, I could convince you that waking up to my waffles is a good life decision,” Liam said.

  A figure coughed, and we looked up to see Professor Markson watching us.

  “Yes?” I asked. If I was going to drop the class, I didn’t feel the need to be polite. After all, he had screwed up my chance at a nice easy class this semester. The rest of my schedule looked tough, and I was already getting flak for having no declared major. Not that it mattered.

  “I had some notes for you on your interaction,” he said to us. “It seems that she isn’t very open to your overtures.”

  I almost choked on my own spit by gasping so hard at his boldness. By now the whole class had turned to stare at us.

  “Actually, mate, she’s not,” Liam said with a grin. “I’d love some pointers.”

  “You keep using YOU statements when you try to convince her to give you a chance,” Markson pointed out. “I noticed you saying things like ‘you should.’”

  “So?” I asked him. I couldn’t believe he was actually meddling with my love life in front of twenty other students.

  “It’s making you defensive. Look how you’re reacting to my critique,” he said to me.

  “You’re embarrassing me,” I said. “That’s why I’m reacting to your critique.”

  “That’s another YOU statement.”

  “What exactly is a YOU statement?” Liam asked. He leaned forward, and I got a glimpse of his glorious arms. I wondered if his ego was half as big as his biceps.

  “Instead of couching a statement in how you feel, you make an assumption about what the other person is doing or why. Often, it’s when you accuse someone of acting a certain way.”

  “So like when I accused you of being totally up in my business?” I asked.

  Professor Markson laughed nervously, adjusting his petite bow tie. “Fair enough. But I’m trying to use you as an example.”

  “I’m a student. Not a lab rat,” I muttered.

  “When you communicate how someone’s actions are affecting you, say ‘I feel like you’re embarrassing me in front of the class.’ It sounds less accusative, yes? And you—” he gestured to Liam— “might say ‘I feel like you’re avoiding talking to me.’ This opens up a direct line of conversation through which you can more effectively communicate and resolve issues.”

  He really wasn’t going to drop this. I spotted more than a few of my classmates covering their smiles behind their syllabi. Fine, two could play this game.

  “Okay, I think I get it,” I said. “I feel like this is pointless.”

  Markson tipped his head to the side. “Do you? That’s a shame. It will be essential for your careers and domestic life to be able to communicate your needs.”

  Liam raised his hand. “I would like to state that I feel I would like to communicate effectively with Jillian.”

  “Then why don’t you try again?” Markson suggested.

  I hid my face in my hands as Liam swiveled to face me in his seat. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the class on us.

  “I feel like I’d like to make you waffles in the morning and maybe the morning after, too. I feel strongly I could be convinced to make you waffles for a very long stretch of the foreseeable future,” he said.

  The class broke out in a fit of applause. More than a few people whooped their approval of his “I” statements. One girl even yelled, “You can make me waffles anytime!”

  “Now how do you want to respond, Miss...?” Markson trailed off.

  “Nichols,” I said. “Okay. I feel like I’m dropping this class.” I scooped up my things and made a beeline for the door. This drew some boos, although a few kind souls yelled for me to come back.

  No way was I going to stay there to be humiliated in the name of Interpersonal Communication. I slammed through the doors at the end of the hall and found myself in the building’s entrance when my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and, when I saw Tara on the caller ID, decided I was properly worked up to handle a conversation with my mother.

  “Hi, Tara,” I said as I answered the call. I could almost hear the wince on the other end when I called her by her first name.

  “Jillian,” my mother said, extending my name as though it was a drawn out thought. I often wondered if she was actually puzzling out why she wa
s on the phone with me when she started a conversation this way. “How is the first day?”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” I snapped.

  “Language, Jillian.”

  I had to disappoint her at least four times every phone call, so I ticked off one mentally.

  I’m not sure why she would care how my day was. Tara had no interest in seeing me graduate from college, and she’d made her feelings on the matter known on multiple occasions.

  She didn’t notice the annoyance I had so carefully displayed in my answer. She never did. Instead, she immediately switched to business mode. “Your father received the bill for tuition. You’re only taking twelve credit hours.”

  “For someone who keeps advising me to drop out, I would think you would be thrilled I’m taking a lighter course load this semester,” I said as I wedged the phone so I could shove my laptop back in my bag.

  “Your father and I want to know that this isn’t a waste of time,” she said.

  “You want to know it isn’t a waste of money,” I corrected her.

  “You know what they say about time and money,” she said. This was my mother’s idea of a joke but neither of us laughed.

  “If you want, I’ll just get loans,” I said. This wasn’t really about money, because my parents were loaded. It was just another instance of Tara attempting to control my life.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” she said in a flat voice.

  “You’re the one who called me on my first day of classes to criticize me!” I was really getting it on all sides right now. I could imagine Markson would have a lot to say about my mother’s and my interpersonal communication.

  “I want to know you are taking care of yourself. If you feel you can only handle twelve credit hours, maybe you should consider—”

  “Mom,” I cut her off. “I have to get to class. I’ll email you later.”

  “Fine.” The call ended without an I love you or a talk to you later. Just like every other conversation I’d ever had with Tara.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I jerked around to discover Liam standing behind me.

  “I’m sorry for what happened back there,” he said. “I promise if you come back to class that I will defend your honor and tell Markson to bugger off.”