He shrugged and sipped his beer. “So? The readers know you’re working with me, and I think they’d like to hear from you. Besides, I think you could give some good insight into what women like.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just one woman. Just because I like something, doesn’t mean every other woman out there is going to like it. We don’t have one shared consciousness.” He laughed. “I never thought that,” he said. “But I still think the readers would be interested in what you have to say.” She picked at the remainder of her gyro, not looking at him. “You really think so?” He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to his. “Yeah, Mia, I do. I think you have some valid opinions and I think you should share them with the world. There are no wrong answers here. As you said, just because you like something doesn’t mean every other woman in the world will, but that doesn’t negate what you like. You’re allowed to have your own take on things. You’re allowed to have an opin
Mia groaned but nodded, crawling off his lap. He missed the weight of her and the warmth of her body against his. She rolled away and off the bed, scooping up the rubbish from their bed picnic. Liam grabbed the beer bottles—his empty, hers barely touched. “You don’t like beer?” She shrugged but didn’t answer. “Hey,” he said, reaching for her and tugging her against his chest. “You can tell me if you don’t like something.” She blinked up at him. “I don’t really like beer,” she replied. “It’s too bitter.” “What do you drink?” She blushed. “You’ll make fun of me,” she said, dipping her head. “Tell me,” Liam murmured, threading his fingers through the dark just-fucked curls that cascaded around her shoulders. “Sweet wine,” she replied, “Vodka Cruisers, Canadian Club, and dry. I like sweet,” she said with another shrug, not looking at him. He dipped his head and nudged her nose with his, tilting her head so he could brush a kiss across her lips. “Next time I’ll bring some
Friday night rolled into Saturday morning, not that Mia noticed. She was far too blissed out from multiple orgasms and sleeping beside the hot water bottle that was Liam. She had never actually slept with someone before, not in the actual sleeping sense. The nights she and Peyton had passed out on the bed together after an evening of drunken revelry didn’t count. Spending the entire night in bed with Liam—intermittently snoozing and making sleepy love—was a revelation. She liked it. A lot. Maybe too much. The smell of coffee woke her and she fluttered her eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight. She could only just make out the form of Liam standing over her with a grin and a large takeaway coffee. “Good morning,” he said. Yes. Yes, it was a good morning. A very good morning. “Good morning,” Mia replied and then cleared the huskiness from her throat, laughing. “Sorry.” Liam sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the coffee. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I
She took a breath and then tilted her face up to his. “I know I should tell you that we can’t do this again,” he said. Her eyes searched his and he thought she might be holding her breath. “But I can’t. I can’t say this won’t happen again because I want it to happen again. I want whatever this is between us. I know it’s awkward with the internship and everything, but I still want this. I want you.” “I want you too,” she said. Her eyes were wide and glassy and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek and run his thumb across her bottom lip. “No one at work can know,” he said. “I know,” she replied, letting her hand settle on his thigh. “I’m okay with that.” “You can’t tell Peyton.” “I know. I haven’t, I mean she doesn’t know about it before.” She dropped her head and let her hand slide off his thigh. “It seemed too precious to gossip about.” He lifted her chin, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck and tangling in the strands of ha
“Come back to bed,” Mia said as he reached for his pants. He leaned over her and kissed her. He loved kissing her. He didn’t ever want to stop kissing her, but he had to go. He had lunch with his mother in an hour and he needed to go home and change. He only had the clothes he’d worn to Mia’s place on Friday night and there was no way he could go to lunch with his mother dressed like that. “I’ve got to go,” he said, pulling reluctantly away from her. “I have a lunch appointment with my mother and you have family dinner tonight.” He slapped her butt and finished dressing while she watched and pouted. She was too cute and leaving her was harder than he’d expected. He didn’t know what the next week would be like working with her. How the hell was he going to keep his hands off her? At least they would have their nights together. That would have to be enough. It would be the carrot that kept him going through the day…it had to be. He kissed her once more before leaving
“How was your first week at your new job?” her father asked, not looking up from the paper. “Great,” she said, with a wide grin. She couldn’t stop grinning, even though her cheeks ached with it. “Not all that great,” Frankie said, coming into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. “Mia fell on her face in front of the boss.” He snickered and Mia narrowed her gaze at him, but she couldn’t really find any anger at his comment. She was too happy and satisfied to let Frankie’s niggling get under her skin. “I learned so much this week,” she said, instead. “You were lucky you weren’t fired,” Frankie added. “Hush your mouth, Frankie,” Mia said. “It wasn’t that bad.” “What wasn’t that bad?” Ant asked, coming into the room and sitting at the table. “It was that bad,” Frankie said. “Mia’s first week at The Playbook. She fumbled the ball, although I got a good laugh out of it. Carathurs wasn’t real happy though.” “Carathurs?” Frank said, lowering
“I ’m not fucking shaving my beard off,” Frankie said, his arms crossed over his puffed-up chest and his legs wide. The stance was meant to be intimidating but Mia had to hide her smile behind her hand. All she could see was her brother when he was a kid and their mother tried to explain to him why he couldn’t keep the stray dog that had followed him home. Frankie eventually wore Maria down and Buster got to stay, but only after an extensive search for his owner. Now he was trying to make the same stand with Liam, only Liam wasn’t Maria and Mia didn’t think he would cave on the beard thing. They were in the studio with the photographer and makeup artist patiently waiting for the hair stylists to start so they could get some action shots. But Frankie was being his usual mule-headed self. The guy really didn’t take direction well, which was probably why he was his own boss. “We aren’t going to shave it off completely,” Liam said. “But that thing definitely needs a trim. You look l
“Maybe I want to look like a hooligan,” he answered sulkily. “You’re here for a reputation makeover,” Liam said. “I don’t think hooligan is what we were going for.” “So what are you going to do, just shave it all off?” “Yeah, nah,” Mia said. “If you think you look like a hooligan now, you’d look like an axe murderer with a buzz cut.” She stepped closer to him, angling him so he could see himself in the large mirror that filled an entire wall like a dance studio. “We’ll just take this ratty hair off the back and blend it up with the longer hair on top. Ideally, I like to see you with an undercut, but you need to grow some hair back before we can do that. In the meantime, we’ll go high and tight. Think David Beckham.” Darius looked at himself in the mirror—his second favorite pastime after looking at his phone. “David Beckham?” “Yeah,” Mia said with a nod. “Alright. I’ll make it look better than Becks, though. That guy’s old.” “If he gets to look like David Beckham, who