Liam's wink as he passes us to go into the kitchen is flippant enough to be in-character.

Neither of the guys so much as bats an eye. Most of them don't even spare a glance Liam's way. Connor and James are too engrossed in Trey's boisterous retelling of the drunk spectacle his uncle turned into during his Christmas family dinner, and Dean appears to be captivated by the marshmallows I piled on his hot chocolate.

I catch a glimpse of familiar brown curls toward the entryway and lift my eyes to meet hers. Olivia Holmes smiles at me as she walks in our direction, resting a hand on Owen's shoulder.

"Hey, boys," she greets briskly.

Her friends come behind her. Quiet Page smiles shyly at the back of Owen's head as he turns to look at his sister, Rachel grins broadly at the group, and Kate makes a point to look at every face except Connor's as she twirls a lock of bright red hair around her finger.

"Hey, girls," Trey Coleman replies, matching Olie's cheerfulness. His eyes land on the readhead, as he adds, "Sup, K."

Apparently, their summer fling did not generate the same bad blood as her short-lived relationship with Connor.

I watch Rachel walk up closer to Dean, but he seems to miss it, starting when she says, "Hi."

Dean returns the friendly smile and they strike up light conversation just as effortlessly. I lose focus too easily though, staring down at the register screen. I am still mildly aware of the voices around me, but the words don't filter through. I can hear Trey's louder voice and Kate's girly giggle, but I don't hear the joke. I sense the movement, but I don't notice the girls moving away to a table at the back until I hear Owen protest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, man?" He exclaims, making Trey's neck — which was almost done with a one-eighty turn — whip back around.

"Gee, calm down," Trey laughs it off. "I was just looking."

"Not at my sister, you're not," Owen rebukes.

Try smiles slyly. "It's precisely because she's your sister that I'm just looking."

Owen scowls. "You're not her type," he grumbles.

Trey snickers. "Why not? She's into Blake," he says, jerking his head in my direction.

"Just fuck off," Owen blurts. "My sister is off limits." His eyes turn on me. "To everyone."

I don't even bother objecting. Before I have to, Liam peeks his head out of the kitchen to call my name.

"Can I see you in here for a second?" He asks.

"What for?"

"I need help with something."

I roll my eyes, begrudgingly following.

Liam waits patiently for me to join him in the dish-washing corner. "You're sure selling that reluctant hypermasculine jock act," he whispers.

I cross my arms over my chest, looking around to the busy kitchen getting ready for lunch time. "What do you want?"

He smiles, undeterred by my dry tone. "You," he murmurs. "And me. The rink. Tonight."

"Maybe," I reply noncommittally.

"Say yes."

I press my lips together. "Fine."

He grins. "That's all."

I shake my head, shouldering past him to go back out. Dean looks up at me as I approach, eyeing Liam as he leaves the kitchen just a few seconds later.

"You and Astor," he starts, "like, talk now. Right?"

"I guess."

It would be stupid to panic-deny it when everyone can see us talking at work, but I can feel my shoulders tense nonetheless. There is nothing incriminating about talking to someone I work with, saying 'Hi' at school, or skating together every once in a while. But denying it too vehemently would be suspicious as all hell.

"He ever mentions Mackenzie?" Dean asks. He doesn't even try to sound casual. His tone is as transparent as everything he does. Not a shred of attempted deceit.

It helps dissolve the defensive barriers I was starting to build-up in my head. This isn't about Liam at all. And it's a sensitive enough topic that Dean might not have even have noticed me tense up.

"No," I answer. "Sorry."

He shrugs, without trying to conceal his disappointment for pride's sake. "It's fine."

"You and her still... hang out?"

Dean shakes his head. "Not really. It was more of a one-time thing. And then once after the party too."

"And you're cool with that," I say slowly, half-question and half-statement.

"Yeah, sure." He shrugs again. "She told me she just wanted to have fun."

I nod and don't prod any further. I'm not good at prodding, and usually Dean is really good at sharing. If he doesn't say something, it's because he's not ready to talk about it. And if there's one thing I can do is respect that.

***

We couldn't be alone at the Arenas until the very last half-hour of their open time. 

Liam waited until the last skater left the rink to intrude my side. I watched him speed around the perimeter for a few laps, before pulling back to watch him take shots at different tricks and jumps.

Watching from afar, from the bleachers or a TV screen, it's easy to overlook just how fast figure skaters move. But standing on the same rink as he does, I can feel the wind on my skin whenever he skates past me. And I lose myself a little in watching him.

It's perfectly innocent at first, but after a few minutes watching up-close and with undivided attention just how agile and flexible he is, something quickens inside me. I can't help associating the limber lines of his body as he moves with the memory of running my own hands through that same body, feeling the strength and pliancy of it beneath my fingers.

Those thoughts keep me unbelievably warm, even as I'm sitting down on the ice. And yet they are nothing when compared with stir of life inside my chest and around my stomach as Liam stops and smiles at me. The sensation is so foreign and unfamiliar that I can't help the trickle of unease down my spine. 

Fight and flight instinct, I think.

"You're really good," I say, as Liam comes to sit by my side.

He grins. "I know."

"You could probably skate singles."

He shrugs, unbothered. "I don't wanna skate singles."

"Why not?"

"The extra category would mean extra practice time, and I don't want to quit pairs," he says. "I like skating with a partner."

I only stare at him. In part because I have nothing to say back, in another perhaps because I kind of want him to elaborate. Luckily, if there is one thing that can be taken for granted in this world, is that when you give Liam Astor a silence for him to fill, he will gladly do it.

"Skating alone is something I can do for fun," Liam tells me. "I like being on the ice and I can still enjoy myself on it without a partner. I can try new things, experiment a little, show off for the right audience..." He sneaks a knowing smirk, before continuing, "But on a competition, when it's serious, I like having someone with me. I think pairs allows for better lines, better story-telling... I know I can be a bit of an attention slut off the ice, but on it I like to be part of a team. I like having someone to share the sport with."

I nod slowly. "I get that. The team feeling."

Liam smiles. "I imagined you would."

***

"How was your Christmas?" He asks me later on, after we have slipped into his car, which was left alone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

"Christmas-y."

Liam laughs. "Good thinking, Blake," he teases, voice dripping with light-hearted sarcasm. "Don't let me in on all your secrets just yet. The fun might fade once the mystery is gone."

Liam's phone buzzes before I have time to answer. He reaches into his pocket without ceremony to check who's trying to reach him. I should have looked away — if anything, to show I couldn't care less who he is talking to — but my eyes shift toward his screen instead, to read the name on top of the text conversation.

Liam puts the phone down after typing a reply, his face betraying nothing.

"Who's Rafael?" I ask.

He looks surprised, maybe at hearing that name from my lips at first, and later at the realization I snooped.

I ignore the shrewd glint in his eyes, as he casually answers, "Just the really hot pool guy that gave me my second sexual awakening, in Malibu."

"Last time I heard that rumor people were saying he was a stripper," I say.

"He definitely has the body for it," Liam throws in, pensively.

I roll my eyes.

Liam smiles provocatively. "Lately, I've been more into the jock body types, though."

I meet his intentional gaze. His deep-blue eyes look black in the dimness of the poorly lit parking lot. I take a cautious look out the windows to make sure there really are no other cars or people around, before I switch off the small yellowish light overhead.

Liam lets out a sound of muffled surprise when I press our lips together, but he does nothing to resist me. I trail my mouth down his jaw to reach his neck and he sighs.

"I hate making out in cars," he breathes out, not sounding all that hateful.

I come back up to join our lips, hoping to shut him up.

"Mh, seriously," he tries to speak through the sloppy kiss, even as I make a firm effort to ignore him. "Words, mh... are not enough, mh, to express, uh, how much, mh... I hate, mh, car make-outs."

I finally pull away, letting my impatience sip into my expression. Liam meets my look with one bordering on impertinent challenge.

"It's hard enough trying to do this with a girl, and you take up a lot more space," he complains.

I glance at the backseats, hoping he can see the movement of my eyes through the darkness. "Plenty of room back there," I murmur.

He looks reluctant at first, but he's the first to awkwardly climb to the back. I follow with even less grace, wasting no time before I lock our lips together once again.

Liam shifts and squirms and struggles beside me and I roll my eyes, pulling away from him once more.

He smiles sheepishly. "I'm good, I'm good. Sorry."

I lean in once more, slipping a hand around his hip, while using the other to prop myself on the leather headrest of his seat. Liam finally relaxes back, submitting into the kiss as my hand lifts the hem of his shirt up to his chest. His breath hitches at the same time my heart skips a beat, when I lower myself to kiss down the middle of his torso. Quieting all the caution alarms in my head, I let my hand work on the laces of his sweatpants.

"What are you doing?" He asks through a trembling, breathy voice.

Moved only by the feelings that watching him earlier awakened in me, I slide my hand beneath the cotton confines of his underwear, depriving myself of the chance to take a break and think this through.

"You got a problem with this?" 

Liam lets out a helpless, strangled sound as I squeeze him in my hand, lowering my head to level it with his hips. He rushes his answer out in a barely coherent string of, "No. Definitely not. Not at all. God."

I don't know when the alarms in my head stop ringing, or even if they're merely drowned out by the sounds Liam makes. I move on instinct alone, hoping my hesitations play out as intentional torturous delay.

Liam seems more than satisfied by the end, which came suddenly and intensely. And if the way he repays the favor is any statement on my performance, I think it is safe to say instinct didn't fail me.

***

So. How are we feeling about the evolution of their relationship so far? Happy, sad, excited, frustrated...? Come on, don't keep it to yourself ;)

I'm also curious about what you thought of the secondary characters' role in this one. I'm trying to fix some of the focus issues from my previous book, so they're not always present, but I still consider them a big part of the story — just trying to keep them relevant but not distracting. Is it working? If you read Heart and Soul, do you like that change or did you somehow prefer the messier style?

If you liked it, please consider voting or commenting! And thanks for reading :)