Twenty-Two ➳ l.p.

Chapter Eight: Death of Me

“You’re so annoying, Ali.”

                “Shut up Liam.”

                “This is what I mean!”

                “I’m trying to watch a movie, Liam, shut up!”

                Liam rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen it a million times.”

                “So? I’ve seen you a million times and I don’t get tired of you.”

                Liam groaned, sinking into the couch. This boy was definitely going to be the death of me one day.

Chapter Eight: Death of Me

                I don’t know when I drifted off the sleep, but as I awoke, I just prayed that I hadn’t done anything embarrassing, like drool or something like that.

                I barely even registered that Liam was still below me in my groggy state, and I paused when his chest fluttered up before falling back down.

                I patted my pockets for my phone, groaning when the blinding screen flickered to life, and then groaning again when I realized that it was well past two-in-the-morning. Mum and Dad were definitely back from dinner now, which meant that they had, without a doubt, seen me and Liam snuggled up.

                Liam had always been one of those cuddling types, and I had always loved it. He had always wanted somebody close to him; he loved nestling his lips in the crook of your neck, or pulling you close and slinging an arm around your hips. Liam had always been a touch-feely kind of guy.

                So I wasn’t surprised that his heavy, muscled arm was latched around my waist, securing me to his hips.

                Not like I was planning on leaving him in the first place, or anything.

                His chin was nestled in my neck, slight stubble brushing against my cheek, and I sighed.

                This boy was going to be the death of me.

                And though it was slightly creepy (a lot creepy, really), I tilted my chin just to see him better in the pale flecks of moonlight through the window. And I know that I’ve said before that he was beautiful.

                But really, Liam was breathtaking. I could just make out the slope of his jaw, perfect little lips poised open, soft sighs tumbling out. His eyelashes fanned his cheeks, adorable nose wrinkling—and since when did I think that noses were adorable (death of me, I swear). The dip of his collarbone was just peering out along the hem of his criminally tight shirt, and you could even make out the faded outline of the birthmark on his neck.

                And really, if I had any self-control at all I wouldn’t be wondering how it’d feel to have my mouth on his jaw; lips marking him in a way that was almost identical.

                I’ve never had much self-control.

                I sighed, glancing down to where he was holding me to him, the four thick, black arrows standing out against his golden skin.

                I traced them—lack of self-control—lightly with the pad of my fingertip, breath catching when he froze below me, only to shift his position and pull me even closer.