I’d kissed him.

I couldn’t believe I’d kissed him.

I couldn’t believe part of me—a big part—wanted to do it again.

What the hell was happening?

I was… I’d just… I cheated on Joel.

No, you didn’t. Stop it, Katie.

I’d told myself that Joel was it. Without him, the days of intimacy, touching, kissing, and definitely anything beyond that were done for me.

So, how did I end up right there?

Because you never should have decided all that. I’d never ask that of you.

That settled it. That voice? That wasn’t my Joel. No, it was some messed up part of my own subconscious trying to convince me to let go and do whatever the hell I felt like.

My Joel was possessive. He had been right from the beginning—not that he was alone in that. There were times I wondered if some part of him wanted me to get his name tattooed all over so no one would miss that I was taken.

Joel’s hands cupped the small curve of my stomach, grinning like a fool. Our baby was growing in there, and he’d been anxiously awaiting this point. I was finally showing. “Now all those jackasses that check you out when I’m not at your side will know you’re mine.”

“Really?”

His eyebrow went up, but he didn’t take it back.

“Gypsy,” Liam called, and I realized I’d zoned out on him again.

What was I supposed to do now? Part of me wanted to run. Just get out of there and pretend none of this had ever happened. Part of me wanted to lean in and kiss him again. It had felt right, but now I was worried it was so wrong.

“I can see what’s going on in your head. I know I can’t do anything to reassure you that this is okay, but I’m going to be honest with you. I want you. I have for a while, and spending time around you only makes that stronger. I fucking loved what just happened. But if you aren’t ready, I’m not going to push. Whatever you decide, I’ll honor that. I can still be here to talk to. We can go on like that didn’t just happen. I won’t forget it, because I’d never want to, but it doesn’t have to change anything.”

Why was he so nice?

What was I supposed to do with that?

Enjoy it. You deserve it.

Shut up, Joel.

“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

The smile he gave me was almost indulgent. “Then don’t decide now. We’ll stick with friends. If you want that to change, you just have to say the word.”

I should have said no right then and there. Relationships weren’t on my radar. Never again.

Right?

“Okay.”

He grinned like the cat that got the cream, and I couldn’t even be pissy with him for it. He knew it was a victory, however small.

How the war would play out, we’d have to see.

“How about for now we go finish off your tattoo?” He was always giving me an out.

I glanced around, searching for a clock and coming up short. “Do you still have time?”

“I don’t have another appointment after yours. I’ve got all night.” He capped off the line with a pump of his eyebrows. It was barely two.

“Oh, so now I get subjected to the crappy lines? Do I strike you as that kind of girl?”

“Willing to try anything that might work.”

Damn, that was a good one.

“All right, Casanova. Time to actually get some work done.” I started climbing off, and he held out a hand to assist me.

“I think I’ve accomplished quite a lot already.”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that.

He’d definitely accomplished making a mess of my head.

Hate to break it to you, babe, but it was already a mess. Better to say he’s finally straightening it out.

Liam was leaning against the wall, that dimple of his on display as I gawked at the mirror next to him. The tattoo was done. My side was sore, but it was absolutely worth it. Staring at the finished product, I could hardly believe it was really done. I’d been standing there a couple minutes trying to get that to sink in.

“Well, do you like it?”

Did I like it?

“It’s perfect.”

He smiled full out at that. Between that, the view of his tattooed forearms crossed and on display, and the comfort that still lingered hours after being that close to him had given me, I wanted to kiss him. I wondered if wanting to, meant I should, but the thought of Joel shut that down.

Regardless of if it was right or wrong, I absolutely wasn’t ready.

I focused back on the tattoo, marveling at it again. Even on my reddened skin, it was beautiful. It occurred to me then that whatever happened between us, I’d always have this, making me feel grateful to Liam. I’d hear him calling me “gypsy” and remember what happened earlier.

He’d left a mark that went way beyond the skin.

“Hey, Momma.” I heard Liam say and my eyes flew his way.

He had his phone out, his attention still on me in a way that made me very aware of the fact that I had my shirt rolled up to my chest. The thought had crossed my mind a lot while he’d worked on the color. It wasn’t that I was particularly self-conscious. Sure, I had stretch marks on my stomach, but I’d had a son. It happened. Besides, Liam had seen me the same way for the first half of the tattoo, and that didn’t affect what he’d said earlier.

It was simply that I knew he was looking, and every indication was that he liked what he saw. That was something I hadn’t experienced in a while.

“Just wrapping up, why?”

He listened for a moment, and it crossed my mind that it might be rude for me to stand there eavesdropping—if you could call it that when he was aware I could hear everything he said. We still needed to cover the tattoo, though, which left me with little options for making myself scarce.

“Sounds good. Do you have extras?” He was silent through the response. “Because I have a couple people I’d like to bring.” Another response from his mother. “All right, I’ll see you soon then.”

After a goodbye, he pocketed his phone and focused his full attention on me.

“Do you have dinner plans?”

“What?”

“It’s just after five. Do you have plans for dinner? You know, the meal we eat in the evening?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, being an asshole is not the most effective to win a girl over.”

He straightened from the wall, making his way to me with lazy strides until he was just inches from being flush against me. “I don’t play games, gypsy. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“And if I don’t want it?” I lifted my chin a bit, going for haughty even if his words worked for me in a big way.

He looked down to watch as one of his hands traced up my side, feather-light, following the contour of the tattoo. “I’m feeling more confident all the time that you do.”

Well, that made one of us.

Unable to handle him being so forward, even if it was heady, I turned my face away.

He didn’t seem fazed by my retreat. “So, dinner?”

“I thought you just told your mom you’d see her soon.”

“Yeah, dinner is at Mom’s.”

I snapped my head back, openly gawking and not caring. “You want me to meet your mother?”

“And Connor,” he added as a confirmation. “Mostly, my mom went all out, and it’s a crime to miss that, but I also want to have dinner with you. Two birds, one stone.”

“I have to get Owen.”

He shrugged. “I figured. We have time. Where is he?”

“Wait. Wait.” What was happening here? “You want me and my son to go have dinner with you, your brother, and your mom?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think that’s slightly awkward.”

“Nope.”

“Well, I do.”

“Why?” He looked curious, like he genuinely didn’t understand why this would be awkward.

“We aren’t together, and yet you’re trying to bring me home to meet your family.”

What part of this was he missing?

“Yeah. I bring friends to the house. Jess has been there, Parker, Grant. Hell, Sketch even came by with Ash and the kids one time. My family’s the shit. My mom’s a great cook, and she likes having people around.”

All right, maybe I was blowing things out of proportion.

“I’m not going to force you to,” Liam went on. “I won’t even beg—much.” His grin was unrepentant and not even a bit ashamed that he’d beg. “I thought we agreed to be friends, and friends spend time together. Especially when one friend had something spectacularly shitty happen to them.” He had me there. “There’s no pressure here, gypsy. Just come eat a really good meal with nice people. I can even drive so you won't have to again if you want.”

“But what about my car?” I knew at that point I was just grasping at straws, but I couldn’t help myself. Liam talking about his family was endearing. Seeing him around them might be too much.

“One word to Sketch, and I’m guessing that won’t be an issue.”

He was right, of course. If I asked, the brothers would probably manage to get my car up to the farmhouse before we were even home.

This was all on me. I could say no, no repercussions, no hard feelings, but I would be saying it because it was something I wasn’t ready for. There were no excuses to get out of this. Liam was asking me to prove that I was at the minimum taking us being friends seriously.

“Okay.”

I thought he’d at least look surprised; I should have known better. Though, he didn’t give me smug either. I got a smile, one that was pleased and nothing more.

“Okay.”

“What’re we having?”

He turned away to grab the ointment he needed to put on, then to the sink to rewash his hands, answering as he did. “Meatloaf and mashed potato casserole. Mom always makes too much. She insists that the recipe can’t be halved or it won’t come out right. Will Owen be good with that?”

“If it’s meat, generally Owen will eat it.”

Liam chuckled. “Smart kid.”

“What is mashed potato casserole, exactly?”

He grabbed a rolling stool, bringing it over beside me so he was eye-level with the tattoo and started smoothing a layer of the ointment on it. “Mashed potatoes made really smooth with heavy cream and way more butter than any healthy person should eat. Then it goes in a casserole dish, gets a sprinkling of paprika on the top, and goes in the oven until it’s hot as fucking lava and gets a bit of a crust to the top.”

That sounded delicious. Way better than the turkey sandwiches I’d planned on doing. Though, it also sounded like the kind of meal that required you to be rolled out afterward like Violet Beauregarde.

“Don’t worry,” he tacked on as he exchanged the canister in his hand for plastic to temporarily wrap me in. “Mom always serves something green, too. House rule.”

“That might be a battle,” I admitted. “I want to say I’m one of those amazing moms that got their kid to love vegetables early, but I’m pretty sure that requires a sacrifice to some minor god. I never learned the secret.”

“Mom made me choke them down for eighteen years, and every time I’m at her table since, and I still don’t do it without a fight. And I turned out all right.”

“Good enough, I guess,” I sassed.

He leaned back to give me an over-acted aggrieved look. “And to think I got you a ticket to the table when there’s mashed potato casserole on the menu. I could have saved the leftovers for myself.”

“Your loss.”

His eyes dipped to my lips, and I realized I was smiling without noticing it.

“Nah. Not in the slightest.”