Chapter 55 Dinner Guest
Ava Reed
The car ride felt like a slow descent into hell, and it wasn’t because of the traffic or the city lights flashing past the windows in long, golden streaks.
The city looked beautiful tonight, almost unfairly so, like it was putting on a show just to mock me. Neon signs shimmered on wet pavement from an earlier drizzle, headlights smeared into ribbons of light, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed like a warning I couldn’t quite translate.
But because Liam Carter was the most obnoxiously relaxed person on the planet.
The kind of relaxed that should be illegal in high-stress situations. The kind of relaxed that made you want to shake him just to prove he was human and not carved from marble and audacity.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, his other arm stretched lazily along the center console, with his fingers way too close to my thigh. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up, revealing those veiny arms that I hated how much I noticed. He hummed under his breath, looking completely at ease while I sat there, practically self-combusting.
The hum was soft, tuneless, something absentminded, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. It filled the car in a way that should have been comforting, but instead it only made me more aware of everything. The warmth of the heater. The faint scent of his cologne. The quiet thud of my pulse in my ears.
My dad's voice still echoed in my head.
Not just the words, but the tone. Casual. Too casual. The kind of casual that always meant he was thinking three steps ahead.
"Bring your housemate with you."
It could mean a million things.
It could mean nothing at all. My dad invited people over all the time. Teammates. Friends. Strays he picked up from charity events. But this felt different. The way he’d looked at me when he said it lingered like a fingerprint on glass.
Did he know? Was he suspicious? Was I about to walk into a trap where my dad would casually drop a, “So, are you sleeping with Liam?” over mashed potatoes?
I could already picture it. My fork freezing halfway to my mouth. Liam choking on water. My dad watching us with that sharp, observant gaze that missed nothing.
I stared out the window, chewing on my lip so hard I nearly made myself bleed.
The taste of iron touched my tongue, grounding me for half a second before the anxiety rushed back in, heavier than before.
"Relax, Snowflakes." His voice was lazy, teasing, infuriating. "You're acting like we're heading to an execution."
"We might be," I muttered.
My fingers twisted in the hem of my sweater, a nervous habit I’d never quite managed to break.
He smirked, shifting in his seat like this was all some fun little game.
Like the world was a chessboard and he’d already decided he was winning.
“You know, you’re really cute when you’re spiraling,” he mused.
"I am not spiraling." I shot him a glare.
"You're chewing your lip like it owes you money." He chuckles, making me stop
Liam laughed, completely unbothered.
The sound was warm, rich, annoyingly contagious, and I hated that a tiny part of me wanted to laugh too.
"Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen?"
I turned to him, my eyes wide.
"The worst? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe my dad figured us out, and now he’s planning to castrate you with a steak knife."
The image flashed vividly in my mind, and I almost groaned at my own imagination.
"Figured us out? Snowflakes, we’ve been sneaky as hell. The only way he’d know is if you spilled." He snorted.
"Are you saying I’m a bad liar?" I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes.
I prided myself on many things. Surviving my father’s interrogations since childhood was one of them.
He shot me a quick look before turning his attention back to the road.
"Not bad," he said slowly, lips twitching. "Just... not great."
"Excuse me?" I gasped.
"You get all fidgety," he said, smirking. "You do this thing where you blink too much. And you ramble. Oh, and let’s not forget the classic 'I’m totally innocent' laugh."
“I do not!” My jaw dropped.
Heat rushed to my face, half embarrassment, half indignation.
Liam mimicked me. A high-pitched, completely exaggerated giggle.
"That is NOT what I sound like!" I shoved his arm.
My shove had no real force behind it, more protest than attack.
He just laughed, gripping the wheel tighter as the car veered slightly.
"Alright, alright, I’m done messing with you. I promise."
I folded my arms, glaring out the window. "Good."
But my lips twitched despite myself, betraying me.
A beat of silence.
The kind that wasn’t awkward, just filled with the low hum of the engine and the distant rhythm of tires against asphalt.
"You also sweat a little," he added, smirking.
"LIAM!"I lunged for him.
He was cackling now, dodging my weak attempt to smack him.
The car filled with our laughter and my indignant protests, the tension loosening for a moment, unraveling like a knot finally pulled free.
"I'm just saying, baby, if you want to keep this a secret, you might need to…OW!"
I pinched his arm. Hard.
"Focus on the road, housemate."
He shot me a look, eyes glinting with mischief.
There was something electric in that look, something that always made my stomach dip in the most inconvenient way.
"Oh, we’re playing that game now?"
"We never stopped."
The word housemate hung between us, flimsy and transparent, a paper-thin shield over something far more complicated.
He chuckled under his breath.
"Fine, Snowflakes. But just so you know…" He let his hand brush against my thigh, a feather light teasing. "I’m a really great dinner guest."
The touch was brief, barely there, but it sent a spark racing up my spine, quick and bright as a struck match.
I swallowed. Hard. We were almost there.
I could already recognize the streets near my dad’s house, the familiar turns, the looming gates that always made me feel sixteen again instead of grown and independent.
And my heartbeat? Was anything but steady.
It pounded like footsteps on a staircase, like something chasing me, or maybe like something I was running toward, whether I wanted to admit it or not.