Author: Kristan Higgins

Her grip on the sheets turned into a clench. “Liam, about last night…”

“What about it?”

Posey closed her eyes. Opened them. There were her clothes, still on the floor. And here was her hungover self, still naked and in Liam Murphy’s bed. Sherlock Holmes would say that, yes, she’d definitely done the wild thing with God’s Gift, and while that act was one she’d imagined, oh, six thousand and fifty-seven times, it wasn’t exactly making her happy now. Wouldn’t she remember…something? Because there was nothing in the old memory banks. Not one thing. Not even a kiss.

“Did we…um…you know?”

“Did we what?”

That half smile on his face was making thought difficult. “Um…did we…” Make love didn’t sound right. Fool around? Have intercourse? Make out? Make babies? Oh, man, what if she was pregnant at this very moment? “Did we do anything last night? Anything, um…adult?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, Liam, I don’t. Can you just… Did we do it or not?”

He gave her a long, steamy look, dropped his gaze to her mouth—oh, mommy—and back to her eyes. Then he grinned. “No.”

“No?”

“Please. Are you kidding? Absolutely not.”

Well, okay, he didn’t have to say it like that. Would a tinge of regret be too much to ask for? A little wistfulness? Huh? Hmm? Would that be so hard? “So, how did my clothes get over there?” she asked.

He took a sip of coffee and cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I sure as hell didn’t undress you.”

Again with the insults. “Okay, you know, Liam, do you have to be so…” Her voice trailed off.

“So what?”

“So…emphatic.”

He laughed, the sound scraping her most pleasantly. “I was gonna give you a ride home, but you were pretty, uh, limp, so I just figured you could sleep it off here.” He paused. “Rather than in the elevator, like you wanted.”

Bieber. That was right. Well, it was a nice elevator, if memory served.

“Are you mad that I didn’t take advantage of the situation?” he asked.

“No! Jeesh! Your ego, Liam. Wow.”

He smiled; she blushed.

Memories, none of them particularly flattering, flooded back. Winding through the streets of Bellsford. Liam taking off her socks. And oh, yes, the damn itchy dress. She’d just pulled it off at some point; there was a faint recollection of the blessedly cool and un-itchy sheets. As for the panties…best not to think about panties on the floor when Hottie McSin was sitting next to her, smelling the way he did.

“Want some breakfast?” he asked.

“No, thanks. Um…my dog. Is home. Alone. With the cats. So I’m gonna run.”

“Okay.”

“Is your daughter here? I can sneak out the back,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat up again. Imagine having to face a teenager after her father carried your drunken self down the hallway…

“She’s at a friend’s house,” Liam answered.

Right, right, she had a vague memory of him saying something about that. “Good. Great. Okay.”

“I’ll let you get dressed, then.” He stood up and left the room, and Posey couldn’t help feeling a little…disappointed. That being said, she also wasn’t about to leap out of bed naked, just in case he popped back in with a question. She grabbed her clothes and got dressed under the covers. Her panties. Liam Murphy had seen her panties, for God’s sake! At least they were fairly new and not hideous. Crikey. Almost violently, she tugged the dress over her head. Still itchy.

She dashed into the bathroom, rinsed out her mouth and splashed water on her face. Man. Why not just wear a sign that said Can’t Hold My Liquor? Smears of mascara made her look rather like the poster child for Les Miserables, except not as adorable and far more dissolute. Her hair, never well-behaved on the best days, was completely flat on the left side, standing up straight on the right. Gorgeous. She ran her damp hands through it, knowing it was futile, took a deep breath and went down the hall.

“Thanks for watching out for me last night,” she said, barely glancing at Liam. Still, she could see enough… He was lounging against the counter like he was posing for a shoot in a GQ magazine. Too beautiful to look at directly. “See you around.”

“Bye, Cordelia,” he said, smiling, and with that, she fled. Once in the hall, she opted for the stairs rather than the elevator. With her luck, she’d run into someone she knew, and even though it wasn’t true, she knew what this all looked like. The walk of shame. Like she’d gone home with Liam and done all sorts of delightful and naughty things until the break of day.

Which, of course, was just wishful thinking.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“COME ON, TURNIP! You can do it!” Max’s video camera, a prehistoric relic from the ’90s, went up, as it had every single time Posey had come up to bat in the four years she’d been playing on the town softball league. There were roughly ten games a season, and on average, Posey was up to bat four times. That meant Max had roughly a hundred and sixty movies of his daughter striking out.

Baseball was something of a religion in New Hampshire, as Fenway Park was only an hour south. Alas, it just wasn’t Posey’s sport. Not that she’d gotten to try many, due to Stacia’s rules about body contact and danger. But a few years ago, Jon, who was one of those irritating people who was good at everything from flower arrangements to sports, convinced her to join Guten Tag’s team. He played shortstop—the hottest position for the hottest guy, as he liked to say. Posey was the catcher, and not a bad one at that; she threw out a fair number of runners attempting to steal second. But when it came to the bat…not so much.

And she always struck out. Never popped up, never grounded out. Nope, she went down swinging, which had a certain élan to it. She’d been hit three times, which had been thrilling, since it got her on base, even if it did leave a bruise. But she’d never scored a run, never driven in a run, never hit so much as a foul ball. It was something of a town legend.

Now, in the bottom of the second, she was up, facing José Rivera, the pitcher for Stubby’s Hardware and rumored to be third cousins with half of Major League Baseball.

Brianna and James were here tonight—Kate was first baseman for Guten Tag, an excellent one at that. Both kids were a little on the fringe of high school, and Posey was glad they were hanging out more, even if Brie pretended not to like James. Shilo was there, too, lying on his back in front of the kids, waiting for them to notice his giant belly, always ready for a scratch. When they failed to comply, he let out the occasional groan until finally, James rubbed the dog’s cow-like belly with his foot, earning Shilo’s croon of approval.

Posey stepped into the batter’s box. Her teammates all stood up and started clapping, their way of supporting the cause.

“Eye on the ball, Posey!” called Reverend Jerry. At the sound of his owner’s name, Shilo sat up and woofed.

“Swing away, Merrill!” This in unison from Jon and Kate, both fans of the movie Signs.

“History about to happen, Posey, hon!” Bruce Schmottlach, their oldest player at seventy-eight, had a batting average of .402. But he was a bit of a freak of nature in general.

Posey took a deep breath, dug her cleats into the earth and waited. She could do it. Even a foul ball would be a triumph. José let fly and she swung with all her might. Strike one. She’d been a little late, that was all. She’d swing earlier this time. She did. Strike two.

“Hang in there, honey!” Stacia called. One more pitch. She swung. “Strike three!” called the ump, and that was that.

“That was pathetic,” Brianna called. “Points for trying, though!”

“You’ll get it next time, honey!” Stacia called.

“Thanks, Mom.” Posey trotted back to the dugout, got on her catcher’s gear, and went back to home plate.

As the batter for Stubby’s came up, her face blazed with heat.

It was Liam. She hadn’t seen him since the Night of Drunken Sloppiness.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, grateful for her face mask. “Didn’t know you were playing.”

“Mike Owens asked me to join. Hi. Liam Murphy.” He shook hands with Lou, the home plate umpire.

“Nice to meet you,” Lou said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Being catcher meant that Posey was eye level with Liam’s groin. Granted, she was squatting and garbed in padding, but the whole thing felt very sexual nonetheless. Then again, she guessed that she could watch Liam get an appendectomy and find it hot. Which was just pathetic.

“How good are you, Liam?” she asked as Liam took a practice swing. Oh, crap, that sounded really dirty. “At baseball, I mean?”

“Not bad.”

“Go, Liam! Knock it out of the park!” The women on Stubby’s were all leaning out of the dugout, and was it her imagination or was there more cl**vage than usual being shown tonight?

Reverend Jerry, who was pitching for Guten Tag tonight and imagined himself quite a talent, glared down from the pitcher’s mound. “Prepare to feel the power of God’s wrath,” he said and fired off a pitch. Liam swung, and kablammy, it was gone.

“Not bad indeed,” Posey said. Liam grinned and set off around the bases.

He clobbered a triple in the fourth and a double in the eighth, driving in six runs altogether, and Stubby’s won, as they usually did. Liam’s teammates—especially the women—swarmed around him, and there was much patting of his back and stroking of his arms, much hair tossing and laughing.

“Gotta run. James and I have a yoga class,” Kate said, trading her cleats for Nikes. “Want me to bring Brianna home? It’s on the way.”

“Brie?” Posey asked. “What do you think?”

Brianna gave James a long, contemptuous look, then smiled. “Sure.” James flushed. Posey gave Brianna a hug, reminded her of their movie date on Sunday (another Twilight, but at least there’d be popcorn), and slung her bag over her shoulder, then stowed Shilo in the truck with a promise of a Whopper on the way home.

“I feel like we never see each other anymore,” Jon said as they walked over to Rosebud’s to buy Stubby’s a round.

“We had lunch together yesterday,” she said.

“True, true. How’s business? You get Vivian to sign yet?”

“Business is good,” she said. A young couple with uncommonly good taste had come this morning and bought four stained-glass windows, a carved mantel for their fireplace, and a concrete lion, which she and Mac would deliver tomorrow on the flatbed. “But no, Viv hasn’t signed.”

“A shame to have that place torn down.”

“Tell me about it. Is my brother meeting us here?” Posey opened the door to the bar, and the noise of the crowd and the spicy smell of buffalo wings enveloped them in a warm embrace.

“He sure is. There he is now, fighting off Rose.” Rose had tried to turn Henry straight in high school, and Henry was perversely fond of her, smiling as she flirted outrageously. Gretchen was there, too.

“Does that woman ever work?” Jon asked. “I thought she’d be at the restaurant, barefooting away.”

“Seems like Willem still does most of the cooking as far as I can tell,” Posey said.

“She’s revamping the menu. Experimenting,” Stacia announced, materializing with Max and the Schmottlachs. Posey’s parents looked around disapprovingly—they didn’t like going to other restaurants, even Rosebud’s, which was more of a bar. “Oh, there’s Henry! Henry! Over here, honey! We haven’t seen you in weeks!”