Page 37 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

My big fat mouth. Did I seriously just say that?

I jump off the stool and rush into the bathroom. The last time I drank didn’t end well—the night of Howl and the viral video. I swore off drinking… and here I am, getting drunk next to Liam fucking Morrison.

“Calm down,” I tell my reflection. My appearance isn’t as bad as I would’ve thought, considering the night I’ve had.

Except my minute to collect myself dissolves when the door crashes open.

Liam strides into the bathroom and heads right for me.

I swallow.

He doesn’t touch me, but he backs me against the wall nevertheless. I stare up at him, trying to read his mind. The glint in his eye is dark. Something dangerous is brewing in his mind, but he keeps it on a tight leash.

I have the inexplicable urge to take a chainsaw to that restraint… if only to see how far he’d go.

He touches my lower lip with his thumb. “A player, huh?”

I can’t move—definitely can’t speak.

“I suppose I could tell you how many girls I’ve slept with. How many of them have blown me in the dark corner of a party just because of who I am.” He lifts one shoulder, and his attention drops to my chest. “And what about you? Little Miss Perfect all the time? Untouched?”

His thumb trails down my chin, my throat, and catches on the collar of my shirt. He pulls it down, exposing the tops of my breasts and the lace bralette.

Fear and a heady rush fill me. He’s entranced by me. He took care of me today, not some random hookup or any of the girls he might’ve slept with in the past. And that drives shivers up and down my spine, and heat between my legs.

He can hate me and care about me at the same time, right?

My heart is going to explode out of my chest any minute now.

“Jealous?” I whisper.

His laugh is raspy. “Of you?”

I wait.

He’s had to fight for everything—literally—and I’ve had my future handed to me in the form of a trust fund. We’ve struggled in the past few years, my family is in tatters—hello, divorce—but I’ll come out stronger for it.

“I think you’re the one who’s jealous.” His eyes narrow. “That’s what this is. Asking about sex, freaking out about how many girls I’ve fucked? Admit it. It might make you feel better.”

I shake my head.

His hand flattens on my chest, right between my breasts. His palm is hot on my skin, my shirt open. With steady pressure, he pushes me back against the wall.

“Stop.” I try to slide to the side, but he mirrors my steps.

“Admit it, Buckley.”

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have this conversation about my dumb childhood crush on my best friend’s brother. We’ve had that weird connection as far back as I can remember, and I don’t even know why.

“If you’re not, I’ll just take you home and then come back and pick up Ari. She’s into some kinky shit.”

My jaw drops. “You’ve slept with her?”

He shrugs. “Thought you didn’t care.” He steps back and heads for the door. “Come on, Buckley. Night’s over.”

The idea of that picture-perfect bartender doing sexual things to Liam—ants crawl over my skin.

I hate you, I tell him in my head, yet I can’t—I physically can’t let him walk out that door.