7. Liam

We don't talkabout it.

We don't talk about the fact we got hot and heavy with each other last night.

Instead, Matthew and I get up and go to breakfast, acting like nothing has changed between us.

But something has definitely changed.

At breakfast, I can't help sneaking looks at him.

I don't think I'll ever look at Matthew's mouth in the same way again. Knowing the way he kisses, the noises he makes when he comes.

I'm relieved when he has to head off to his meeting. I go back to the villa to throw on my board shorts, then head to the pool, where a few of the other partners are already lying on loungers.

Carl, Henrietta's partner, looks up from his e-reader and gives me a grin as I plop onto the lounger next to him and start slathering sunscreen onto my skin.

"You and Matthew disappeared abruptly last night." His voice is layered with innuendo.

"We were beat," I say.

"Sure you were," he agrees with a smirk.

I shove my sunglasses over my eyes and lie back in the sun. But the warm rays on my face and the gentle sound of the waves breaking on the shore in the distance don't bring me peace.

Instead, I replay the events of last night. Dancing with Matthew. Kissing him. Then, back at the villa, where we got each other off so quickly, we probably set a world record.

The way his weight slumped on me after he'd come and how, in my post-orgasmic bliss, one part of me actually wanted to hold him for longer. Which goes to show exactly how much a good orgasm can mess with your mind.

This is Matthew. Matthew, who was my archenemy for so much of my life. Matthew, of the clever, sharp comments I spent so much time defending myself against.

As I lie there soaking up the sun, my mind isn't on the warmth of the tropical sun. Instead, it slides to the cold of Christmas.

Our hometown of Bainfield has a festival every year to celebrate the holidays. Matthew's mom runs it, and one year, she came up with the idea of getting people to create wishing stars to hang on the large Christmas tree in the center of the town square.

I remember laboring over my star in sixth grade, coloring it in carefully because I still believed in the power of wishes.

I wasn't stupid enough to wish for my parents to get back together or for a happy, perfect family like Matthew's. Instead, I kept my Christmas wish simple. I wanted a dog, preferably a golden retriever.

I wrote out my wish in my neatest handwriting.

It wasn't until the Christmas festival, when I'd seen Matthew and his friends gathered around one of the stars laughing, that I discovered his latest prank.

Matthew had somehow got hold of my Christmas star and changed it so the wish for Liam Jamieson read: A dog's brain because anything is better than nothing.

He'd gotten into big trouble with Ms. Beauton for that one.

The next year, I'd plastered the Christmas tree with a whole lot of "wishes" from Matthew O'Conner, including fashion sense, a social life, and working out how not to be a know-it-all while he'd retaliated with a whole lot of "Liam" wishes that mainly centered around finding me a brain.

Every year, we'd continued making nasty wishing stars for each other, our own Christmas tradition that definitely wasn't as wholesome as Christmas cookies.

The last time I'd bothered to check, in junior year of high school, there'd been another round of "Liam" wishes on the tree. I wish my brain could become as developed as my biceps. I wish I'd realize that the size of my truck doesn't compensate for other inadequacies.

"Excuse me, sir, would you like something to drink or eat?"

My eyes fly open.

That's right. I'm not a teenager gingerly approaching a Christmas tree to see what insults Matthew has conjured up for me this year.

I'm an adult, lazing by the pool in a tropical resort, with a waiter asking me if I want anything.

And Matthew is paying the tab. Let's not forget that fact. Matthew is literally paying for me to be here.

"I'd love a cocktail and a burger, plus a plate of fries, thanks," I say.

* * *

It's midday before Matthew and his colleagues emerge from their meeting. Matthew seems subdued as his colleagues chat around us during lunch.

I can't help watching him out of the corner of my eye.

Is he subdued because of what happened last night? Or is it because of something that happened in his meeting?

When we get back to the villa, the awkward fest between us continues.

"So, how was your morning?" he asks.

"It was good. Just hung out at the pool. Did some laps."

"Oh, cool. So, you up for the hike to the waterfall this afternoon?"

"Yeah, definitely."

This polite exchange freaks me out. I spent my morning reminding myself of the ways Matthew had tormented me when we were kids, rebuilding him into the evil genius I knew and hated.

But right now, he seems like a cute, nerdy guy who is downcast about something.

Seeing the adult version of Matthew getting changed into hiking clothes reminds me there's another aspect of Matthew that's definitely all grown up now.

My eyes can't help lingering on the outline of his body underneath his thin shirt, remembering how it felt to have it pressed against mine.

He meets my eyes and blinks. For a second, we stand there, our gazes locked together before he glances away.

"You good to go?" he asks. His voice is slightly hoarse.

"Just summoning the acting skills required to pretend to find you tolerable," I say because I desperately need to reset the dynamic between us.

Matthew looks startled for a second before a small smile plays on his lips.

"I think I'm the one who deserves an Oscar for pretending to like you."

We move toward the door at the same time. I come to an abrupt stop.

"After you, honeybunch," I say.

"Thank you, my sweet petal," he retorts.

It looks like our exchange has relieved us both. Matthew's shoulders relax as we walk toward the hiking trail entrance.

Is it weird that I instinctively know what a relaxed Matthew versus a tense Matthew looks like? I never realized how much of his body language I'd picked up on when we were growing up, but it seems so easy to read him now. I'm not sure if it's the advanced power I'd choose, but it appears I'm stuck with it.

I ponder this as we meet the other members of our group and start down the trail toward the waterfall. The lush canopy of trees filters out some of the harsh tropical sunlight, so it's cooler under here.

Matthew and I don't say anything as we trek along, the chipped stone of the path crunching under our feet.

I can't really go into insult mode with all his colleagues around, but neither can I work out what to say to him after last night. I can't exactly call it the elephant in the room because we're not in a room right now, but it definitely feels like there's a substantial unaddressed beast trekking between us right now.

I'm relieved when Henrietta catches up and starts chatting with me about San Francisco.

The path heads upward, but I'm fit enough to continue talking to Henrietta while we climb.

Henrietta is also really fit, but as we get to the steep bit, Matthew falls back slightly.

I turn around to check on him.

"You okay back there?" I ask.

"Just taking my time to admire the view," he says.

"What, the view of my ass?" The words are out of me before I can think, and unfortunately, I don't have a time machine to go back and change the flirty, playful comment.

Matthew's eyes meet mine.

"It's not a completely bad view," he says slowly. "There are worse views in the world."

Just as I'm starting to preen, he continues, "For example, the view of a tapeworm is worse. Or maybe a toxic waste disposal site."

"You two talk to each other like you're an old married couple," Henrietta says. "It's hard to believe you've only been together for a month."

Matthew's eyebrows fly up and his face colors.

"As I've said before, it feels like he's been part of my life forever," I say.

The same smooth line I'd used the other day suddenly feels weighed down with more meaning.

Because Matthew has actually been part of my life for almost forever.

Which makes the fact we got each other off even weirder.

But it isn't just that we got each other off that's causing my head to spin every time memories of last night slip into my mind.

It was the way we'd kissed each other with such intensity. I'd taunted Matthew that he'd been missing out regarding kissing, but it appears I'd been missing out.

Who knew hate was so close to heat?

I ponder this as we descend into the valley toward the waterfall. I mean, our encounter was simply kissing and mutual hand jobs, so why the hell did it feel like the hottest thing I've ever done?

The path winds its way down through the trees, and we can hear the sound of rushing water long before we see it, but finally, a turn in the path reveals the waterfall ahead.

The water thunders from a height, crashing into the pool below in a spray of white froth.

I turn instinctively to look at Matthew's face. Because, apparently, some part of me wants to see Matthew wide-eyed and in awe of the power of nature, raw and untamed.

A movement on his shoulder draws my attention away from his face.

Oh fuck. There's another bit of raw and untamed nature on display. Only this time, it's taken the form of a spider about half the size of a saucer sitting on Matthew's shoulder.

He hasn't noticed it yet, which is a good thing. Otherwise, there's a chance my eardrums wouldn't still be working.

I know all about Matthew's phobia of bugs. I've exploited his phobia too many times to count.

Fake bugs in his lunchbox and locker. Dressing up as a grasshopper one Halloween just to freak him out. The cockroach in his sleeping bag on our school field trip was a particular highlight.

But I really don't want Matthew to have a panic attack in front of people who work for him now.

I bend down and pick up a leaf, then lean in close to him.

"Um…don't panic, there's just a small spider on your shoulder. I'm going to get rid of it."

Matthew goes completely still. His eyes widen and his breathing speeds up. "There's a spider on me?"

"Don't worry. I've got you."

Matthew's eyes find mine. There's pure fear in them. Which gives me a twinge of guilt at how I used to torment him in the past.

I use the leaf to try to sweep the spider off him, but all it does is encourage the spider to explore, taking off toward Matthew's neck.

Fuck. I don't think Matthew will cope with hairy legs touching the bare flesh of his neck.

Even though I'm not that enthusiastic about large tropical spiders myself, I do what needs to be done.

I use my hands to cup the spider, trying not to cringe at the feel of the hairy legs, as I remove it from Matthew and drop it onto the path.

Matthew looks down at where the spider lies stunned on the path. Then he takes some rapid steps backward.

The spider recovers enough to scuttle off into the undergrowth, probably to find a good rat or bird to digest for its next meal.

Matthew's eyes fly to my face. "You call that small? That's not small!"

"My sense of proportion might be slightly skewed."

"I'll say it is."

"When you're as well-endowed as me, you can often get proportions wrong."

Matthew stands there, seemingly speechless for a few seconds.

"Did you actually just compare your dick to a spider?" he asks finally.

"Both are amazing feats of nature," I say.

Matthew snorts, and I'm pretty sure it's in amusement.

Then all traces of amusement leave his face. He stares into the undergrowth where the spider has retreated to and shudders, then raises his gaze to me. "Thank you."

I shrug, trying to stop my face from heating. "I was really doing it for the good of the group. I think your shrieks from when you found that Daddy Long Legs in your shoe still echo somewhere inside my brain."

"Why am I not surprised things get lost in your brain?" he retorts.

Despite the insults flying between us, we're still locked in each other's gazes. There's an emotion flickering in Matthew's bright-blue eyes that I don't quite understand.

One side of Matthew's mouth quirks up, and now I'm staring at his lips, the same ones that kissed me last night.

I've had a lifetime of knowing Matthew, but how is it that today is the first time I've contemplated his lips?

How pink they are, how the bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top, like it's specifically designed to be nibbled on.

I wrench my gaze away.

Luckily, everyone else in the group is too busy trying to get selfies in front of the waterfall to notice what just happened.

I pull out my phone and nod toward his colleagues. "We should get a photo of us."

Matthew stares at me like I'm the brother of the spider who was just on his shoulder.

"Do you think I want to immortalize this moment?" he asks, but as he says the words, he takes a few steps toward me.

"It will look suspicious if we don't. Come on, you need to get closer."

"I think I might take my chances with the spider instead," he mutters.

I try to repress my grin as I stretch out my arm. Matthew reluctantly tucks himself under my arm.

"I'll take that for you if you want," Paul says, wandering over to us.

"Ah…thanks." I really have no choice but to hand my phone over to Paul.

Paul takes a step back. I stretch my arm around Matthew to rest lightly on his waist, keeping space between us.

Paul looks up from the screen. "That's about as romantic as a tooth extraction. Come on, get closer."

Fuck. Everyone is staring at us now.

I pull Matthew closer, and he comes obediently until he's pressed against my side.

I'm hyperaware of everywhere my body is touching Matthew's.

His breathing seems slightly shaky. I'm not sure if he's still unsteady because of the spider or because he's so close to me.

"You okay with this?" I murmur.

"It's all about putting on a show," he whispers.

Having his body pressed against mine causes my heart to pound so hard I'm sure he can feel it through the thin layers of fabric separating our bodies. Fuck, I don't have the excuse of a near-miss with a spider to explain why my pulse is racing.

I can hear Paul taking the photo, but I'm not paying attention to him.

I glance down at Matthew, and he's staring at me, his face flushed slightly, and I'm suddenly reminded of his flushed face last night. I can't help my gaze dropping to his lips. Those lips that kiss like they belong to both an angel and a devil.

Without thinking, I lean down to brush my lips lightly over his. He lets out a sharp breath, and I withdraw swiftly.

Fuck. My heart gallops even faster. That was all about putting on a show for his colleagues, being the best fake boyfriend possible.

He knows that, right?

More importantly, do I?

"That's very different from your kiss on the dancefloor last night," Carl says.

Matthew's cheeks instantly turn red, and my own face flames as well. "There's a time and a place," he says.

Carl cocks an eyebrow. "And the dancefloor was the right time and place, was it?"

"It was slightly more appropriate than a waterfall where we are quite far from privacy," Matthew says.

He steps away from me, and I immediately feel the absence of his body pressed against mine.

Which leaves me wondering—how can getting off with someone once mess with my head so much?

* * *

For the rest of the hike and at dinner, I try to keep some physical distance between Matthew and me. I know I'm not being the greatest fake boyfriend, but it's impossible when my head is as fucked up as it currently is.

Fuck. Heading back after dinner to our empty villa—the scene of last night's crime—doesn't help.

When I shoot a look at Matthew, his eyes are deep and dark. I'm pretty sure he's remembering last night too.

He licks his lips, and fucking hell, seeing his bottom lip so shiny and pink and perfect is like a beacon for my libido.

"I'm going to take a shower," I mutter.

I escape into the bathroom, trying to get my cock to settle down. But it really appears to have a mind of its own when it comes to all things Matthew.

Stripping and stepping into the shower doesn't actually help matters because my cock is used to the shower being fun time. But I flatly refuse to jerk off to thoughts of Matthew O'Connor, which leaves both me and my cock frustrated.

I come out of the bathroom, all clean and horny, to find Matthew is not in the room.

"Matthew?" I call. His name feels weird on my lips. It's not like I actually used his name much growing up. I always substituted an insult where possible. Nerdling and Geekzilla were particular favorites.

"I'm out here." His voice floats through the open door.

I walk out the door to the enclosed courtyard and find Matthew swimming in the small private lap pool.

Great. A wet, half-naked Matthew isn't exactly what I need to cool my libido.

"You're having a swim." It appears I'm now king of State the Frigging Obvious.

"It's nice. Come in if you want."

A swim does sound good. And I do need cooling down right now.

I change into my board shorts and then head back out to the pool.

I try to ignore Matthew as I slide into the velvety smooth water. It's the same temperature as a lukewarm bath.

I dip my head under and swim over to the other side of the pool.

"This is nice," I say, lying my arms across the sides, craning my head back to look at the stars.

"Yeah." Matthew's voice is a little hoarse. He seems to be studiously ignoring looking directly at me. My pulse speeds up.

And that's when I notice his hair isn't even wet. An impulse takes hold of me, and I take a few strides toward him, flicking some water at his face. Just a light splash.

He blinks at me through the water on his face. "You did not just do that."

"I think you'll find I did."

"God, you're such a jock."

"Pretty sure you already knew that fact about me."

For some reason, I'm not expecting him to flick water back at me, and the splash he sends my way hits me square in the face.

As I blink to clear my vision, I see Matthew smirking.

Oh, it's so on.

I move quickly, stalking him across the pool as he desperately scrambles away from me.

He flicks more water up in my face to stop me, but I don't pause my pursuit.

When I finally catch him, I use my superior weight to pin him against the side of the pool.

He's staring up at me, his lips parted and breath ragged, chest heaving.

Our eyes lock together, and I'm aware I'm breathing almost as rapidly as he is.

And fuck, I can't help myself.

I bend down and kiss those lips that have been torturing me all day.

Matthew moans into my mouth and kisses me back equally as desperately.

It's just as good as last night. A frantic, seething mess of lips and tongues.

His hands fly to my hair, and he tugs me closer like he wants to hold me in place.

But there's no way I'm going anywhere. Not when I have Matthew in my arms, kissing me like he's trying to dominate my soul, not when I can feel his cock hardening against me under the water.

We continue to kiss and kiss. Messy, frenetic kisses, like they're providing us with the oxygen we need to live.

My cock is rock hard, and I press against Matthew.

And I could almost come from this, grinding against Matthew, our cocks rigid against each other, tongues tangling as we pant into each other's mouths.

But I want more.

"Come on." I tug his hand, leading him toward the steps to get out of the pool.

Matthew blinks his wet lashes in surprise, but he follows me obediently.

We only make it two steps inside the room before I sink to my knees, pulling at the drawcord on his board shorts.

"Oh, holy hell." Matthew's head lolls back as I take his cock in my mouth.

"Mmph," I make the best sound of agreement I can with my mouth occupied.

But he's right that this deserves to be called holy, deserves to be equated with some kind of religious experience.

Although it's a mystery why having Matthew's cock in my mouth is making me feel so reverent.

Maybe it's because seeing Matthew's neck arching back in pleasure, then seeing his head slumping forward and his lust-filled eyes catching mine, brings a sense of triumph I've never had before.

I've seen Matthew in many different states over the years, but I've never seen him come undone like this.

I bring my A-game, working over the head, then taking him deeper into my throat as my own cock throbs.

"Close," he moans.

And even though I have a flush of triumph that victory is at hand, I find myself slowing down.

Suddenly, having Matthew finish right now, finishing myself, is the last thing I want. I don't want this to end.

I pull off him and stand.

Matthew looks like he can barely stand, so I reach out and wrap my arm around him.

"The good thing about being a jock is I can do this," I say as I manhandle him toward the bed.

"Okay, there might be some upsides," he says, falling back, pulling me down with him.

And then we're kissing again, messy kisses that taste of need and desperation.

Matthew wrenches his mouth from mine and trails kisses down my neck and across my chest.

He lingers around my nipples, sucking and biting at them and making me almost levitate off the bed.

Then he heads farther south, delivering teasing kisses to my hipbones, down to my upper thighs, before wrapping his lips around my cock.

"Oh fuck," I say.

Matthew pulls off with a wet pop and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Weren't we always about payback?"

"This is the best payback ever," I groan as he takes me into his mouth again.

I'm not sure if Matthew is trying to outdo the epic head I just gave him, but he's definitely going all out. Deep throating me at the same time one hand is caressing the skin behind my balls, moving farther back to caress my hole.

He's stroking himself lazily with the other hand, and holy fuck, the sight of Matthew O'Conner with my dick in his mouth, stroking his own dick at the same time, has my orgasm hurtling toward me at full speed.

"I'm close," I warn.

Of course all that does is encourage Matthew to speed up. I would have expected nothing less.

My orgasm is so intense I almost black out. I'm vaguely aware that Matthew has swallowed everything and then gently pulled his mouth away. He moves up, looking down at my body as he continues to jerk off, his breath coming in frantic gasps.

Do I like how Matthew is using the sight of my abs and softening cock as his own personal spank bank? It appears I definitely do.

"Gimme that," I say, grabbing his cock.

Matthew thrusts obligingly into my hand. His dark eyes meet mine, and the dazed lust there makes my spent cock give a twitch.

But before it can attempt a miraculous resurrection, Matthew is coming all over my chest.

He pitches forward, faceplanting onto the mattress.

"I'm done."

"I notice you've left all the mess on me to clean up."

"You're welcome." His voice is muffled by the mattress.

Stifling a chuckle, I get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

But my afterglow fades under the harsh fluorescent lights in the bathroom, and I stare at myself in the mirror, at my flushed face, my neck and chest marked by Matthew.

What the hell are we doing?

It's that question that drives me back into the room.

Matthew has turned over and is lying staring at the ceiling with an expression that suggests the same question is swirling in his mind right now.

"So, um…do we need to talk about this?" I ask.

Matthew turns to look at me, his face morphing into a frown.

"I didn't expect sex from my fake boyfriend, Liam, if that's what you're asking."

"Yeah, well, it's not normally a bonus service I offer my clients," I say.

He studies me closely. "I'm thinking it's a way to release the tension between us, right? I mean, it's natural some strain builds up when we're together so much and have to fake being in love."

"You mean, it's just an outlet to relieve our animosity so we can continue to pretend to be boyfriends," I say slowly.

"Exactly."

"Okay. I'm on board with that." I yawn. Then I go to the couch and start constructing my bed.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asks.

"Well, if you want me to be the perfect fake boyfriend tomorrow, I need some sleep."

Matthew props himself up on one elbow to watch me. His throat works. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," he says eventually.

I hesitate. "You sure?"

"This way, I can elbow you when you snore."

I'm not going to ask again. Instead, I approach the bed and climb in, putting as much distance between Matthew and me as possible. We both lie rigidly on our backs, staring at the ceiling like a couple from a 1950s sitcom.

"For the record, I don't snore," I say into the silence.

Matthew turns onto his side to face away from me.

"I'll get proof otherwise someday," he says.