Not much had changed in one week. Our relationship was still forbidden. He still had to lock the door behind him, but there was a slight sense of hope in the air... maybe because he flipped the light on and gave me a glimpse of his world, his room. It made me feel less like a secret and more like a welcome addition to his life.
It was only one room with an attached bath and closet, but it was huge and 329/890
decorated well. His bed had a tall black headboard with a crisp, black trimmed bed-ding set. The room was entirely too clean for a normal 25 year old guy.
There were two framed photographs sitting on his desk. One was of him when he was younger, smiling and smack dab between what looked like very doting parents. I could tell they were his parents because he looked like carbon copies of each of them. The other photo was of him and his team winning silver in the last Olympics. He was smiling up at the crowd, wrapped in an American flag, and holding his silver medal proudly.
"You look so young in this photo," I smiled and stepped closer. I could feel Liam's presence behind me. What was I 330/890
doing in his room looking at old photographs? Five minutes ago we'd been attack-ing each other in the living room surrounded by hundreds of people.
"I was young. Young and wild," he smiled and shook his head clear of thoughts before heading toward his closet. I crossed my arms and moved back against the bed. I sat on the end, in what felt like neutral territory, but I could still see him moving around among his clothing.
He grabbed a light blue shirt off a hanger, and without thinking, started tugging his black shirt over his head. He was facing away from me, so of course I watched his back muscles pull and stretch. I could see the tattoos that wrapped around his left shoulder blade. They extended down the 331/890
back of his arm to his elbow in a half sleeve. I wasn't close enough to make out any of the content, but they were beautifully done. The forms were sketched perfectly and the black ink stood out against his tanned skin. I guess he went shirtless at practice most of the time.
Lucky teammates.
I didn't find the will to speak until he pulled the light blue shirt over his head and his bare skin was out of view. I mourned the loss. It was like getting a glimpse of the David. A tan, tattooed David.
"I saw your tattoos," I joked, pushing off his bed and stepping closer to the closet. He peered over his shoulder at me and smirked.
Then he turned fully and I saw the emblem on the front of his shirt. Superman.
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He’d chosen the shirt on purpose. He was now Superman. SuperSuperHotMan…
and I was Supergirl. We were the freaking cutest thing I’d ever seen. Okay, mostly he brought the cute factor. I was just the sidekick.
"Then it's only fair that you show me yours. Unless you were bluffing?" He raised his brow. He was referring to my tattoo.
I couldn’t believe he remembered my line I’d used on him the other week. The night we’d officially met.
"I wasn't bluffing," I smiled gently, taking another step closer to him. "Do you actually want to see it?"
The right side of his mouth quirked up in confidence. "If you can show me without taking that skirt off.”
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I’m sorry, did my uterus just call out to him or am I hearing things?
I cocked a brow and bit back my smirk as I twisted to the side. My fingers found the hem of my SuperGirl shirt and I pulled it up along with the bottom of my bra. My small tattoo was hidden beneath it in small black calligraphy. I'd had my mom write it in her perfect scrolly handwriting, and they'd tran-scribed her words onto my skin. The whole thing was barely two inches, running horizontally along my ribcage a few inches below my breast.
Liam stepped forward and bent down to get a closer look. His warm breath hit my skin and I realized he could see the very bottom of my breast from his angle.
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He reached out and dragged the pad of his finger gently beneath the tattoo. " She believed she could, so she did." Goose bumps bloomed beneath his touch and I shivered as his dark voice read my tattoo.
He nodded, lingering on the text for a moment longer before standing up.
“I’ve heard that phrase before, but it really fits you.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
"I think I like that more than all of my tattoos," he noted with a small smirk.
I disagreed, along with all of the U.S. female population, but I held my tongue.
"You don't seem like a tattoo type of girl."
I tilted my head to the side. "Why?"
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He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and then a second later shook his head.
"You're young." Bullshit. That wasn't the reason, but he wasn't going to give me the real one.
"It's my mom's handwriting."
He nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at where my shirt now covered up the ink.
"You have to show me at least one of yours. I didn’t get a good look while you were changing."
His dark eyes pierced me for a moment before he reached around and pulled the back of his shirt up. Without thinking, I reached to help, pushing the soft fabric over his skin. I had to fight the urge to push it all the way off the top of his head.
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At the center of his left shoulder blade, depicted in black ink, were the words "Veni Vidi Vici" entwined within the Olympic rings.
"Ah, of course you had to get an Olympics tattoo. I like it," I said, tracing my finger over the words. Before I finished, he stepped forward, out of my grasp, and pulled his shirt down.
"C'mon. Let's go get something to eat."
"I'm not hungry," I protested, not ready to leave the privacy and simplicity of his quiet room. In here we were just two people talking. Out there we were two people the world wanted to condemn.
"I am," he winked, and then walked past me. "And you should be. You're working out 337/890
too hard and it's starting to show. Have you upped your diet?"
Oh god, what was it with guys and proper food intake? We had a nutritionist on the team and I ate healthy enough.
I didn't answer his question. Instead, I flexed my arm and grinned. It was toned but still pretty skinny. Liam laughed, stepped forward, and wrapped his fingers around my arm, pretending to feel my muscle.
“Does this look like the arm of a girl who doesn’t eat enough?” I winked like Popeye.
"Good thing you aren't a defender," he laughed.
"What!" I argued, dropping my arm.
"Becca is a defender and she's my size!"
He nodded and moved toward his door.
"True. But I'm not making out with Becca in 338/890
dark living rooms, so I don’t have to worry about her well-being," he challenged, flicking the light off in his room and leaving me standing in the dark. I had no choice but to follow him out. The bastard.
"She'd never have you!" I yelled, running to follow him. Then I blushed when I saw him already standing at the end of the hall with Penn and Becca.
"Kinsley!" Becca exclaimed, jumping forward onto me. I wasn't prepared to catch her weight, so I toppled backward, landing with a thud on my ass and jamming my elbow in-to the ground.
"Ouch! Get off me, you mongrel." I couldn't decide if I should cry or laugh, so I just yelled with a smile on my face like a weirdo.
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Penn shook his head and reached down to grab Becca, who had obviously had another cup of punch after we'd finished ours a while ago.
"You're supposed to be SuperGirl! You were supposed to catch me!" Becca stomped.