Part 2 - His Girlfriend Doesn't Know He Keeps Staring at My Ass
I couldn't stop smiling.
The second Liam's door slammed, I flopped back onto the couch, heart hammering in my chest.
"No homo," he said. Right. Sure.
I stretched out lazily, letting my shorts ride even higher up my thighs. If he thought that was bad, he hadn't seen anything yet. I was just getting started.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I thought about texting him something dumb like "You coming back out here, princess?" just to get under his skin, but decided against it. Let him stew a little. Let that comment marinate in his brain until he couldn't sit still.
And it worked.
Twenty minutes later, I heard his door creak open.
I stayed perfectly still, pretending not to notice as he padded into the kitchen again. He was trying to act casual, but I caught the way he peeked over--real quick--just to check if I was still on the couch.
I was. And I looked even sluttier now, just for him.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water, then leaned back against the counter like he wasn't watching me over the rim. But I could feel it. The weight of his stare, dragging up and down my body, trying not to linger too long on my legs. On my ass.
"Hey, Liam," I called out sweetly.
He froze, glass halfway to his mouth. "Yeah?"
I stretched again, arching my back like a damn cat, feeling my shorts cling to me even tighter. "Can you help me with something?"
He hesitated, glass still in his hand. "Depends what it is."
I pouted. "I can't reach the top shelf."
He knew I was full of shit. We both did. But he set his glass down anyway and wandered over, shoulders tense, like he already regretted it.
When he got close, I stood up, letting my bare thigh brush his jeans on purpose. I pointed up toward the kitchen shelves. "That one."
