Liam’s POV
The room was dim except for the soft glow of the TV casting flickers across the walls, the low roar of the Champions League semi-finals filling the space like white noise. I sat on the edge of Noah’s worn-out couch, our thighs pressed together beneath a shared blanket that clung to my skin like heat—his heat.
I shifted, careful not to tug the cover away from him, though every brush of our legs sent sparks skittering up my spine. It should’ve been normal—just two best friends watching football. But my body didn’t seem to get the memo. My heart was thrumming like a drumline in my chest, and a coil of heat low in my belly had nothing to do with the match.
I’d gotten good at pretending over the years. Pretending I didn’t look forward to our hangouts too much. I pretended I didn’t
