We speed through the streets of New York, and Liam finds a way to swerve through every lane, and simultaneously piss off every person we drive past.

I watch him as he clutches the steering wheel with one hand, the other sitting on his lap. He's wearing black jeans, and a plain black t-shirt, his biceps more prominent than I remember them being. I almost want to reach out, and feel the taut muscles enveloping his skin. He's just so sexy. I never would've associated that with Liam, but I actually kinda like this new persona.

Once we reach his apartment complex, I realize that it's so much bigger than I anticipated. His apartment itself is big as well. There's a gray sectional couch upon entrance, and a television hung in front of it. Behind the couch is a dining table that looks like it rarely gets used. This is so much better than my dingy dorm.

"Scholarship money," he states as if he knows what I'm thinking. "Are you hungry?" He walks further, and I saunter behind him, still taking in the beautiful interior of his home. If I'm being honest, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since I practically dropped dead in the arena. I don't wanna bother him, though, so I decline.

He gives me a look, an I-know-you're-lying look, but leads me upstairs anyway. His room is luxurious, a king-sized bed in the center, and two black nightstands on either side. Despite that, I can't help but notice there are no memorabilia on the walls. It's rather...plain. There's a bathroom to one side, and what seems like a closet on the other.

While I look around, a question pops into my mind. "Where do I sleep?"

Liam sits down as he removes his shoes, his brows now furrowing. "On the bed." He says it as if it's obvious, and I'm completely perplexed. Does he think...

"I'm not sleeping with you," I blurt out.

Why the fuck did I just say that?

He turns to me, amusement dancing on his lips as he snickers. I watch as he walks toward the closet, and tosses me a t-shirt, and some gray sweats. I don't catch them, though, because suddenly, hand-eye coordination is a skill that I lack. I watch as the clothes fumble out of my clutch, and I grimace. I'm making myself look like a complete idiot.

"I'm gonna get you some food," he says. "Take a shower, and get changed." And then I watch him walk out of the room. And then I have the space to myself.

I plop myself onto the soft, pillowy mattress as I let out a gentle sigh. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into.