"Also, don't say anything about fucking sheep."
He suppresses a smile. "No farmyard intercourse references, either? Wow. Seems like you got all fancy since I left." He pauses then says, "Did I mention I've missed the crap out of you?"
"Yeah, yeah. Stop your gushing. It's getting embarrassing."
As we head upstairs to the luxury dressing rooms, all of my anxiety about the concert melts away. It may be one of the biggest and most complicated shows I've ever run, in an unfamiliar theater with an untested crew, but as long as Josh is by my side, it's going to be a walk in the park.
Backstage Batman and her Robin are on the case.
TWO
You'd Better Not Cry
November 27th
The Los Angeles Home of Liam Quinn
Los Angeles, California
The next morning, a dull pounding in my head wakes me, and I try to will it away by snuggling into my pillow. Yeah, like that ever works.
It's my own stupid fault. I had way too much champagne at the after party last night, and now, I'm paying the price. At least I have most of the day off before I have to fly back to New York.
I stretch out and sigh. It blows my mind that I can starfish in Liam's massive bed and not even touch the edges. I've worked in theaters smaller than this thing.
While I've been here in L.A., I've been staying in Liam's house in the Hollywood Hills. Even though his New York apartment is huge by Manhattan standards, it still has only three bedrooms and four bathrooms. This extravagant monstrosity has eight bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and the most stunning view of L.A. from the infinity pool that I've ever seen.
The best feature about this house? The dedicated cheese fridge in the kitchen. When I saw that Liam had stocked it with all of my favorites, I had a major cheesegasm. If I still harbored any doubts about his feelings for me, that cheese fridge put every one of them to rest. Only a man who is butt-over-balls in love buys his woman that much quality fromage.
I roll onto my back and stretch. Maybe I'll cook up some mac and cheese for breakfast. It's the one food my stomach can tolerate when dealing with a hangover.
"Good morning, beautiful."
What the ...?
I open my eyes and turn to see Liam staring at me from my laptop, which is sitting open on a pillow. He's lying in bed too, and he has his head propped up with his hand in such a way that his bicep is bulging.
All of a sudden I'm wide awake. "Hi, yourself, sexy man. What time is it there?"
He looks over at the clock on his nightstand. "Almost eleven at night. I have to go soon. We're shooting at dawn, and my driver will be here to collect me in half an hour. Just wanted to spend time with you before I leave."
"Hmmm, waking up to you, even digital you, is something I've missed. I hate your shooting schedule."
"Me, too."
I adjust my position so I can see him better. "I have this vague memory of nodding off during our sexy Skype session last night. That wasn't real, right? It had to be a nightmare."
"I wish. I was actually in the middle of some of grade-A dirty talk when you just flopped onto your pillow and started snoring. Your hand was still down your pants, for God's sake. It's clear you're not attracted to me anymore." He grips his chest as if he's in pain. "It's okay. I knew this day would come, but I guess I didn't expect it to be so soon. Oh well, we've had a good run. You can have the apartment, but I'll sue if you don't grant me joint custody of the cheese."
"Ha! You're dreaming if you think you're getting that cheese without a fight, pal. May I remind you that the last time we visited your parents, I stole pictures of you in high school with what looks suspiciously like a mullet? If you cross me, I'll pass that shizz along to TMZ without a second thought."
He slaps the bed. "Dammit, woman! Do you really want to put our beautiful, impressionable cheese in the middle of this nastiness? You'll scar it for life!"
"Okay, fine. I'll bury the mullet. But I'm doing it for the cheese, asshole. Not you."
His dark scowl sends shivers up my legs. "Fucking fine, you shrew. But this is going on the naughty list."
I try not to smile. "The naughty list?"
"Yes. It's a list of your transgressions, and it's getting pretty damn long, I can tell you."
"And what constitutes a list-worthy transgression?"
"Lots of things. Disagreeing with me. Disobeying me. Being thousands of miles away where I can't touch you. Being so beautiful you make my chest ache. Looking at me how you're looking at me now, when you know damn well it's going to make me hard as a rock. The usual."
"I see. And the point of writing it all down is ...?"
"So I know exactly how much I need to punish you when we're finally together."
"Am I going to enjoy this punishment?"
"If I allow you to, yes. So watch your damn step, or I'll make your life miserable. No orgasms for you!"