Denise immediately says, “Hell, yes!”
“Can’t,” I say. “Got stuff to do.”
“What stuff?” Josh asks.
I hate not telling him, but I know I can’t. “Just work stuff, but it has to be done before tomorrow. I’ll see you at home later, okay? You guys go and have a good time.”
Josh hugs me good-bye, but I can feel he’s suspicious.
After he and Denise have left, I take some deep breaths and tell myself it’s possible to be alone with Liam and not let him know how hung up on him I still am. Power of positive thinking and all that.
When I finish the tenth affirmation and still don’t feel prepared, I mutter, “Screw it,” and head to the exit.
Liam opens the door shirtless.
I nearly pass out.
“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “You got here fast. I was trying to get in a quick workout.”
I’m gaping at the thin sheen of sweat making all of his muscles glisten when he selfishly puts on a T-shirt. I inwardly curse that I didn’t even get to examine his new ink.
I shake my head to clear it. “So, let me get this straight. You rehearse for eight hours, then have the energy for a workout? You’re such a freak.”
He checks the fitness tracker on his wrist. “You say the nicest things. Did it occur to you that the reason I have the energy to rehearse for eight hours is because I work out?”
“I’m going to have to take your word for that.”
“Still not a fan of exercise, I take it.”
I whisper, “Not a lot of people know this, but I’m in the fitness protection program.”
He tries not to smile. “Is that right?”
“Yep. Every new year I’m hunted by gym memberships, but they haven’t found me yet.”
He laughs, and man, I love that sound. “Wow. Badass.”
“I know, right?” I look down the hallway. “So, are we planning to rehearse out here? Or are you going to invite me in?”
“Oh, shit. Of course.” He holds the door open for me. “Come in.”
I walk past him, making sure to stay as far away from his rippling body as possible. The T-shirt and workout shorts are really doing nothing to hide his hotness.
When I see the full extent of his apartment, it hits me just how far he’s come from the man I knew six years ago. A far cry from his old Broadway apartment, it’s a penthouse in one of the new kazillion-dollar complexes that are springing up more and more in the theater district. Everything is sleek and glass—high-tech and luxe beyond what most normal people could comprehend. Of course, it’s spotless. There’s not one fingerprint on the high-gloss kitchen cabinets. Impressive.
“Wow,” I say. “You own this?”
He shrugs. “I was told it was a good investment, but I’m hardly ever here.”
I can feel him watching me as I take in the open space and million-dollar views. It’s weird how awkward I feel in this environment. It’s hard to process this version of him. The millionaire. The movie star. Yet in a lot of ways, he still feels exactly like he used to, just with more money and nicer stuff.
“I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself in a place this pretty,” I say. “I’m used to noisy radiators, mismatched dishes, and nonexistent water pressure. I’ll bet this palace has none of those things.”
“Not true,” he says, and pulls open one of the kitchen cabinets. “Observe.”
There are four plates in the cupboard, and two of them have cartoon characters on them.
I smile. “You eat off Captain America plates?”
“Not anymore. But these guys are hangovers from my old place. Back then, I only had two plates, and two glasses that used to be jam jars.”
“I remember those. You served me milk in one the night we met.”
He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, and because I was trying to impress you, I gave you the one without the chip in it. Plus I would never have forgiven myself if you’d cut your lips.”
I remember how he kept staring at my lips that night. It’s similar to how he’s staring at them now.
He blinks, then takes a breath and closes the cabinet. “Anyway, can I get you something to drink?” He walks over to the gleaming fridge. “I promise, I have proper glasses these days.”
“Please tell me you have alcohol.”
“One thing I definitely have is alcohol.” He opens the door to reveal shelf upon shelf of fresh food, as well as a plethora of wine and boutique beer. And cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.
“Did you stock up for me?” I ask, and point to the cheese. “Or do you usually have a fridgeful of potential mouthgasms?”
He smiles. “The cheese cabinet at a deli would be like a porn shop to you, right?”
“Pretty much.”