He grabs a wheel of something covered in wax and expensive-looking and slides it across the island to me. “As much as I’d like to say I stocked up for you, I didn’t. The irony of being so rich you can afford anything is that people insist on giving you free stuff. When you’re broke, people wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, but rich and famous? ‘Here: Take everything!’ ”
I grab the cheese and bring it up to my nose. “Oh my God. Italian. Aged. Smells amazing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to be alone with it?”
I put the cheese on the counter and stroke it, lovingly. “No. As much as I want him, he isn’t mine. I’ll just pine for him from afar.” Funny how that seems to be a recurring theme in my life.
Liam grabs a carry bag from the cupboard. “Unacceptable. True love should never be denied.” He places the cheese inside, then holds it out to me. “I hope you two are very happy together.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Wow, this is a defining moment in our relationship. Only a true friend would give me cheese.”
When I take the bag from him, our fingers brush. In that second, all the buoyancy in the air turns to lead. We lock eyes, and for a few hideous moments, I think I’m going to launch myself at him.
He breaks eye contact and clears his throat. “So, beer?”
“God, yes.”
He heads back to the fridge to retrieve two beers, then pops the caps before holding one out to me. “Try this. It’s my favorite.”
I take a mouthful and swallow. “Wow. Expensive beer actually tastes like it’s been fermented with money. That’s delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” He walks over to the couch and invites me to take a seat next to him. I drop my bag on the floor and sink into the soft leather.
Oh, God. I’m never getting up. This is amazing. It’s like being hugged by a leather jacket.
I sit back and close my eyes. It’s possible I moan.
When I feel heat on my face, I turn to see Liam staring at me, eyes hooded and dark. “Comfortable?”
“Very.” I shouldn’t like his eyes on me as much as I do. It’s wrong. And stupid.
“Good. I want you to feel at home here.”
I’m tempted to say I feel at home wherever he is, but even for me, that’s too cheesy. Still, that doesn’t make it not true.
“Was it strange?” I ask. “Getting used to all this?”
He looks around. “This apartment?”
“This life. The money. Fame.”
He looks down at his beer. “What makes you think I’m used to any of it? Every paparazzo on the West Coast will tell you how well I don’t deal with it. Hell, you saw it firsthand the other night. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being treated like a commodity instead of a person.”
“I guess to Hollywood, it makes sense to treat you like a commodity. I mean, think about it like this—if Hollywood is an Italian restaurant, then you’re Parmigiano Reggiano and Angel is black truffle.”
“Wait, why does Angel get to be one of the most expensive foods ever, and I’m stinky cheese?”
I smack his arm. “Who the hell are you calling stinky, buddy? I’m talking about one of the most delicious and exclusive cheeses in the world.”
He thinks for a moment. “You’re right. I apologize. Knowing how much you love cheese, I should have realized that’s the highest compliment you could have paid me. My ego is satisfied. Continue.”
I smile, happy to see that his adorable arrogance is still intact. “Okay, so, the chef knows that if he uses the cheese and truffles, everyone is going to love that dish before they’ve even tasted it. It’s a surefire hit. Same with you and Angel. Put you two in a movie together, and even if the rest of the ingredients are crappy, you’ll make it a hit.”
He takes a sip of beer. “Okay, I see your point, but I still think it’s unfair to stalk and harass truffle and Parmesan until they have zero life. It’s bad enough that they can’t go anywhere, but it’s even worse that no one seems to want one without the other. I mean, what if the cheese just wants to be in a dish by himself? Are you telling me that dish will only be half as good without the truffle?”
“Not at all. But do the math. Parmesan has passionate fans. Truffle has passionate fans. Put them together and twice as many people are going to order the dish.”
He frowns. “I think you’re talking about ticket sales now, but this metaphor is making me so hungry, I’m having trouble concentrating. You want some food?”
“Uh . . .” Before I can refuse, he’s up and striding into the kitchen.
“I don’t have truffles, but I’m sure I can whip up some decent pasta.” He pulls open the fridge and starts placing ingredients on the bench. “Hey, look at that.” He holds up a wedge of cheese. “Parmigiano Reggiano.”
He gives me a smile, and for a single glorious second, I pretend that we’re in a different reality, one where he’s allowed to smile at me like that, and I’m allowed to get butterflies in my tummy because he’s so damn beautiful.
“Liss?”
I blink at him. “Hmmm?”