He runs his hand through his hair. “Nothing happened. You know I’d never take advantage of you like that.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not something happened. You’re an engaged man. I shouldn’t be alone in your apartment, let alone in your bed. Can you imagine if the press got a hold of this? Former lovers spending every night together right under the nose of America’s sweetheart? They’d have a field day, and Angel would be devastated. She considers me her friend.”
He rubs his forehead, and his voice is tinged with frustration. “Christ, Liss, we haven’t done anything wrong. We’ve been running lines. That’s it. I’m not fucking you. I haven’t even kissed you. In fact, I’ve done everything in my power to make sure I didn’t cross the line, even though every time you walk through that door, all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom and making love to you until you can’t see straight.”
As soon as he says it, the air snaps with tension. Part of me is thrilled by the declaration, but there’s another, bigger part that wants to scream at him that if he’d chosen me in the first place, he could have had all that and more. My love. My body. All of it. Instead of denying this clawing, desperate need we both feel, we could have spent the last six years being slaves to it.
I almost laugh. What am I saying? I have been a slave to it. I still am. This man has completely owned me from the moment we met, and it can’t continue.
Liam reads my face. Whatever he sees there makes his expression drop. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“No, it was honest. And that’s why I have to go. I don’t know if this reaction to me is just your version of cold feet with all this wedding talk, but you need to concentrate on your fiancée, and the show. That’s it. And I need to stop wanting a man I know very well I’ll never have.”
I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. When I get to the door, I turn to him. His hands are on his head. Shoulders slumped.
“Liam?” He looks up at me, and I hate the fragile hope in his expression. He thinks I’ve changed my mind. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” He walks forward, but I stop him with my hand.
“Last night, I said some really . . . inappropriate things about you while I was with Angel. Is there any way you could make sure that footage disappears? If anyone sees it, my professional reputation will be ruined. I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“I’ll take care of it.” His words are clipped. Eyes downcast.
“Thank you.” I take a breath and adjust my bag. “And Liam?” He looks up at me. “I still want us to be friends, if that’s possible. I mean, we still have to do this show together, and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable. We just can’t see each other after hours, okay?”
He gives me a resigned smile. “Sure. I understand. Friendly. Nothing more. No problem.”
“I’ll see you later at rehearsals, okay?”
“Yep. See you then.”
I let myself out, and close the door gently behind me. As soon as it clicks, I exhale and lean back against it as adrenaline pounds through every vein. It takes me a few long breaths before I find my legs again, and as I walk away, I’m sure I hear Liam swear before something shatters against the wood.
THIRTEEN
DESPERATE TIMES
Josh stands in front of the door to our apartment, barring my way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so adamant before.
“Lissa, I know this thing with Quinn has you all messed up, but this isn’t the answer.”
“Move, Josh. I’m doing it.”
“Think about this for a second. Think about who you are. Your core values. This isn’t you.”
“Yeah, well, being me has gotten me exactly diddly, so maybe it’s time for a change. And God knows, I could use the distraction.”
He shakes his head. “If you do this, I won’t be held accountable for your actions. Don’t come crying to me when it all goes to hell.”
“Noted. Now step aside.”
He sighs and opens the door for me. Before I can get past him, he grabs my hand. “Lissa, wait. Just promise me one thing.” I look up at him. “Stretch before you start. Your fitness levels are appalling. You could legit pull something. Jogging isn’t a game. It’s serious business.”
I give him a somber nod. “I understand. And I promise I’ll be careful, Dad.”
I head down the stairs as he calls after me, “And for God’s sake, stay hydrated. And don’t talk to strangers.”
I smile as I push through the door to the street and then do a few basic stretches. I feel exposed in my new spandex jogging outfit, but I figure I might as well look the part, even if I don’t know what I’m doing.