Wicked Heart (23 page)

Liam sits up with a start. “Angel?”

“Uh, yeah. Expecting someone else in your bedroom, stud?”

I hold my breath behind the door as Liam looks around the room. “What? No. Just—” He looks around again, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. Just a
dream.”

“Okaaay,” Angel says, dubiously. “So, I have about a thousand alcohol calories that need shifting. Are you coming to work out with me or not?”

Liam pulls the sheet up. “Uh, not. Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”

Angel climbs off the bed and sighs. “Fine. Abandon me in my hour of need. See if I care. But if I don’t fit into the kick-ass wedding dress Elissa helped me choose last night,
I’m blaming you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Angel puts her hands on her hips. “You’re not even going to ask me about the dress? This is your wedding, too, you know.”

Liam scrubs his hand over his face. “God, sorry. Not really awake yet. You found something you liked?”

“Heaps, but Elissa helped me narrow it down to the perfect choice. God, that chick is amazing. I swear, I’m going to kidnap her when we leave New York. You’d be cool with her
living with us when we’re hitched, right? We could be the first out and proud polyamorous trio in Hollywood.” Liam looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Angel bursts into
laughter. “Kidding! Sort of. But if I was into chicks, I’d definitely make a move. She shouldn’t be single. Don’t you know any hot actor friends you can set her up
with?”

“Uh . . . no. Anyway, she doesn’t date actors.”

“How do you know that?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “She . . . uh . . . told me years ago. Every bad relationship she’s had has been with an actor.”

Angel shakes her head. “Yeah, well, no wonder. We’re a bunch of assholes. Still, I’m sure I can find some hottie for her if I really try. You try to think of people, too. That
girl deserves some man to worship her, and I aim to make it happen.” She bends down and kisses his cheek. “Okay, I’m outta here, fatty. See you at rehearsals later.”

“Yep. See you, then.”

Angel leaves, and when Liam hears the apartment door close behind her, he releases a sigh of relief and flops back on the bed. “Jesus Christ.”

I pull open the bathroom door and step out. As soon as he sees me, he leaps out of bed and comes over.

“Liss. Hey.” He blinks at me. “I thought you’d left.”

“Hey,” I say, my heart still pounding from our close encounter of the Angel kind. Also, dealing with him in just his boxers isn’t easy, especially in my current state.
“So, Angel has a key to your apartment, huh?”

He looks at the front door, then back to me. “Uh, yeah. But she never uses it. She must have knocked, and only come in when I didn’t answer. You okay? You get some
painkillers?”

“Yep. Thanks.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Sorry about the whole . . . well, everything, last night. I didn’t mean to crash.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy you passed out here rather than on the subway.”

I nod. “So, you undressed me?”

He stands up straight. “Uh . . . yeah. I thought you’d be more comfortable. I was going to sleep on the couch, but you grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I meant to just stay
until you were unconscious, but I guess I fell asleep.” He puts his hands on his hips and assesses me. “You feel up to some breakfast? I have bacon and eggs in the fridge. Might settle
your stomach.”

After what just happened, the thought of food makes me shudder. “No, thanks. I’d better get going.”

I squeeze past him and head out into the living room to find my bag. It’s under the coffee table, and I thank God Angel didn’t spot it.

“Hey, wait a second.” He catches up to me and grabs my arm. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”

I turn to face him. “I really do.” I take a deep breath. I didn’t want to do this now, but I guess I have no choice. “Liam, I can’t come here anymore. From now on,
Josh will run your lines with you. You can trust him with your secret. He’ll be very discreet.”

It takes Liam a few moments to process what I’ve just said, but when he does, his whole face drops. “Wait. What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand. Is this about last night? Are you embarrassed about what you said?”

“It’s not about last night. It’s about the past six years. And it’s also about the fact that your fiancée very nearly walked in and found us in bed
together.”

“Liss—”

“No, Liam. This isn’t fair to her. Also, if Marco and Ava were to find out I’m visiting your apartment every night in secret, my career would be over. They’d fire me on
the spot.”

“They couldn’t. You’re here in a professional capacity.”

“No, I’m not. That’s the problem. Sobbing into your arms about my pathetic infatuation with you isn’t professional. And you being aroused by me isn’t, either. And
for the record—me waking up half-naked in bed with you? Absolutely not professional.”

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.

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.

I take off at a slow pace and make my way toward Central Park.

For the past few days, I’ve tried to stay busy so I could put Liam out of my mind and get over him, but arriving at rehearsal early and staying late has still left me plenty of time to
dwell. Hence, resorting to the ancient torture of jogging as further distraction. It doesn’t help matters that things seem to be strained between him and Angel. On more than one occasion,
I’ve seen them have tense words. Josh thinks they’re just playing up some relationship drama for the television show, but I’m not so sure. Maybe they’re not as happy as they
always seem. Could that be the reason Liam’s turning to me?

I shake my head and chastise myself. See? My instinct is to dwell, and I really need to stop.

In theory, I should be able to cope with seeing Liam every day by suppressing my feelings. In reality, it’s like an alcoholic trying to stay clean by working in a liquor store.

So, now, here I am, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and cursing the idiot who thought this sports bra was even close to being supportive enough.

Would anyone care if I just held my boobs as I ran? Because, seriously. Ow.

The first few blocks are okay. The next few are harder. When I get to the park and merge with all the other early-morning joggers, I see just how out of my depth I am. I’m pretty sure one
dude passes me five times. Goddamn overachiever.

After thirty minutes, my lungs are burning. After forty-five, I want to die.

When I can’t take any more, I collapse onto the grass and try to finish off with some ab crunches. Clearly, my technique is lacking, because a teenager comes over and asks me if I need
help getting up. Even calls me “ma’am.” Little shit.

I lie back on the grass and huff. Okay, so, this experiment has been mildly successful. Perhaps with more practice, it could actually be a solution.

When I can breathe without it burning, I sit up and look around the park. It’s a beautiful day in New York, and people are taking advantage of the mild weather. I watch as the usual
cavalcade passes: tourists clicking photos, joggers and cyclists, dog walkers, stroller-pushing parents. Oh, and the lovers. Let’s not forget them. They’re everywhere, and when
you’re single, they seem to triple in number, just to piss you off and make you feel extra alone. They stroll by, smugly hand in hand, or with their arms around each other as they chat and
laugh, all the while taunting you with their loving glances and easy touches.

I stare at one particular couple who sits on a nearby bench. As the girl tells a story, the boy strokes her face, her neck, her back. He looks at her like she’s the sun in his universe,
and it’s obvious he’s just waiting for her to stop so he can kiss her. The girl looks at him the same way. Her eyes roam over his face as she speaks, and sure enough, when the
story’s done, she winds her hands into his hair and pulls him to her. They kiss slowly. Deeply. Oblivious to everything but each other, as if they had all day to kiss like that.

Assholes.

I want that. That open, easy love. I want a man who isn’t already engaged to look at me the way Liam does.

A sharp pang intensifies inside me and I look away.

Sexual frustration is one thing. Relationship frustration is another. Both together make people like me do stupid, desperate things. Things they end up regretting.

To demonstrate my point, I climb to my feet and start to jog again. One foot in front of the other. Over and over again. Until I’m incapable of thinking about anything but my own harsh
breathing.

Oh, unholy demons of pain, why? Why do you hate me so?

I hiss as I attempt to grab the stack of company notices that has just slipped out of my hands and fallen to the floor. They scatter everywhere, and I sigh in frustration. There’s no way I
can pick them up. Thanks to my overexertions yesterday, I’m unable to bend my legs without squealing. Even sitting on the subway this morning wasn’t an option.

I wonder if Marco would object to me standing for today’s rehearsal. Maybe not, but he would object to me not handing out this important information about costume fittings and tech
rehearsals.

Dammit.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I walk over to the mess of paper and nudge them together with my foot. When I think I have most of them close enough to pick up in one go, I move my legs
apart like a giraffe at a watering hole and bend down to try to reach them.

“Come on, arms. Be longer. Just for a few seconds. I swear, I’ll never make you do push-ups again if you make this happen.”