by Abby Brooks
I smile as I tuck myself into the corner of the couch, kicking off my shoes and curling my feet up underneath me. “My mom used to say music is something that gets in your soul. That all people appreciate music but there’s a lucky few who get to live it. She lived it, I think.” I drop my gaze to my hands, feeling her loss more than I have in a long time. “Looks like you do, too.”
Liam presses a finger to his lips and squints at me. “So, the constant touring? All the platinum albums? None of that was enough to make you think I live and breathe music?” Liam gestures with his phone, widening his eyes. “But you watch me listen to one song and that’s the tipping point?”
“A lot of people exist in lives they didn’t build for themselves.” I scooch to the edge of the couch, trying to gather up the energy to stand.
Liam gazes at me, his eyes locked on mine like he can see right past all the things I want him to see to all the things I really am. “Wow,” he says after a few seconds. “That’s deep.” He laughs and whatever I thought I saw in his eyes fades until I have to wonder if I imagined it.
Suddenly desperate to put some distance between us, I stand with a groan and wander into the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, I’d make myself a dinner with little to no nutritional value and eat it in front of the TV. Maybe I’d play the piano after soaking in the tub. But, with Liam here, none of those things seem appropriate. I just can’t be that relaxed around him.
“Have you eaten?” I call to him. “Any chance there’s leftovers?”
“Nope.” There’s a rustle of movement as he stands. “Wanna go out or something? I am in desperate need of a change in scenery.” His tall frame fills the doorway, his presence preceding him, his energy permeating the kitchen. I feel crowded before he even enters the room.
I lean against the counter opposite him, putting as much physical space between us as I can. “Are you sure going out is a good idea? What if people recognize you?”
“I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in your living room.” Liam runs a hand up the back of his neck.
“At least we agree on something,” I say. For some reason, I find the look of shock on his face utterly hilarious and bite my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing at him.
“Do you know how many women would kill to have me spend the rest of my life in their living room?” Liam pushes off the wall, shaking his head and looking way more amused than offended.
I turn away from him and reach into a cabinet for my dad’s favorite coffee mug, needing the comfort and familiarity of the old, chipped handle right now. “I’m not most women.”
“You can say that again.” Liam crosses the room, his bare feet slapping lightly on the cheap tile. “So? What do you think?” he asks, leaning against the counter beside me. “You ready to go out and get crazy?”
“I’m too exhausted to get crazy.” I fill the mug with water from the tap and take a drink, watching him over the rim.
“But that exhaustion is exactly why you need to go out,” he says, hope lighting up his face. “Let someone else cook the food and deal with the dishes.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “Come on, Bailey. Live a little.”
I hesitate, more aware of all the points of contact between us than I want to be. “I live plenty,” I say, shrugging out from under his arm. “But really, what if someone notices you?”
“They won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because,” Liam replies, shrugging as if he’d just explained everything in one little word.
“How about this?” I run a hand through my hair, realizing I never changed out of my scrubs and feeling gross. “We stay in and order a pizza tonight…”
Liam’s face falls and he looks so crestfallen I almost change my mind.
Almost.
“We can watch your Nina Simone documentary and you can tell me all about what makes her so amazing,” I say, offering up the documentary like an olive branch. “And…” I lick my lips. “I promise we’ll go out soon. When I’m not too tired to deal with any of the potential fall out if you get recognized.”
“Right,” he says, his eyes going hard. “All you had to say was no.”
“Wow.” I take a drink. “Why do I feel like I’ve walked right into a minefield? We’ll go out. Really. Just not tonight.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Liam rubs his hands together, sliding his perfect smile back into place over whatever it is he’s got going on in his head. “But if we’re staying in tonight, I have a few conditions.”
“Conditions, huh?” I run my thumb over the chip in the handle of Dad’s mug and tilt my head to the side. “Let me hear ‘em.”
“First of all, we can watch the documentary, but you have to promise not to talk over it.”
I drop my jaw. “I can talk whenever I want to, thank you very much.”
“Sure.” Liam nods his agreement. “Just not over Nina Simone.”
“And your second condition?” I give him a look like a warning shot.
“No pepperoni.”
“No pepperoni?” I groan as my stomach growls. “That’s just blasphemous.”
“What’s blasphemous is the fat, sodium, calories, and nitrates in the stuff.”
I puff out my cheeks and let air out through my lips. “What else?” I ask as I put the mug down on the counter.
Liam squints at me, tapping his chin like he’s considering something groundbreaking. “This last one is the most important one.”
“Did I mention how exhausted I am? Three really long days at the hospital?” I wrap an arm around my waist. “Ringing any bells?”
“I’m getting there. It’s just that you have to know. This one is a deal breaker.” His eyes sparkle devilishly.
“So,” I ask, drawing out the word and raising my eyebrows. “The others are negotiable?”
“Well, no. Not really.” Liam laughs. “But this last one is basically the holy mother of conditions and if you agree to it, you have to follow through. No backing out.” He levels a finger at me, looking more and more serious by the second.
“I don’t back out of things.” I lift my chin, a little bubble of defiance growing in my heart.
“I don’t know.” Liam lets out a long breath. “You look like the kind of person who might be a little wishy-washy.”
“Wishy-washy? Me?” I grin, the weight of exhaustion fading in the presence of his good mood. “You have no idea how un-wishy-washy I am.”
“I’m still not sold.” Liam shrugs and purses his lips. “You know what? It’s better if you just go to bed. There’s no way you can keep up your end of the bargain. You’re just going to let me down.”
“Liam!” I step forward, right into his space, and put my hands on his arms. “I’m so positive I can keep up my end of the bargain that I’ll agree to it before I even know what it is. You have my word. Now just tell me what it is.”
“That’s a dangerous game, hot lips.” His gaze drifts to my mouth.
Oh, shit.
Is he going to ask me to kiss him?
As heat floods my face and doubt pops the bubble of defiance in my heart, I’m suddenly way less sure that I want to play this game. I know what those lips are capable of. Even when I still hated his guts completely, a kiss from Liam was enough to light a fire in my belly. Now that I might actually like him a little bit, a kiss might ruin everything. I’m not getting myself any more tangled up in this guy than I already am.
But, damn it. I gave him my word, which I take seriously. And after he made such a big deal about me being wishy-washy, I refuse to back down and give him something to hold over my head. I’ve fought through my fair share of shit and I sure as hell didn’t get to where I am by being weak.
My lips part and my eyes go to his mouth as I let out a trembling breath and drop my hands to my sides. If he’s about to name kissing me as one of his conditions, then I’ll kiss the hell out of him. Maybe this time he’ll be the one left reeling.
Liam throws his head back and laughs. “You’re too easy, Bailey. You should play your cards closer to the vest. That competitive streak is way too easy to take advantage of.”
Confused and more than a little embarrassed, I cross my arms and take a step back. “Alright then, Mr. Master Manipulator. What did I just agree to? Hit me with this holy mother of conditions.”
Liam grins, victory gleaming in his eyes. “You, my friend, are to hop in the shower while I order the pizza. Take your time soaping up those stinky feet of yours, and get ready to enjoy the best foot rub of your life.”
“Why do you want to rub my feet so badly in the first place?”
“Because you told me no. I’m not a big fan of that word.”
“Whatever,” I say, grumbling as I leave the kitchen, smiling despite myself.
The shower goes a long way towards making me feel human again and by the time I find myself back out on the couch with Liam, I almost regret telling him I wanted to stay in.
“Pop those puppies up here,” he says, gesturing with his hands and grinning widely.
I shift so my back is pressed against the arm of the couch and put both of my feet in his lap. “This had better be one hell of a foot rub,” I say. “After all this build up, I don’t know how you’re not going to let me down.”
Liam grins and runs his hands over the top of my feet, his touch firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough to send a wave of goose bumps chasing one another across my skin. I hum my approval, my eyes sliding closed as a smile plays across my lips.
“You really don’t know me very well, do you?” he asks as he picks up my right foot and presses his thumbs into my arch. “I’m not in the business of letting people down.”
My head drops back on the armrest and I moan as he works magic on my feet, days of stress and tension evaporating under his careful ministrations. Maybe I’m not going to totally hate having him stay here after all.
LIAM
A firm knock on my bedroom door wakes me up way before I’m ready. I roll over with a groan, pulling the blankets up over my head to block out the sun that’s creeping through the slats of the blinds on the window. “Go away,” I say around a mouth so dry it feels stuffed with cotton.
“Nope.” The bed bounces as Bailey plops down beside me and pulls the blankets down. “You feel like explaining all the boxes that keep piling up on my front porch?”
That’s enough to catch my attention. “They’re here?” I push myself into a sitting position. “Sweet.”
“What’s here?” Bailey eyes me. “What is all that stuff?”
I rub my hands over my face. “I bought a few things.”
“A few?” Bailey’s voice is pitched just a little too high for the pre-coffee phase of my morning. “Maybe you and I have a different definition of that word,” she says with a chuckle.
“Bailey. Shh.” I show her my hands and close my eyes. “Mornings and I aren’t the best of friends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I inconveniencing you right now?”
“What’s with all the hostility and sarcasm?” I sniff and rub my eyes. “Is there coffee?”
“I just put on a fresh pot.” She jerks her head toward the door. “The sarcasm is just a way of life with me. The sooner you accept that, the better for both of us.”
“And the hostility? That just a way of life with you, too?”
“That’s still up in the air. Although that foot rub last night went a long way to making me feel better about you invading my space.” She stands. “Now, come on. Get up. I want you to see what’s out there and find out if you still stand by your word choice.” She crosses the room to twist open the blinds, letting in the early morning sun.
With a sigh, I pull back the covers and swing my legs off the edge of the bed. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I put my face in my hands, and take a moment before standing.
Bailey turns around, shock dropping her jaw before she averts her gaze. “Do you ever wear clothes?” she asks.
I look down at my underwear, confused, before meeting her gaze with one of my most seductive looks. “Do I make you uncomfortable? Is me being an underwear model too hot for Brookside?”
“Just get dressed,” she says, trying to look scornful and hide the ghost of a smile twitching at her lips. “And meet me in the living room.”
After she leaves, I pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, brush my teeth, and find her waiting for me at the table in the kitchen, sipping coffee out of the same old mug with the chipped handle she uses every morning.
“Good morning, Bailey. How’d you sleep?” I say as I reach into the cabinet for a mug. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to greet someone when they first wake up.”
Bailey sits back and crosses her legs, holding her mug close to her face. “How kind of you to ask. I slept very well, thank you,” she says with a grin.
I pull out a chair across from her and take a seat. “So, obviously I bought some stuff.” I sip at my coffee, closing my eyes and humming my approval. Bailey makes it strong, just the way I like it.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Does it matter? I mean, it’s my money, right? I can do what I want with it.”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
“Probably?” I set my mug down and lean forward. “What does that even mean?”
Bailey sucks in her lips and averts her gaze. “I mean, yes, you can do whatever you want with your money. But there are a lot of boxes out there and I like things the way they are around here.” She tucks her chin, meeting my eyes with difficulty.
“Who says any of the stuff I bought is for you?” Actually, a lot of it is for her. Or, rather, for us. I’ll take it all with me when I leave. I’m just tired of using all her old, kind of broken stuff and staring at a bunch of blank walls in my bedroom.
“Fair enough.” She laughs, self-conscious. “Sorry. I’m a little weird about change. That was a little intense of me.”
“And self-centered,” I supply.
“And self-centered.” She bobs her head, looking contrite.
“And egotistical.”
Bailey narrows her eyes at me. “You should learn to stop while you’re ahead.”
I hold up my hands, laughing. “Right. Fair enough.”
She stands, rinsing out her mug in the sink. “So, what did you buy?” she asks as she dries it with a worn towel.
“A new mattress, for one.”
Bailey pauses as she puts the mug back in the cabinet, looking at me over her shoulder. “Excuse me?” Color rises in her cheeks and she looks absolutely beautiful, standing there in her shorts and tank top, her hair gleaming in the sunlight like a halo around her head.
I clear my throat and grab my mug, needing something to look at that isn’t her. “Yep. No offense to Michael, but his bed is a piece of shit.”
“So, you just bought a new one?” She sounds way more upset than the situation warrants. “What are we going to do with the one that’s in there now?”
“Throw it away? You’re welcome to keep the one I bought when I leave.”
“I can’t throw that away.” Bailey crosses her arms over her chest.
“Okay.” I sit back in my chair. “Then we’ll store it or something.”
“I can’t afford storage.”
“But I can.”
“And I don’t need your money or your charity,” Bailey says, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.
“Then consider it rent. Aren’t you the one who said I owe you? Big time? Maybe this is how I pay off that debt.” I nod, satisfied with the idea. It makes sense to me. I have no intention of imposing on her without paying her back.
“What happened to the patio you’re supposed to build?”
I laugh. “My strength lies more in my ability to spend lots of money than it does in manual labor. Why don’t you let me replace the things that are broken around here?” The more time I spend with the idea, the more I like it. Everything in Bailey’s
house is old and outdated. The thought of replacing all her worn out things feels good.
“I don’t want to replace my things.” Bailey speaks through a tight jaw, a river of emotion flowing behind her eyes.
“Well, I mean…” I scoot my chair back from the table and rest my ankle on my knee. “Some of those boxes out there are for you.”
“Liam…”
“Come on now. That mug you use every single day? It’s got a big old chip in the handle. I bought you a few new ones.”
Anger, pain, sorrow, they flash in Bailey’s eyes and she swallows hard. “That was my dad’s mug,” she says, her voice strained.
I watch her fight with the emotions raging inside her and a flicker of understanding flares inside me.
“When did your parents die?” I ask, my voice low.
She turns and clutches the edge of the sink as if she’s afraid she might float away. “When I was eighteen.”
“And you’ve lived here ever since?” Things are starting to make sense. The dated curtains in the windows. The ancient couch. The scorched pan she uses to cook breakfast. She inherited all of it.
“I’ve lived here my whole life.” Bailey turns, forcing a smile onto her face. “Sorry,” she says leaning against the counter and swallowing the rest of her emotions. “I’m overreacting.”
“I mean…” I hook an arm over the back of the chair. “You might be the first person I’ve heard of who ever got mad about someone buying them new stuff.”
“I’m just not ready to get rid of their things yet.” She clears her throat and pushes off the counter, crossing the kitchen to have a seat at the table. “But,” she says, her voice artificially light. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t have nice things and I can’t use them while you’re here.”
“Exactly.” I nod, as if that settles everything.
“But, you know…” Bailey trails off, a wide grin brightening her face. “Letting me borrow stuff really doesn’t go very far towards paying off what you owe me.”