Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(50)

“Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but I don’t trust anyone else. You’d just need to run lines with me for an hour or so each night until I get the scenes down for the next day. David should be back by next week. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Where would we go?”

“My apartment is right around the corner.”

“Won’t Angel get wise that something’s up if we’re running lines in front of her?”

He blinks a few times. “Uh . . . well, we aren’t sharing an apartment while we’re in New York. She has her own place.”

I frown. “Isn’t that weird? You guys are engaged. I kind of thought living together came with the territory.”

“Not for us,” he says. “Working and living together is stressful. Plus, she drives me insane with her messiness, and she hates my compulsive cleaning. It’s just easier if we have our own space. She’s just one floor down, though, so we’re still close.”

From all my cyber-stalking, I thought I knew the ins and outs of their relationship, but apparently not.

“Do you not hang out after rehearsals?”

“Sometimes, but most nights she locks herself away to work on her lines. Another reason I don’t want her involved in this. She has enough pressure without me adding to it.”

“Okay, fine. Your place. I’ll get there as soon as I can after I finish up here.”

“Great,” he says, and gives me a knee-buckling smile. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“Liam?” Angel calls. “Where are you?”

Liam pushes me behind the door and holds a finger to my lips. When the door swings open, he catches it right before it smashes into my nose.

“Hey,” he says to Angel.

“What are you doing?”

“Just grabbing some water for the ride home. Ready to go?”

“God, yes. There’s a bottle of low-carb wine at home with my name on it. Want to come over for a drink?”

“Ah, not tonight. I have to learn some lines.”

“Me, too. It’s never-ending. My brain hurts.”

“So just a small ache, then?”

She groans. “You’re not funny.”

“Yeah, I am.”

After they leave, I head back into the rehearsal room and clean the production desk in a semi-haze.

I’m finishing up when Josh and Denise come over. “Drinks at Lacey’s?” Josh asks.

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.”