Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(62)

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.

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.