Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(67)

“Oh, please,” she says with a laugh. “As if any man is ever going to compete with Ethan. But a girl can appreciate a fine male specimen, even if she’s off the market. So spill. As hot as he seems in Rageheart? Or just looks good in demon makeup?”

I close my eyes. Liam did look amazing in his demon makeup. Gray skin, black hair, and bright blue eyes. Rippling muscles that were hardly ever covered by a shirt. Sexy in a fantasy-comic-book kind of way.

But Liam in the flesh is even more stunning.

“Gorgeous,” I begrudgingly admit.

“I knew it!” Cassie says. “He looks edible on this show. But please tell me Ethan and I never looked this nauseatingly in love. These two are like Ken and Barbie, if Barbie were a perky redhead and Ken had a penis and sex appeal.”

I laugh. If only she knew how much of a penis and sex appeal Liam has. “Yeah, they’re pretty gross.”

“And what about Angel Bell? She seems like a total sweetheart, but . . . I don’t know. No one can be that perfect, can they?”

I sigh. “Apparently they can. She’s a doll. She and Liam have amazing chemistry, and that’s what people are coming to see.”

“Sounds like me and Ethan, then. But it’s no secret he carries our show and that I’m just there just to rub myself all over him in front of a theaterful of people. I still don’t understand why I get paid for that.”

“Oh, shut it. You’re an incredible actress, and you know it.”

“Eh. I’m all right.”

I get another incoming call on my phone, and when I check the screen, my heart skips a beat.

“Uh, Cassie? I have to go. See you Sunday?”

“Yes, see you then! I’ll be the one banned from the kitchen. Love you!”

I sign off and answer the other call.

“Liam?”

“Hey.” He sounds terrible.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he says. “Had a bad day.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Can you meet me?”

“Where are you?”

“At a bar. A really shitty bar.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough. Come drink with me.”

I almost say “okay” before my common sense kicks in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Liss. I need a friend tonight.”

“What about Angel?”

“We had a fight. I started it, but still. I need a break. I need you. Please.”

I sigh and press my hand over my eyes. “Liam, I shouldn’t.”

“You should. I’m near the corner of Fifteenth and Ninth. It’s called the Badger’s Den. Just come for one drink, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”

Dammit, I should say no, but I can’t. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

After I hang up, I get out of my cheese-eating pants and pull on my jeans. Then I freshen up and head out to the living room.

Josh is frowning at his computer screen. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Just reading the Angeliam hashtag on Twitter. Seems like there are a whole bunch of women who are hating on Angel just because she’s with Quinn. Jesus, these comments are harsh.” He picks up his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Angel. I hope she’s not reading any of this, and if she is, she needs to know it’s all bullshit.” Before he hits “call,” he looks up at me. “Where are you going?”

“To meet Liam. He’s in a bar. I figure I’ll try to get him out of there before someone recognizes him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. This show is going to make him even more of a target. Just make sure you stay out of the way if he starts throwing punches, okay?”

“Deal.” I grab my keys off the table and shove them in my bag. “See you later?”

“I’ll be here.”

As I close the door behind me, I hear him say, “Hey, Angel. It’s Josh. You okay?”


Twenty minutes later, I’m wandering down Fiftieth Street looking for the Badger’s Den. Turns out, I find it easily. If a lightbulb factory and the Ebola virus mated and gave birth to a bar, it would look like this place.

“Ew.”

Against my better judgment, I pull open the door and head inside. It’s dark and dingy and smells like stale beer and loneliness. There’s a guy sitting near the door watching the TV behind the bar, and the only other people in the place are a middle-aged couple canoodling at a table in the corner. The guy’s hand is under the table, and he’s either touching his lady friend in special places, or that glass of red wine is really good.

Lovely.

I see a familiar figure near the far wall, sitting at a table by himself.

When I walk over to him, he looks up at me and smiles. “Liss.” The way he says it sounds like a sigh of relief. “So glad you’re here. What are you drinking? Come on, I’m buying.”

He gets up and puts his arm around me to guide me to the bar.

The barkeep comes over and acknowledges us with a tilt of his chin. “What’ll it be?”