Chapter 9

J azz spun around, taking in Liam's apartment while Liam made tea and pretended he wasn't watching her, gauging her reactions to his place. She hadn't been here since she'd helped Maggie and Cal pack up Cal's stuff to move out, and Liam had made the place his own.

When Cal had lived in the Seattle penthouse, it had looked like any old millionaire bachelor's apartment. Now, it looked like Liam. He'd painted the walls a soft, warm brown, covered the mahogany floors with plush rugs, and a giant modular couch took up the center of the room. From its configuration, she could tell Liam used it as a cozy reading nook—he had it set up almost like a bed, with a bunch of blankets and fuzzy pillows. His Kindle was resting on the arm of the couch, and he had no TV that she could see.

Any wall that wasn't lined with a bookshelf was covered in art. Liam didn't seem to favor any particular style; contemporary pieces were hung beside prints of classic paintings. It shouldn't work, but everything he'd chosen complimented each other perfectly. That was his thing, she supposed. She'd never made it to the Seattle Art Museum to see the exhibits he'd worked on before he'd been fired, but she wouldn't know a good art piece from a T.J. Maxx special anyway. What she did know was that Liam had a beautiful eye. Unsurprisingly.

"What do you think?"

Jazz paused her perusal of his bookcases and peered over her shoulder just in time to see Liam setting their tea down on the coffee table. She didn't understand his preference for tea over coffee, and he would never convert her entirely, but she could admit he made a nice cup.

"It feels cozy. Like you. I like it."

Liam smiled, and she ignored the way her stomach fluttered in response.

"No TV?" she asked, taking a seat beside him on the couch and almost groaning with the way her body sank into it.

He nodded toward a summer landscape in a gold frame that was hung on the wall in front of the couch. "That's the TV. But I don't really watch it—I just switch the art up when I want a change."

Jazz sighed, shaking her head at him.

"What?" he asked.

"That should've sounded fucking pretentious, but it just works when you say it. Fucking Michaelsons."

"For someone so eager to become one, you sure complain about us Michaelsons a lot."

"No family should be so perfect. I can't even blame the Michaelson DNA since your moms are perfect too. And Maggie. I bet if you actually tried to marry me, the Ghost of Michaelsons Past would show up the night before and warn you against ruining the family name."

Liam rolled his eyes. "Wow. The Ghost of Michaelsons Past sounds like a judgmental cunt."

"I don't think you're supposed to call your ancestors cunts," she said and Liam just laughed. Her stomach did the weird fluttery thing again, and she looked away. "You have a lot of books." It wasn't a subtle subject change, but Liam didn't seem to notice.

"This isn't even all of them. There's another bookcase in the bedroom. You know how much I read."

"Yeah, but I've never seen you read an actual book. You're always reading on your Kindle."

"I prefer reading on my Kindle so I can change the font, but when I finish a book, I usually end up buying a paperback too. Like a trophy. Besides, a lot of romance covers aren't reading-in-public friendly."

The golden light shining through the floor to ceiling windows illuminated Liam like an angel. A blushing angel. From his cheeks to the tips of his ears, he was bright red.

Jazz grinned. "Liam Michaelson, are you embarrassed of the fact you read steamy books?"

"No," he spluttered. "I just don't need to be out there scandalizing the people of Seattle."

"Hmm. I suppose not. You can scandalize me instead. Maybe I'll make you read me a bedtime story. "

Liam perked up. "Does that mean you're staying over tonight?"

Jazz rarely stayed over after sober hook ups. If she could drive home, she did. She slept like the dead, and even she was sensible enough not to be so vulnerable around people she didn't know. But she knew Liam, she was safe with him, and this wasn't exactly a one-time thing. It was a whole ass arrangement she'd been avoiding thinking about because she still couldn't quite wrap her head around Liam wanting to do this. "Do you want me to stay?"

He nodded. "I do. Sex can be intense at the best of times." Intense wasn't Jazz's experience: frustrating and disappointing were more like it. But that's why she was here, wasn't it? She had no doubts Liam would just end up frustrated and disappointed too, but he couldn't say she hadn't warned him.

"I would prefer to keep you close so I can check on you and make sure you're okay," Liam finished.

It was hard to argue when he sounded so genuine. "Okay, sure."

"I won't force you to cuddle or anything. Although I do like cuddling. You can stay in the guest room while you're here, and I can crash on the couch at your place, if that makes you more comfortable. I just need to know you're okay."

Aftercare was the cornerstone of healthy sex, and it wasn't entirely foreign to Jazz. It was better with women, she'd learned over the years. Rarely had a man spent time making sure she was okay after sex—hell, most of the time they didn't reciprocate when Jazz asked if they were okay. Even those who liked to cuddle usually did so in silence before falling asleep and leaving her to navigate her way out of whatever messy apartment she'd found herself in.

Of course Liam wasn't like that. They'd both been wasted the first time they'd been together, and he'd still taken the time to make sure she was okay, to rub her back and tuck her in close to him. And despite her lack of orgasm, she'd liked it.

"Cuddling is good with me. At least I know you don't snore," she pointed out.

Liam laughed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, but you do."

"Oh, I know. But you already invited me to cuddle, so that's your problem now."

"I don't mind. You're a pretty cute snorer."

"Excellent, I'll add that to my resume. Should we set some rules for this… arrangement?" Maggie and Cal had ground rules when they started sleeping together, but Jazz didn't think Liam would want to hear about that. Not that what Liam and Jazz were doing was anything like Maggie and Cal. Those two had been inevitable from the first kiss, and Jazz would be surprised if this thing between her and Liam lasted a week.

"Sure. Did you have any in mind?" Liam asked, finishing his tea and setting the empty cup aside. Jazz snatched hers up before it got cold. She took a sip: lukewarm. This was why she stuck to iced coffee.

She wracked her brain. This was the kind of thing she usually spoke to Maggie about—not that she'd ever done anything like this before. Unless you counted situationships, and she absolutely did not count situationships. But she couldn't exactly call her best friend up and say, "Hey, I know I said Liam and I weren't going to sleep together again, but we both know I was lying and now we have an arrangement where he's going to help me orgasm after a ten-year orgasm-drought. Any ideas to stop this going up in flames?"

Instead, she just shrugged. "I can't think of any."

"We can talk things out and add rules as they come up," Liam suggested, and she nodded. At some point, she was going to have to talk to Maggie about this. Probably sooner rather than later.

"Do you have any?"

"Just one. Wait here a sec." Liam stood and strode across the room. With his back to her, Jazz didn't even pretend not to be checking out the long lines of his back. He really was quite beautiful. Tall, but not so tall she had to strain her neck trying to kiss him. He was a little lanky, not muscly enough to suggest he worked out often, but she'd seen him carrying heavy pieces of furniture for Maggie, so he was strong.

He bent down to rummage around in a cabinet in the kitchen and Jazz sat up taller so she could check out his ass. The man could really wear a pair of… cargo pants? Jesus, he was wearing cargo pants. In no world were cargo pants hot, but on Liam? Fuck.

Liam turned around before she had a chance to look nonchalant, a small tote bag clutched in his hand. A smirk danced around the edges of his mouth. "Are you checking me out?"

"Yes," she said, brazenly. No point in pretending when he'd caught her red-handed.

"What's the verdict?"

"Thumbs up," she answered as Liam rejoined her on the couch and set the bag—which, up close, she could see was printed with a black cat wearing a beret and holding a paintbrush—down.

"A glowing review," he said with a chuckle. From the bag, he withdrew a small chalkboard, a duster, and a box of colored chalk.

"Why do you own a chalkboard?" Jazz asked, hypocritically, since she'd dabbled in chalk art herself. And by dabbled, she meant she'd spent a hundred dollars on supplies, three hours watching YouTube videos, and only ten minutes trying the craft.

"I thought I'd be more likely to stick to a grocery list if I made it more aesthetically pleasing, but I kept forgetting to take a picture before going to the grocery store, so I just do it on my phone now. And I still never stick to my list," Liam replied with a shrug. Honestly, she was impressed that he even made lists. Jazz grocery shopped based purely on vibes. Which is why she ended up ordering takeout so often.

Liam grabbed a piece of mostly intact chalk from the box and chewed the inside of his lip in concentration as he wrote something. He turned the chalkboard around, and Jazz snorted as she read the neat, orange cursive,

"Rule number one," Liam said. "No faking it."