3. Liam

Liam

Chapter three

Isettled into my seat with my large, steaming cappuccino in hand.

Afternoon coffee was beyond necessary after last night and this morning, and Maeve had forced me out of the apartment. This woman, with all her being social and leaving the house needs, would be the death of me. If I perished, she would absolutely be the guilty party.

Though I kind of wanted the breath of fresh air too.

The golden light of the late afternoon sun streamed through the open windows of this cozy spot. Artificer Coffee was such a gorgeous place, with exposed brick walls, dark hardwood floors, a long wooden counter that stretched through the back half of the room, and vaulted ceilings with arched windows. The fireplace in the corner flickered with pretty flames, and folks clustered outside the glass-paned doors to the right, taking advantage of the outside patio.

“Did you see the building across the street is for sale?” Maeve said, plonking down into the seat opposite me. Despite last night being her birthday celebration, she was shockingly not hungover, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail and her wing-tipped eyeliner sharp as a razor.

“And that impacts me how?” I played the avoidance game in full force. I’d been working as a PT for years now, but driving to my job forty-five minutes away had gotten old after the first six months. My dream was to open my own clinic. The clientele was here, I’d saved the funds, and I’d be able to hire some assistants and massage therapists to round out the business. Except every time I sat down to fill out the paperwork, I froze up.

My family, my best friend, and my close-as-fuck friend group were all in the area, and I had no plans to move. I had the experience and the funds. There was no real reason to stall on finding my own place. Yet Hal’s words still rang around in my head, on how I was too passive, how I wouldn’t be able to handle problems on my own. He’d called me needy, too dependent, and those insults had taken root until I’d made sure I didn’t rely on anyone.

Relationships weren’t on my radar after the train wreck Hal and I had become, and I refused to lean on friends too much.

However, opening my own business? That involved a lot of trusting in people, depending on people, things I had a hard time doing.

“Right, if you’re going to feign ignorance on the prime opportunity for your PT business over there, then I’m going to get nosy about what the hell you and Ollie were doing emerging from your room all rumpled and cute-like.”

A fierce flush flooded my cheeks.

“We were drunk and passed out in my room,” I muttered, trying my damndest to repress my blush at the reminder of how I’d woken up this morning. Sharing a bed with Ollie hadn’t happened since high school, and to blink awake next to all his heat and muscle vaulted me back about fifteen years. However, stripped down to our underwear was a new one for both of us.

Clear by the way Ollie had all but ogled my panties, and when he’d slipped a finger in past the waistband…fuck. Every nerve ending in my body had lit up at the simple touch.

And our wrestling session on the bed would be in my spank bank until I died. His huge frame, those thick muscles, how his thighs had trapped me in—everything had made me want to flip over and offer my ass. However, then he’d pulled back, and we’d made pancakes, avoiding talk about the Josie situation since he’d clearly have to handle it when he headed home.

My phone hadn’t made a peep, even though I’d been checking it regularly since he left a few hours ago.

“You’re so convincing,” Maeve drawled, attacking her tea with one of those little wooden stirrers. “As if Ollie isn’t the reason you’re on the anti-commitment train.”

I shot her a glare, a familiar irritation roiling in my chest. “He’s not.”

I’d tried, and the year with Hal had made me realize that sometimes no relationship was better than that mess. Ollie had nicknamed him “Hell” for a reason. Not like Ollie’s marriage had been peaches and cream either. Neither of us had done great in that department, but our friendship was enough for me. Hookups scratched the sexual itch, and I’d had a good routine going.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen and wrinkled my nose. A text from my boss was the last thing I wanted to see on my day off.

Amanda called out, so we need you to take her patients tomorrow.

Fucking lovely.

“What’s got you so pissy?” Maeve asked, nudging my foot with hers.

“Work’s doubling my load tomorrow.” I groaned. Shit, I’d given her the ammo to pester me.

Maeve’s lips curled with her feline grin. “Okay, jokes on loads aside, you know you wouldn’t have to deal with this stuff if you opened your own practice, right?”

I shot her a deadpan look. “Yeah, but I’d be dealing with the other headaches, like running a goddamn business.”

“You just need an outlet for that pressure,” Maeve said, dogged in her determination to see her friends succeed. How dare she want what was best for me. “I bet Ollie’s going to be so lonely and horny now that he’s single.”

My whole body ran hot. Sure, it had been every wet dream as a teenager, and I’d spent an ungodly amount of time jerking off to thoughts of him, but I kept that shit on lockdown. Though Maeve had figured me out a while back, and though Theo was gentler in his approach, I knew he had too.

“All that means is I have to sit through my best friend going through a string of hookups with random women,” I admitted the truth, if only to stop my foolish heart from getting invested. Pointless longing was one thing—I’d known Ollie was off-limits for a long time now—but this divorce was dangerous. It cracked open the tendril of hope I’d never fully strangled.

“If Ollie’s straight, I’ll eat my corset.” Maeve took a swig of her tea.

“Which one?” I arched a brow as I tried to ignore the way her definitive statements fed that sickening hope.

“The leather one I bought at Faire last year,” she said, giving me a dead-ass look like she thought I was an idiot. And fair. Self-deception didn’t work for long around my bulldozer friend.

“Well, I hope you like the taste of boiled leather.” I clutched tight to my cappuccino. “I heard it makes a great soup.”

An adorable chick walked by with a bright pink bob, crimson lips, and the sort of rockabilly style Maeve lost her mind over.

“Cute-as-hell skirt,” Maeve said to the woman, her voice going all throaty in the way it did when she was picking up. I held back my eye roll, barely. At least I kept my one-night stands private.

“Thanks,” the woman said, a blush staining her cheeks as she passed us to the counter to order. Maeve kept her gaze plastered on her the whole time. If they were hot, femme, and single, Maeve would swoop in with a flirty line. We both kept our shit nondramatic, which was how we preferred it.

Relationships just invited complications.

I’d almost lost myself to one once and would never return to being that guy again.

“Why don’t you go get her number.” I gestured to the woman. “She’s right in line.”

Maeve let out a low hum. “And abandon you in your time of need, Liam Dorothy Kelly?”

“That’s not my middle name,” I grumbled, slugging back more of my cappuccino to savor the robust coffee with the sweet foam. “And I’m not in need.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Maeve wagged a finger in full lecture mode. “You’ve always needed Ollie’s cock, but now it’s unattached.”

I cringed. “Please don’t talk about separating his cock from his body.”

“Some of the best cocks are the detachable ones,” Maeve said with a sniff. “And stop being an ass. It’s not like I’m running around with a penis guillotine.”

I shifted in my seat to move an inch away from her, the chair squeaking with the motion. “Well, now I’m nervous about sharing an apartment with you. I’ve never even heard of a penis guillotine before.”

Maeve reached across the table and flicked me in the arm. “Stop being such a drama queen. What sort of yoga instructor would I be if I moonlit as a castrator to the masses? It’d mess up the energy I’m putting out.”

“What, orgy vibes?”

“You’re such a little bitch.” She huffed and took another sip of her tea. “Like I haven’t seen the parade of men who tromp through your door. Just because you keep it on the DL and don’t talk about them doesn’t mean you’re not just as much of a slut.”

I snorted, letting the tangle of confusion from last night and this morning drift away. Even though Maeve kept trying to make me confront my problems, and maybe she had a fair point, right now, I just wanted to sit back with my cappuccino and enjoy the Sunday afternoon.

“Hey, cutie,” Maeve said as Pink Hair strolled by again, this time walking a bit slower with more of a swing in her hip. Well, this outing would break up soon.

My phone buzzed again, pulling my attention away from Maeve’s steady stream of flirting. Ollie had messaged me, and I hated the way my heart always sped the slightest bit at the sight of his name on my screen.

Help! Emergency at the Brannon household!

I sucked in a breath. My drama queen best friend wouldn’t text over a true emergency, which meant he was in freak-out mode about the divorce.

I’d been over Mr. and Mrs. Brannon’s house to hang with Ollie for as long as I could remember, apart from the brief stint when I’d gone away for college. But the second I came back, they welcomed me back into their loud, chaotic family, since I was not only their son’s best friend but apparently ”one of them” if Rory’s incessant chanting was any indicator. Hell, my family got invites over to their house on holidays. My folks hated the stress of hosting but loved the big, cozy atmosphere over there.

Another text from Ollie buzzed through.

Come save me.

I heaved a sigh and swallowed the last gulps of my cappuccino. Maeve was deep in conversation with Pink Hair, and this would give them the perfect opportunity.

“Hey, Maeve?” I said. “I’ve got to get going. I’m getting dragged into divorce drama with the Brannons.”

Maeve shook her head, a smirk on her lips. “Just make sure to bend over a lot in front of him. Find reasons to stretch.”

I flipped her the middle finger as I got up and gestured to Pink Hair if she wanted to take my seat. She slipped into it, and I brought my mug to the designated receptacle before heading for the door.

I would only drop everything for one person on the planet, and his name was Oliver Brannon.