6. Liam

6

LIAM

I tear the earbuds out of my ears as I dash up the steps from my morning run feeling refreshed and ready to face another day. After getting through Monday with a little bit of hiding, my hopes are high that I’ll get through this month safely. Besides, Marley was in bed before I got home last night and still asleep when I left for my run, so aside from having an awkward stare-off with Steven this morning as I tied my running shoes, it feels like I’m living alone.

All that comes to a screeching halt though, when I open the door and find Marley standing at the stove making pancakes in the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen, an even smaller tank top. Her hair piled on top of her head like some sort of breakfast starlet while she jiggles and bops to loud, grating seventies punk music.

“Oh hey,” she says brightly, her smile doing all sorts of new things to my stomach as she shuts off the noise coming from her phone. “Want any pancakes? They have sprinkles.”

I look from the brightly colored cake she’s flipping to the ungodly mess on the counter. Batter is splashed willy-nilly all over, flour splatters the floor, the mixing bowl drips onto the counter, and I almost pass out from the stress of it all.

I can feel the moment my face tightens. “What the fuck, Marley? I was only gone for a little over an hour.”

She blinks in surprise and then looks around her. “Oh,” she says, her smile falling. “I’m a messy cook, but don’t worry, I always clean it up.”

“You’d better,” I gesture towards the mess, “because this is unacceptable. I told you I expect the kitchen to be clean.”

“Are you serious right now?” She asks, one hand landing on her hip. “How can it be clean all of the time? It’s a kitchen, not a science lab. Relax, I said I’ll clean it and I will.”

I feel a zing of fury zip straight up my spine and I have to flex my fists a couple of times to keep myself from lashing out. I decide not to point out that a person can absolutely cook without turning a kitchen into this kind of travesty. But I can’t reign in all of my irritation when I bite out. “Make sure you sweep the floor.”

“For fuck’s sake, Martha Stewart, I won’t forget the floor.”

She waves the spatula in the air and a drip of pancake batter falls right on her left breast, and I nearly faint as the thought of grabbing her by the back of her neck and licking it off the fabric takes hold of me. Instead of answering, I storm off to my room teeth clenched, fists clenched, balls clenched.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I strip my shirt off and kick my running shoes into the corner. I can’t think about Marley that way. I can’t think about any woman that way. I don’t have the time or the right personality to be a good partner and this situation doesn’t need to be any more complicated than it already is.

But even as I tell myself all that, I can feel my cock harden at the image of how she looks right now—a thin strip of skin visible between her top and her tiny shorts and so much bare flesh just waiting to be explored by my tongue…

“Fuck,” I bite again, squeezing my cock through my shorts. The very last thing I need is for her to get a glimpse of my pitched tent on my way to the bathroom to take the cold shower I very much need.

Unsuccessful, I just grab my t-shirt and hold it over my crotch. “Going to shower,” I mutter in her general direction without looking at her.”

“I’ll alert the media,” she mutters in response, and I slam the bathroom door behind me so hard it rattles the glass in the window.

Come on, Liam, think about anything else. Anything else in the entire world. I go through the numbers I put together yesterday for our Aspen location and turn the shower knob all the way to the cold side.

By the time the icy pellets slide down my over-heated shoulders, I finally have my cock and my thoughts in order. It was a one-time thing, I convince myself—something that can’t happen again, something that won’t happen again.

“Want to talk about it?” Max asks me when I get to the brewery that afternoon. Luckily by the time I got out of the shower, Marley had cleaned the kitchen and was back in her room and until my giant oaf of a brother asked this question, I’ve been able to steer my mind clear of the way her creamy thighs looked in those shorts.

Shit.

“Talk about what?” I ask, playing dumb. “I’m just about done crunching numbers for Aspen. I think we’ll be good to go at the start of next year.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Not about that. Gus told me about your living situation. And well, you seem extra stressed today.”

“I’m fine,” I bite. “It’s not a big deal, it’s only temporary. It will all get ironed out at the end of the month.”

Max eyes me as if he doesn’t believe me, giving me pause. My big brother has always taken me at my word. But that was before Gus changed him, before he went to therapy and stopped turning all of his feelings into anger. It terrifies me to think that he can actually read my real feelings. Being able to keep those to myself has been something that I’ve always appreciated. “Bullshit.”

I throw my hands up in the air and decide to play the card that makes the most sense. “Okay, so I’m irritated I don’t have the place to myself. I didn’t really want to trade one roommate for another, but I’ll survive. It’s only temporary.”

“But it’s a woman.”

I stare at him. “So?”

“Well,” he runs a hand through his hair and cringes as if it’s hard for him to find words. “It’s not really a secret that you haven’t had a serious relationship since mom—”

I cut him off, feeling a tsunami of emotions build in my stomach that I’d rather avoid. The same disastrous wave that chases me on my run every morning. “That’s none of your business and this isn’t a relationship, it’s a living situation that will come to an end soon.”

“I think she’s probably cute and Liam doesn’t know how to handle it,” Elliot comments, passing by the open door of my office where he was clearly eavesdropping.

“For fuck’s sake, can I get a little privacy here?” I know the anger flaring in my words won’t fan the flames of their suspicion but it’s all I’ve got right now. “I’ve got work to do.”

Max looks at Elliot conspiratorially and I feel my entire body tighten in response to the coming barrage of ‘brotherly love.’ “I think you’re right. Maybe he has a little crush.”

“Little?” Elliot shoots back, talking loudly just to really drive the point home. “I’d say giant, judging by the twitch in his jaw.”

“You’re right,” Max agrees. “And the height of his shoulders suggests he isn’t quite sure what to do with a woman since he hasn’t had one in so long.”

Elliot tut-tuts. “Poor guy. I suppose we could give him a refresher.”

“For god’s sake,” I roar, standing up so fast my chair crashes into the wall behind me. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

Max and Elliot laugh, but it subsides quickly when I hear Gus reprimand them from the bar.

“There’s videos on the internet if you need some advice,” Elliot tosses me before he leaves my office and I very nearly hit him in the head with the stress ball that ended up on my desk one day. I strongly suspect Gus put it there after a heated conversation I had with Elliot that was almost overheard by customers.

I would never admit it to anyone, but I always use it.

Gus peeks her head in the door. “Doing okay?”

I inhale steadily so my voice sounds like I want it to. “Yes, if you don’t count the fact that I have two asshole brothers.”

“I never count that,” she says. She bends over, picks up the stress ball and tosses it back to me. “I don’t think throwing it is how it’s supposed to be used, but every man to himself.”

I catch it and collapse backwards in my chair when I’m finally, thankfully all alone.

Just like I like it.