7. Marley

7

MARLEY

I pace the lobby, waiting for the cleaning crew to arrive the next day. I spent the day yesterday—after being scolded by Liam like a toddler—moving as many boxes as humanly possible. I collapsed face-first into my bed afterwards and slept through dinner.

At least Mr. Schuster is true to his word and an entire cleaning crew from Denver pile out of three vans right on time, unlike himself. In hours, they have the place sparkling. The floors and ceilings still need to be replaced and lots of renovation will be happening next week, but at least it isn’t as much of a health hazard as it was before they were here.

And after I heard a shriek from the bathroom, I’m glad I decided not to look in there before the crew came.

While they worked, I sat at my makeshift desk in the production room and started making a plan for what the newspaper might look like. I pulled old papers from the file cabinets to see what kind of news the Post used to cover and pulled the sections I liked and axed the ones I didn’t.

And even though I’m no graphic designer, I fiddled around with the header and updated it just enough for it to look fresh and old-timey all at the same time.

I head home around six after the last of the cleaning crew exits and walk the few blocks home. My heart slips into my throat as I climb the steps. Liam’s schedule at Redpoint is so unpredictable that I never know whether he’ll be home or not—which I suppose is normal for a brewery.

I don’t know why—especially after he scolded me for my mess yesterday—but I hope he’s home. I feel like I’ve barely gotten to see him, and I have no idea why, but I feel disappointed. I mean, sure he’s super easy on the eyes, but other than that, I barely know him.

Except for his flawless abs that I have now laid eyes on twice. Those, I know forward and backward because they have taken up residence in my brain and I’m fairly certain they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

I turn the key in the door and step in to find the apartment empty except for a hungry Steven who looks at me as if I had the nerve to starve him for eight solid hours.

“Hey, Steve-O,” I purr, patting him on the head.

He gives me an angry meow and chomps gently on my hand to tell me it’s not time for pets, but time for kibbles. “Yes, I know,” I tell him, setting my purse on the island before preparing Steve’s evening feast.

“How was your day?” I ask as I set the food and water down on the mat that has his name printed on it as if there’s a possibility it could be mistaken for anyone else’s feeding mat.

Ignoring me completely, he buries his face in the food bowl and I limp my way to my bedroom feeling every minute of today in my bones. My head hurts and as I strip out of my disgusting clothes, I realize my sinuses are full.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one. I’ve had a long history of sinus infections and my guess is that being at the Post while all the dirt and mold got kicked up today was not good for me. My bet is that tomorrow I’ll have a full-blown sore throat and cough and if I’m super lucky, swollen lymph nodes. At least there is nothing on the agenda tomorrow that dictates I need to be at the office.

Miserable, I strip out of my clothes and head to the bathroom for a hot shower in the hopes that it will clear my head enough that I can breathe properly.

As the hot water sluices down my body, I stare at Liam’s hygiene products and let my mind wander to the fact that he showers in here, too. That he’s often naked in this very same space. That he… “Shit,” I bite out when I realize my nipples are hard thinking about him. I can’t think about him like that. I’m too busy. My job is too complicated, and there’s too much on my plate to even consider kissing him.

Or his abs.

Dammit, Marley . With angry motions, I finish my shower and twist off the faucet. I wrap one towel, around my hair and fold it back and one around me that barely closes below where it meets at my armpit.

It doesn’t matter though, Liam is at work and it’s not a long walk to my room.

Except when I open the bathroom door, Liam is standing right there. He freezes when he sees me and I swear every atom in his body tenses. Even the hair of his beard seems to have stilled somehow.

"Oh my God," I squeak, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were home.”

He looks away and focuses his gaze on the door handle to his bedroom as if it is a super complicated puzzle. “No worries.”

Except when I get into my room I have about a thousand worries, all of which have to do with how tempted I was to drop my towel and invite him to help me dry off. God, why am I so horny? I’ve gone well over a year with just a vibrator without any trouble. Why is it this bearded, picky stick in the mud that suddenly makes me feel like I will combust if I don’t feel his hands on me?

I chalk it up to the fact that he’s the nearest thing and therefore a reasonable place for my desire to flow. But as I pull on my clothes, something in the back of my brain tells me otherwise.

“Morning,” Liam greets me the next morning when he comes back from his run. I’ve only made it as far as the couch and I feel like the world is spinning. That infection I suspected yesterday is upon me in full force and I croak when I reply.

“Morning. How was your run?”

He stops his forward progress and looks at me. “You okay? You sound like you have a cold.”

I wave my hand in the air as if it’s normal for me to sound like I’ve smoked a pack a day since I was three. “I’m fine. I think the mold and dirt at the Post irritated my sinuses.”

His adorable face creases with concern and I inhale sharply when he moves toward me and presses a hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

I lean into his touch just a little bit. I know he’s feeling for a fever, but I can’t lie, having his fingers against me is magical. “I’m fine.”

“Give me a minute,” he tells me and I watch his very tight rear end as he makes his way to the bathroom and reappears with a thermometer.

“Where was that?” I ask as he pushes buttons on it.

“In the medicine cabinet,” he answers, “You know, where medical things are kept.”

“Oh,” I say as he waits for it to beep.

“Open up.”

Why do my thoughts automatically take me to dirty places, i.e., him telling me to open up for his cock? I shake it away and open my mouth.

He pops it in there and waits over me until it beeps again.

I reach for it, but he gets there first. “One-hundred-one. You need to get some aspirin and rest. No work today, don’t leave the apartment. I’ll grab some soup and 7-Up while I’m out. Is there anything else you think you might need or want?”

“Um,” I can feel myself blush, even through my fever, because he’s being so nice and he looks genuinely concerned about my well-being. “Maybe some Nyquil.”

He nods. “Done. I’ll run to the corner store before I head to work.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” he answers gently. “You’re sick. That’s what people do.”

My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with his abs or his cock for once. “At least let me Venmo you.”

“Marley,” he says in a voice that sends a wake of excitement through me. “Just let me do this, okay?”

I nod and fight back my arguments. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Text me if you think of anything else you need.”

“I will,” I promise.

“Good, I’m going to shower and then I’ll run to the store. You okay out here?”

I motion to my laptop currently being used as a TV and Steven holding the blanket down on my feet. “I’m good for now.”

He assesses the situation with a thoroughness that makes me shiver. I get the feeling there isn’t much he misses, and I start to understand why he doesn’t like messes. They probably clutter up his brain. “You need ice water.”

Before I can answer, he’s at the sink, filling a glass with ice and filtered water from his special jug.

“Drink all of this,” he demands, handing me the glass. “Fluids help you flush out all the bacteria.”

I grin as I take it from him. “Are you a medical professional?”

“Let’s say yes for the sake of avoiding an argument while you’re sick. How’s that sound?”

I shrug and take a sip of the water which I’ll never admit, tastes amazing. “Sounds good, Dr. Sutton.”

He shakes his head but I catch a small smile before he turns to go to the bathroom and I sit there perfectly still while he’s in the shower imagining the soap sliding across his perfect washboard abs.

“Must be the fever,” I tell Steven, who just looks at me with his ‘mother do not bother me right now’ face.

It’s definitely the fever.