Chapter Eight
Xander
I look at it and huff again.
Back to shuffling.
I can't fucking believe him.
I glance at the clock above my bed—half past midnight. Fifteen more minutes to go. I just hope all the cups of espresso I downed will do their job.
I draw another card. Six of Wands. Oh, how fucking fitting. One for each day of Liam dodging and completely ignoring my calls and texts.
Who the fuck does that? Who ghosts someone right after giving them an epic orgasm?
I freeze mid-shuffle and look into the darkness outside my bedroom window, pondering. Well, I guess some guys actually do that, don't they? God dammit!
I huff again. It's almost time.
I put the deck on my desk, and by put I mean slam, and dial Liam's number one last time for good measure. And as per usual: six signals, and then straight to voicemail.
Leave a message, you say.
I'll leave you a fucking message. In person.
The alarm on my phone buzzes, indicating the wait period is over.
I shoot to my feet, push the phone into my pocket and march to the door, determined. I reach for the handle, but halt. One more.
I pace back to my desk, give the deck a haphazard shuffle, and check the one on the bottom.
Two of cups.
Ha! At least, if things go south, it won't be on me. It'll be on the cards.
***
MY TIRES SQUEAL as I pull over by the curb, outside Sin on Skin, turning heads. Glancing toward the entrance, my jaw clenches. The one head I care about doesn't seem to notice me at all.
Liam's half-sitting, half-standing, his ass propped against a tall stool that has no business trying to sustain his muscle-mass. There’s no one in line at the entrance. He has one hand resting casually inside his pocket, the thumb on the other tapping away on his phone screen.
So you do have your phone on you.
Of course he does. He's just ignoring me on purpose.
The thought that's been pumping adrenaline through my veins for a week doesn't disappoint, and with a fresh wave of vigor and determination, I exit my car and slam the door shut as hard as I can.
And now he sees me.
I'm seething as I cross the empty alleyway, closing the distance between us.
Liam doesn't rise up, but his back does straighten and he crosses his arms over his chest, his shades reflecting all the pinks and purples where they're sitting on the top of his head.
Perfect. At least I'll get to see his eyes as he lies to me.
I stop a mere foot away from him, personal space be damned. "So what the fuck?" I bark.
His expression remains neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Asshole. "What?"
"Don't what me. You know what. Why aren't you answering my calls?"
He has the audacity to shrug, arms still crossed. "I didn't see any calls."
Wow. Straight to my face. Amazing.
I fold my own arms, mirroring his position and tilt my head to the side, bringing all the mockery I can muster to my voice. "Oh, really? How so? Lost your phone?" I ask, looking straight at it.
He regards me for a few beats, stoic. It's infuriating. "Nope," he finally says. "Blocked your number."
"I— Wait, you what?"
"You heard me."
If my blood was hot before, it's now boiling. "Why would you do that?"
He looks to the side, stretching his neck with that maddening unhurriedness. "Maybe I got bored."
I grit my teeth. "Don't bullshit me—"
He doesn't raise his voice. Instead, he raises his body from the stool, so that he's now standing an inch from me, towering over me. That shuts me up.
Still, I stand tall. As tall as I can, all things considered.
"Don't give me attitude." His voice remains low and steady, but there's something about it that makes me shrink inside after all.
I swallow. I won't let it distract me. "We had an agreement."
"Did we now?" he asks from somewhere in the stratosphere.
"Yes!"
"Xander," he warns.
"Yes," I repeat, my tone calmer this time. It's like he controls it or something. "We agreed to give friendship a try. Remember?" I almost say, Or are you too old to remember instead, but something tells me that wouldn't end well.
Liam's head shoots back so that all I can see from my angle is his thick neck and he lets out a rumbling laughter that echoes into the outer space. "Friendship, you say? I don't think our last conversation was particularly…friendly."
I take two steps back to be able to see his face because let's face it, this predicament is ridiculous.
Much better.
"You don't? I thought it was very friendly. Familiar, even."
I study his face as he stares me down. Damn. So many angles.
He licks his lower lip, seemingly lost in thoughts. I wonder what it tastes like.
"What is it that you want, Xander?"
"I want you to honor your damn end of the deal," I bark again. His expression grows stormy, brows pulling together. I won't back down.
"No."
I throw my hands in the air. "What do you mean, no?"
"What? Don’t understand what no means?"
"Hey!" My hand snaps forward, and I press an accusatory finger against his unyielding chest. "Don't you dare—"
I yelp and almost jump in place as his calloused palm wraps around my finger, firm and determined. "Careful," he says.
My breaths are coming faster, my mind racing. He could break my bones right now. If he wanted to. Fuck, he could snap me in half in general. He won't, though. I'm not sure how I know that. I just do. "Or what?"
The muscles on his face grow even more taunt, making him look even hotter, and, I'm not gonna lie, slightly terrifying. But not in a bad way.
He takes half a step forward, trapping our hands between our connected chests and takes a sharp inhale, but before he can answer, the club's door swings open and my head snaps to where a mountain of a man whom I now recognize as Liam's replacement emerges from the vibrant interior.
"Problem?" he asks the back of Liam's head, but doesn't look particularly worried, as he grabs the stool from behind Liam, moves it two feet to the side and takes a seat.
Liam doesn't turn to look at him, his eyes still fixed on what I assume must be the top of my head. I can feel his chest expanding against mine as he takes a few deep, long breaths. "Maybe," he finally says. "I'm not sure yet. But I'll handle it."
And before the words have a chance to fully sink in, he lets go of my finger, grabs my wrist instead, and drags me behind him and into the jungle.
Heavy beat spills from the speakers and into my ears as soon as we enter the threshold of Skin on Skin.
My temperature spikes by a hundred degrees, and every last one of my senses joins in the experience.
I can no longer see Liam, even though our hands are still connected—two arm's lengths are enough to create a gap that's being filled with new people with every step we take, rolling between us in gracious waves, twisting and turning.
We must be the most fully dressed people in the main room.
Liam's grip on my wrist is strong, but he no longer has to drag me—I'm tailing him voluntarily, pulled by his presence, by this sense of trust that he's still there, leading me, although I can barely see him.
The space is even more packed than I remember, and the crowd seems rowdier, more intense, more into whatever it is they're doing with and to each other.
Only this time they don't bother me as much.
Slick, naked skin glides against my own time and time again, different noises, moans and groans are merely background, a somehow welcome addition to my current predicament.
Because this time, I have a purpose. A six foot five, two hundred pounds of muscle worth of purpose.
We take a sharp left turn, and then another, and another. Heavy doors squeak and the mass of bodies thins out as we enter a hallway, and another, and another.
Liam's frame is in my view now and I try to pick up the pace, to level up with him, but he's too fast. Too determined, as if getting me to whatever place he wants me in is the sole purpose of his existence.
A beep. A squeak. A shove. And suddenly I'm being yanked forward with new might as Liam unlocks and opens another set of heavy doors.
He places his huge palm between my shoulder blades and I stumble into a brand new scenery.
Before I can regain my balance and take in my surroundings, the door slams shut and Liam's massive physique materializes before me like a mountain as we stand across from each other in a small, secluded room with burgundy walls and a sizable gray leather couch that must have cost more than three months worth of rent placed right in the middle.
Or at least that's what I think surrounds me, as all my attention is now focused on Liam's commanding presence.
He folds his arms and looks down at me, but doesn't step impossibly close this time, giving me a chance to see his face. I'm both glad and disappointed by that choice.
"You have an attitude problem." His thick, gravely voice makes my skin crawl with a mix of excitement and respect that his tone commands.
Yes, Liam is definitively the right person for the job he has, but if his goal is to intimidate me, I'm going to give him a run for his money.
Physical injury isn't in my cards tonight, after all.
I make sure to give him a pointed, prolonged look before I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans, turn on my heel and slowly walk around the sofa, exploring, faking interest in the lonely piece of furniture.
"I could say the same thing about you. Breaking promises, not respecting verbal agreements.
" I turn my back to him and pretend to admire the solid color of the wall, the sofa between us providing a safety net, just in case.
"That's not very gentlemanly of you, wouldn't you say? "
"Oh, but I did respect it." His voice doesn't lose its potency even when he's speaking to the back of my head. "It's you who crumbled."
My head snaps back momentarily and my shoulders slump. I look at his face, puzzled, and a raspy, "Huh?" breaks my facade.
Ah, fuck it. I'm a lousy actor, anyway.