Chapter 5
Liam
Two and a half weeks later, Liam sat at a long conference table, telling himself he wasn’t nervous.
The room buzzed with a jittery kind of energy, scripts rustling as actors and writers took their places.
The first read-through for episodes one and two was about to begin, and for the first time the words would lift off the page.
Pre-production had officially kicked off a few days ago—set walkthroughs, costume prelims, and endless introductions. Enough structure to make it feel like the work had finally begun, though mostly it was just moving pieces into place and waiting for the real work to start.
He had taken a spot near the middle of the table.
Directly across from him, Jacob sat with his script in hand, focus pinned to the page.
Liam’s leg was already bouncing, and his fingers were twitching against the paper.
Jacob’s stillness only sharpened the contrast, making Liam painfully aware of every restless motion he couldn’t control.
They’d briefly crossed paths several times during the last few days.
Liam had tried to keep things light and casual, tossing out easy greetings, sometimes a joke when the mood allowed.
Jacob answered politely, but always at arm’s length, as if some invisible wall followed him wherever he went.
This was the first time they’d had to truly interact since the chemistry read, and Liam could already feel the hum of it under his skin.
Ellen’s voice cut through the chatter. “Alright everyone, let’s get started.”
Scripts shuffled as Liam straightened in his chair and relaxed his shoulders. He listened as others read their parts, only chiming in when his character stepped forward.
Then came their scene.
Jacob’s voice carried across the table—low and controlled, with just enough roughness to cut to the bone of the scene. Liam fell into step without thinking, shaping his own lines to meet the challenge, the rhythm between them sharp and alive.
Then Jacob looked up, holding his gaze a beat too long, and Liam’s breath stuttered before he could stop it. A second later Jacob dropped his eyes to the page, as if nothing had happened.
The room might as well have been empty around them. The words moved between them, line after line, tight as a wire. It shouldn’t have felt like anything—this was a read-through, just a formality—but every glance, every pause, every drop in Jacob’s voice hit with precision.
By the time the director called for a break, Liam’s pulse was erratic. He stayed where he was, script loose in his hands, trying to look occupied.
A shadow fell across the table and Jacob’s voice followed. “Good read,” he said quietly. “You brought something different to the scene.”
Liam shrugged, a flush creeping up his cheeks before he could stop it. “Thanks. You too.”
A beat stretched between them, neither of them moving.
“You want to grab a coffee before the next round?” The words came out higher than Liam meant.
He wasn’t usually like this—he loved people, thrived on conversation—but around Jacob, his easy charm kept faltering.
Something about this man kept unraveling him.
Jacob hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”
They walked side by side down the hallway. After a moment, Jacob said, “Congrats on the role.”
Liam glanced over, mouth tugging into a smile. “Thanks. You too. Though I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anyone for it.”
The faintest twitch ghosted at Jacob’s mouth. “No one wanted to.”
Liam’s laugh escaped before he could temper it. “Right. Forgot you’re terrifying.”
Jacob didn’t answer, but a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes—just enough to make Liam’s chest tighten in response.
“Couple more weeks,” Liam said, trying to sound breezy. “Then it’s game time.”
Jacob’s eyes slid to him, sharp and assessing. “You ready?”
“Always.” The word came quicker and steadier than he expected. “Feels like this could be special. Something honest enough that it actually matters. Not just pretty lines on a page, but the kind of show people remember and carry with them.”
Jacob hummed, the sound too neutral to read. “Then let’s not waste it.”
Liam held his gaze. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
At the coffee machine, Liam busied himself with the cups, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He passed one over without looking—fingers brushing Jacob’s in the handoff. Heat shot up his arm, uninvited but impossible to ignore. He didn’t pull back. Neither did Jacob.
When Liam finally cleared his throat and stepped aside, Jacob lifted the cup, eyes steady over the rim as he drank. “You’re good at this,” he said. “Bringing your character to life.”
Liam looked down. “Thanks. I’m still figuring him out.”
“Then hurry up,” Jacob said. His mouth edged into something between a smirk and a dare. “I don’t like waiting around.”
A surprised smile broke across Liam’s face before he even lifted his gaze. They were close—too close. Suddenly he couldn’t remember how much space was supposed to feel normal; all he knew was that this felt… intimate. “Is that your idea of encouragement?” he asked.
Jacob’s gaze lingered before he turned away. “Don’t get used to it.”
* * *
The first costume fitting came the next afternoon. Clothing racks crowded the room, mirrors catching every angle while designers murmured over fabric choices.
Liam stood on a low platform, arms lifted as the costume designer fussed with the seams of his jacket. Laurent clicked his tongue and tugged until the fabric lay just right. “Hold still,” he murmured, sliding a pin into place.
“I’m trying,” Liam said with a quick smile, though his body betrayed him—his foot tapping against the edge of the platform, never fully still.
He had already been through three shirts, two jackets, and a pair of trousers when Jacob walked in.
“Mr. Wolfe,” one of the designers greeted warmly.
Jacob gave a polite nod. “Afternoon.” His tone carried no more than it needed to, eyes already on the garments waiting for him on a nearby rack with his name on it.
He began unbuttoning his dress shirt—slow and methodical—one button at a time. He wasn’t showing off, wasn’t even paying attention to the room, just stripping down with the same control he brought to everything else.
“Arms higher, please,” Laurent said gently.
“Oh—right, sorry.” Liam lifted his arms, but his gaze drifted back to Jacob almost immediately. He tried to keep his eyes on the neutral places, the safe spots, but his attention slipped lower. He was caught by the slow reveal of skin and the lines of muscle tightening with every button undone.
Jacob shrugged the shirt off and handed it neatly to the designer. He stood bare from the waist up as she circled him, holding swaths of fabric against his frame. Jacob didn’t move unless asked. He just stood there perfectly composed.
Laurent crouched, tugging at Liam’s hem. “You’ll need to shift your stance.”
“Yeah, sure.” He obeyed, though his eyes stayed fixed on Jacob. They slid past his ribs, down the firm ridges of his stomach, to that sharp V disappearing into his waistband—until he realized with a jolt what he was staring at.
Heat shot through him. He jerked his eyes up, startled, like he could erase the fact that he’d just been staring at Jacob’s crotch.
What the fuck. Why am I—
But it was too late; the damage was already done. The image had burned itself into his brain, seared like a brand: the heavy outline of his dick straining against black trousers. It was huge, even at rest. Bigger than it had any right to be.
His pulse pounded in his ears so loudly he almost missed Laurent asking him to turn.
“Liam?”
He blinked down, scrambling. “Yeah—sorry. Just distracted.”
The man smiled faintly, chalking a quick line at the seam. “You’ve got too much energy for a fitting, huh?”
Liam forced a thin smile. He tried to focus on the sting of pins brushing his side and the rustle of fabric being adjusted. Anything that wasn’t Jacob standing half-naked across the room.
Long after he left the studio, he couldn’t shake the fact that for a few stupid and dangerous seconds, he’d been staring at Jacob Wolfe’s cock, and the sight had short-circuited his brain.