13. Zoey #2
His torso was broad and solid, muscles defined but not excessively so. Faint scars lined his ribs and shoulders.
Water tracked down his skin and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
Pete let out a low whistle. “Still in my prime,” he muttered, groaning as he struggled out of his chair and walked away like he couldn’t stand it anymore.
I set my soda down very carefully as Liam wrung his shirt out, then tossed it onto the counter. He bent back under the bar, bare back exposed, muscles rippling with each movement.
This was not fair.
I leaned forward slightly on the stool, resting my chin in my hand, fully committed to my role as spectator and enjoying the view.
Liam tightened the last connection and turned the valve again, slower this time. The pipes groaned, then settled. The faucet sputtered briefly before running clean and steady. He emerged from beneath the counter, damp and composed, and wiped his face with the towel again.
“You’re welcome,” he said to no one in particular.
I raised my glass in salute. “Five stars. Would watch again.”
He finally looked at me then, a sly smirk on his lips.
I stopped joking and took another sip. For hydration purposes only, of course.
He checked the water again, and when it kept running clean from the tap, he exhaled.
That was when I noticed the three women at the table by the window. They each had a glass of red wine and a paperback with a shirtless man on the cover doing something anatomically optimistic.
All three of them were looking directly at Liam. They weren’t even pretending not to stare. One of them murmured something to the others.
The one in the middle stood and approached the bar as the other two watched with open interest.
She stopped in front of Liam and looked him over slowly.
“Well,” she said.
The word contained history.
Liam straightened instinctively. “Yes, ma’am.”
“If this is part of the hospitality package,” she said, gesturing at his body, “I need an upgrade.”
Pete made a noise behind reception that sounded like a suppressed emergency.
From the table, one of the others added, “We literally just finished chapter twenty-three. This is not our fault.”
“That’s not the best defense,” the third said.
“It absolutely is,” she replied.
I didn’t move.
“I handle maintenance and property oversight,” Liam said evenly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“He fixes plumbing,” I said flatly, which obviously didn’t remotely describe his job here or help the situation, but my brain had melted.
The woman didn’t even glance at me.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said, eyes traveling down his torso again. “Everything looks very… well-maintained.”
Pete made another noise, and this time it sounded like he’d swallowed a kazoo.
Liam stood very still.
The woman leaned forward, her tone lowering just enough to suggest she had no intention of being subtle.
“My shower pressure’s been inconsistent,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to get my… pipes evaluated.”
I choked on nothing.
From the table, one of the others squealed, “Margaret!”
“What?” she said without looking back.
“That’s enough!”
The third woman nudged the other one. “Shh. It’s barely started.”
“Ma’am,” Liam began carefully.
She lifted a manicured finger. “Do not ma’am me. I didn’t survive three marriages to be called ma’am on vacation.”
Pete bent over the reception desk, shoulders shaking, back miraculously healed.
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Margaret,” the first woman called again, sharper this time.
Margaret paused. Considered. Then straightened. “We’ll behave,” she said.
“You will not,” one of them replied immediately.
“True,” she agreed. She glanced at me, taking me in properly for the first time. “You’re with him.” It wasn’t a question.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“Mm,” she said, satisfied. “You two are adorable.”
My entire nervous system short-circuited. “There is nothing adorable happening.”
“Oh,” she said wistfully, hand pressed lightly to her chest. “To be young and violently attracted to someone again.”
I felt heat climb straight up my spine.
Liam didn’t move.
The woman sighed dramatically. “Enjoy your metabolism and your poor impulse control, children.”
Then she returned to her table full of giggling women clutching their smut.
I stared straight ahead. “I hate this place.”
Liam was still looking at me.
When we pulled up to my building, the adrenaline from Pine Hollow had not worn off. It had relocated, sitting low in my stomach, warm and damn inconvenient.
I reached for the car door handle, then stopped.
I checked my bag. “Oh no.”
Liam came around the front of the truck. “What?”
“I didn’t drive.”
He waited.
“I didn’t think about the fact that I would need my key to get back in.”
“You left without it?”
I rolled my eyes. “I left under medical supervision.”
“That does not negate doors and locks.”
I stared at the building. “I have contingency plans.”
“I assumed you did. Where’s the spare?” he asked.
“Bush. Downspout. Loose stone. Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“You are absolutely judging me internally.”
“I’m cataloging the safety risks.”
“That’s worse.”
I walked around the side of the building and crouched carefully, not putting too much weight on my ankle, and retrieved the hide-a-key with more dignity than the situation deserved.
He stayed near the sidewalk, scanning the area. I’d noticed that little habit of his as well.
I stood and held up the key triumphantly. “I’m an adult.”
“You are,” he said.
On the inside I wasn’t quite as composed.
It wasn’t just that I forgot the key. That wasn’t the part that bothered me.
The part that bothered me was that I had not once run through my usual exit checklist before leaving this morning.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Backup plan. Secondary backup plan.
I had not mentally mapped contingencies. I had not rehearsed my return.
Because he was driving.
Because he was there.
Somewhere between the hospital and apartment setup and the bar fiasco, my brain had quietly stepped off duty.
And I had let it.
I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like that my nervous system softened around him, or that the constant low-grade vigilance I carried like a second spine eased when he was within reach. I definitely didn’t like that I stopped scanning for problems because he was already doing it.
I had spent most of my life being the responsible one. The emergency contact. The person with the contingency plan. The person who kept track of where the keys were.
And now I had to use my spare key because I had unconsciously assumed he would handle whatever came next.
That was not cute. It was dangerous.
Connection is not a safety plan, I reminded myself. People left. People disappointed you. Worst of all, people expected things in return.
I straightened, annoyed at myself. I do not outsource competence. Even if he makes it very easy to.
Markie screamed the moment the door opened. “DOG. HEEL.”
Liam paused mid-step.
I closed my eyes briefly. “You are not helping, Markie.”
Markie clambered down his enclosure ladder and puffed his feathers. “SYSTEM ERROR.”
“We just got home,” I told him.
“UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.”
Liam stepped inside slowly, scanning the room. His gaze went from the windows to the corners to the kitchen, then lingered on the hallway for longer than was necessary.
He only relaxed when the door shut behind us.
That heat simmering low in my belly surged.
Why was he still here? He was free to leave. He had escorted me to the doctor. He had repaired a bar. He had survived a seventy-five-year-old woman with a romance novel. Delivered me back home. He was relieved of his duties.
Connection is not safe, my brain reminded me.
My body had other ideas.
My fingers twitched at my sides, like they were considering reaching for him and hadn’t decided against it yet. I held his gaze as he stepped closer, his warmth radiating off him.
I had planned out my night in my head while he’d calibrated plumbing, and it involved nothing but sweatpants, trash television, and ice cream eaten straight from the container. No responsibility. No one asking anything of me.
It was the perfect night alone.
I didn’t want to be alone.
The realization irritated me immediately.
I put my bag on the table and turned toward him before I could overthink.
“I’m celebrating,” I announced. “I will be engaging in extremely low-quality television and high-quality junk food.”
“That sounds consistent with your values.”
“It is,” I said, and because my mouth was committed to chaos today, I added, “You could join.”
There was a beat of stillness, and I started to think I’d miscalculated. Perhaps he was eager to leave me to my own devices and be done with our weird little connection.
“If you want.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened. “I’m not literate in trash television.”
“Don’t worry, I’m an excellent teacher.”
“I’ll ask questions,” he warned.
“I encourage curiosity.”
“I may analyze strategy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What strategy?”
“The decision-making patterns,” he said. “Alliances. Incentives. Why they continue to trust people who have already betrayed them.”
I stared at him. “It’s reality television, not a war simulation. They’re not optimizing outcomes. They’re making terrible choices for emotional reasons.”
He frowned. “That seems unproductive.”
“It’s the entire point.” I paused. “This is a safe space for poor decisions.”
His mouth curved slightly. “I’d like to stay.”
Markie climbed onto the bars of his enclosure and stared at Liam. “DOG.”
“Yes,” Liam replied calmly.
I looked between them. “This is deeply humiliating for me.”
Markie clicked his satisfaction, then settled onto his perch as if the hierarchy had been properly established.
“Well, then… show me what qualifies as high-quality junk food,” Liam said.
I moved toward the kitchen, aware of him following me, aware that the apartment felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it also felt safer.
Connection is not safe, you dumb bitch. Abort mission.
Ignoring my brain’s commentary, I took the ice cream out of the freezer.
“Take a seat,” I told him, pointing toward the couch.
He did, and that surging heat in my belly grew. God, this was a terrible idea.
Still, I handed him a spoon.
“Lesson one,” I said. “We judge everyone immediately.”
He gave me an amused look. “I can do that.”
I sat beside him, close enough that our knees brushed. Neither of us moved away.
“GOOD DOG,” Markie muttered.
I didn’t correct him.