“Basically,” Liam allows with a small shrug. “But I do think the others we’ll be spending time with are musically inclined enough to help inspire you.”
Misha said she’d be going on Penelope’s tour. That’s at least one more familiar face.
“I’ll quit my job,” I say. “I have enough money saved up to cover my half of the rent over the next three months, and my own meals on the road.”
“My hotels and transportation are all expensed, so that’ll be no issue,” Liam says. “Anything else you might need, I’ll cover.”
I still. “Are you…well-offnow?”
“I’m not rolling around in money.” He shrugs. “But I do fine.”
“So we’re not going to have to share ice-cream cones anymore?”
His face changes as he recalls the memory. He shakes it off. “One more thing.”
“Hmm?”
“No sex.”
Liam’s words pop like two small firecrackers aimed straight down each of my lungs. I can’t breathe for all the sparks.
Sex—physical intimacy—isn’t a factor I’d even considered.
Not that I’d considered it specificallywouldn’thappen. I just hadn’t considered it atall. Being with Liam and being intimate with Liam are two separate conundrums.
But now that he’s taken it off the table, I feel like something integral to my well-being has been ripped away.
“No sex,” I repeat.
“No physical intimacy at all,” Liam corrects. “I’m not even going to kiss you.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, glance down at my body before I can resist it.
“Not that, Paige.” Liam’s tone changes. He stands up, walks over to the wooden bench I’m seated on. He straddles it but doesn’t touch me. “You remember what I said to you, back then?”
I flick my eyes up to his light brown irises. “I was made to your exact specifications.”
“Mm-hmm,” he rumbles, gaze dipping down to my collarbone, my breasts, my waist and hips and bare legs. “Still true.”
“Then what?” I whisper.
He lets a beat pass before he says—to my right kneecap—“It was intense, between us. For me, it was emotionally intense. Sex with you was… emotional.”
“And intense?” I joke.
Liam’s lips twist.
“Toointense,” I try again.
His shoulders curve in. Liam’s eyes move from my kneecap to my face. “Last night—touching your wrist outside your door. It was just a reminder of how much I…” His head shakes once. “The truth is, Paige, I don’t trust your intentions yet.”
My stomach buckles, but he’s being more than fair. I came to Liam Bishop after four years asking for something out of left field. He has every right to be on guard. To withhold parts of himself from me when he’s being so free with others.
“I don’t know if I trust my intentions either,” I whisper. “Because writing the best music I’m capable of means a lot to me. But so do you.”
“We’ll navigate it together,” he offers.
I nod.
