“What?Make that!”
“Which one?”
“All of it!”
He laughs. “It’ll take more than one night.”
“You have two weeks. Better start now, huh?”
He studies me for a second, his cute smile remaining. “Two weeks. Right.”
My face feels warm. It’s difficult not to feel some kind of way when someone with a face card like Liem’s looks at you. But he doesn’t look at me likethat.
The thirst, the hunger, those sly lines of men who are more concerned with seeing you naked than seeingyou. Liem is the opposite. I bet he couldn’t hit on me if he tried.
He is a man of multitudes—temptingmultitudes—but that’s not why we’re here.
“I can’t wait to get a taste,” I say.
We’ll pretend I was talking about the food.
Seven
Liem
Living with Bri is awesome. Easy. She’s like a cat, waking up earlier than me, entertaining herself most of the day, occasionally napping on the couch in the sunlight between her busiest times, and onlyinterrupting me when food is needed. Her most human quality is that she hustles.
All week, she’s been in and out of the apartment throughout the day, walking dogs, making deliveries, doing odd jobs around people’s houses. Every day looks different for her. Without the structure of my job and its unending deadlines, I’d probably stay in bed all day and rot. But she doesn’t. Or she hasn’t until this morning.
Maybe her schedule is catching up with her. She looked exhausted and said she wasn’t feeling breakfast. Bri not being in the mood for food is very out of character for her. Eventually, she rallied, disappearing to take a job at five and hasn’t come back yet.
I’ve been sitting on the living room floor, using the coffee table like a desk the way I used to do in my last place. My little studio didn’t have space for an office. It’s getting late, the sun so far in its descent, I consider turning on the living room light. The second I think about calling her, I hear the lock on the front door.
I’m relieved. My outside cat came home to me.
“Welcome back. I was getting worried.”
Bri plops a pillow on the floor next to me and sits. “Don’t worry. I took a little longer because I got us a sandwich.”
“Us?”
“Mm-hmm.” She opens the paper bag and splits the sandwich in two. Pesto-scented ciabatta filled with vegetables and sliced deli meat. Chicken. “Did you already eat dinner?”
Did I even have lunch?“No.”
“Exactly. That’s why it’s a sandwich forus.”
“Thank you.” I take my portion, laughing internally. She already knows me so well. It’s been a little over a week, and I feel almost as connected with her as I did with . . . Natalie.
Fucking hell. I haven’t thought about her all day. When I’m not working, Bri keeps my mind occupied. I’ve thought about Natalie alittle less every day since we met. Even though I still secretly hope I’ll run into her while I’m meeting with our client in Manhattan, those thoughts no longer consume my day. They still consume most of my nights, though.
“Still working?” Bri breaks me from my thoughts again, reminding me how grateful I am to have her with me.
“Not really. I’m going through the numbers again before I meet with that big client tomorrow.”And thinking about how to get back with my ex, but that’s not important.
She hums her understanding with a full mouth. Her hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my head, scratching her fingernails slowly over my fade in that perfect way that makes me go stupid like a dog when you findthe spot.
“Am I going to bother you if I sit here?” she asks.
