Page 126 of Veiled in Brick

I crossed my arms, grumbling from across the table, “Assholes.”

“Yeah,” Liam returned into the speaker quickly, “there was a death—not—not in my family—does it matter?” He awaited his supervisor’s reply, his mouth hanging open as he listened and then muttered to himself, “You don’t offer bereavement leave—I’m not asking for bereavement leave.” He spoke more firmly, pressing his index finger and thumb together firmly, jabbing them in the air as he was speaking as if it would emphasize his point further. “No—no—no, I’m not gonna elaborate—Marcus—Marcus—Mar—I’m not coming in for a week—I’m not—then don’t pay me.” His eyelids fell halfway over his eyes. “Yeah—we’re good then?” He exhaled heavily. “See you next week—Monday. Bye.”

He tossed his phone on the table with little regard for its integrity. His blonde head thrown back, he let out a loud groan.

I reached for my coffee that sat on the table before me and took a large sip.

“If you keep throwing your phone around like that, the screen’s gonna crack more and more.”

Liam chuckled sardonically. “Phone’s the least of my worries; I may be a couple hundred short on rent this month.” He pondered something to himself and then sarcastically asked, “Wait—are you against me selling my body?”

“Hmm.” Though I wasn’t considering the question in the slightest, I replied, “Do the ladies get to touch? Or is this a window-shopping scenario?”

“Touching; definitely touching,” he stated. “And it’s gonna be more than just ladies, we’re opening this up to everyone. I am not here to judge or kink-shame.”

I laughed. “As much as I would personally pay to see that, I’m gonna have to veto that idea.”

A wide smirk spread across his face. “You put me on such a short leash.”

“Please,” I mocked, “I haven’t even made you bark for me, yet.”

The scar on his upper lip stretched further. “Yet?”

I smiled, and then drained the rest of my coffee in one gulp. A long night’s sleep had left us both in far more upbeat moods and, despite the argument with his boss, our usual banter had obviously returned. There was still an underlying tension that left us both unwilling to leave the apartment—which was why I had declined Claire’s earlier offer to meet everyone across the hall for coffee—but the isolation that we were creating for ourselves left me content, and I relished in it.

I stood, intent on grabbing another cup of coffee from the kitchen, and made my way.

“Are you really that short on money?” I inquired as I reached the island and grabbed the French Press. Liam pressed his lips together tightly as I began to pour, lifting his mug to his lips rather than responding. I sighed and set the contraption down with purpose, turning to the fridge to grab my creamer. I poured in my usual amount and told him, “I’ll cover it.”

He scoffed, “You’ll cover it?”

I took a sip as I returned to the table, and I set it on the wooden counter with a clunk. “Yeah—I’ll cover it.”

“Zoey,” he whined, reaching for my hand before I had a chance to sit. “I’m not gonna let you pay my rent.”

I snorted, rattling off, “You’re taking unpaid time off to spend it with me as we heal from the unspeakable. You’re not getting evicted on my watch; how much do you need?”

“Zoey—”

“How much?”

He sighed. “Five hundred, I think.”

“Done.”

His face pinched together. “You really don’t need to—”

I leaned down swiftly, cutting off his words by pressing my lips against his. A happy noise sounded in his throat, and what had begun as chaste and sweet was suddenly not. Our tongues touched, our breaths tangled together, and any argument regarding monetary issues was thrown to the wayside as I took a seat on his lap.

It wasn’t long before I was panting out, “Bed? Or here?”

“Bed,” he returned in a near-moan.

His arms moved to wrap around my rear, and he stood to take me there.

The remainder of day one was effectively spent on that mattress.

On days two and three, I paid for several meals to be delivered straight to Liam’s doorstep because exiting the apartment still sent a tremor of anxiety through me. Liam began to refer to himself as a sugar baby, and the majority of our time was spent eating either pizza, Chinese food, or each other.

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