Page 35 of Veiled in Brick

“Jeez.” He sat on the cushion next to me, gently touching my chin with his thumb to twist my head away from him further to get a better look. “Was she wearing rings? You should ice this.”

I groaned, for she was. I could still feel the blunt force of the metal shooting across my face.

“I should’ve chased after her,” I grumbled.

“And what?” he asked with a soft laugh. “Get into a bar fight?” I shrugged, and upon his resulting amusement, the scar stretched across his upper lip in a way that made my chest ache. Liam gently touched my cheek and I winced. “Sorry,” he whispered, lowering his hand to rest back against my neck.

His fingers flexed ever so softly as his dark eyes traced whatever redness that was on my face, and I exhaled a rather shaky breath.

Liam’s gaze turned serious at the noise, his brow pinched together as he searched my face, trying to read it.

“Zoey?”

I met his eyes and stayed there, unable to break away as a voice that didn’t even sound familiar to mine croaked out lightly, “Uh huh?”

The sound reached both of our ears, and Liam appeared to swallow through a lump in his throat. His grip shifted. His nails scratched me softly as he moved, and my head rolled into the feeling that bordered between pleasure and pain.

In a raspy tone that sent a thrill through me, he asked, “Are you good?” I nodded silently, and Liam muttered, “You look like you’re in a different world right now.”

The spoken sentence spurred the realization of our closeness, and the sensation of treading water to the point of near-drowning was, suddenly, evident. I was in a different world. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have been there.

I pulled away from his touch abruptly, and Liam shook his head quickly, blinking several times in succession.

“Zoey—”

“I should probably go, you know—” I waved a hand around my face with a flourish, “Cider—sticky—shower—”

I scolded myself internally, ‘Maybe stop thinking about your best friend in said shower, you slut.’

“Oh.” Liam stammered, “I—I really am sorry, I feel like this is my fault—”

I interrupted, “Stop apologizing, it’s not.”

“Why don’t you stay—”

“Lee—”

“Or go shower at your place—change and come back?” he offered, looking regretful of the turn the night had taken. “I’ll grab you another drink and some ice for your face.”

Liam was always incredibly hard to say no to, and I found it especially difficult in this moment. Maybe it was because the look he was giving me was screaming that he just wanted to make everything better. Or, maybe it was because my current weak-willed frame of mind and the feel of his touch on my skin had left me helpless. I wondered if I were to have been dead sober if it would have changed my answer…but I wasn’t, and the resulting reply was one that I don’t think I could have controlled even if I tried.

“Yeah,” I muttered back, “sure.”

“How do you even watch these?”

Liam’s muttered question came from my right. Both of us freshly scrubbed from the alcohol-dousing incident at Henry’s, we sat shoulder to shoulder on his couch. The television rambled on about a man whose preferred victims were young, petite women. The details of his string of slayings that ran their way up the east coast played in the background as I rolled my head to glance at Liam. His hair almost looked blonder than usual, the messy mop of it holding a soft wave that I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing.

“Hmm?”

“The fuckin’ Most Wanted shows,” he clarified, his arm brushing against mine as he moved to flick a hand at the television before us. “This shit’s sad.”

He lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and he rested his drink on the coffee table in front of us.

“Sad?” I questioned the word. “It’s not…sad—”

“Zo’, these people are awful,” he noted. “And they’re still on the loose. How is that not sad?”

“I don’t think about it that way,” I said with a shrug. “It’s more like I’m in on the mystery and because it’s real, it’s…thrilling. I dunno.”

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