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“Where did you go?” I muttered under my breath. I scanned the printed statements on the table next to me, whispering numbers as my finger went down the column. With my leg tucked up against my chest, I could set my chin on my knee as I searched.
Or I would have been able to, if the walking peanut gallery kept his mouth shut.
“Your posture is awful.”
I glanced into the kitchen. Liam wasn’t even looking at me. His broad back was turned toward the sink as he finished filling his mug with coffee.
Slowly, I set my leg down. “It’s not that bad.”
“Doesn’t your neck always hurt? You’re constantly poking at it.”
“It’s not constant.”
He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised.
Even as I denied it, I fought the urge to dig my thumbs into the sides of my neck, which really did always hurt.
“I have to look down at my computer for work, okay?”
“Don’t you have those big fucking screens over in your fancy office?”
“Yes, but Mira is still sleeping, and you leave for training in an hour.”
He made a grunting noise.
Over the last few weeks of living with Liam, I’d learned that this was his way of agreeing with me without actually saying the words.
“Doesn’tyourneck hurt? You tackle people for a living.”
His face was even, his eyes tracking over my face as he settled his hips against the edge of the counter. “Nope.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little. We’ve got a masseuse who beats the shit out of us on the regular. And training staff whose sole existence cycles around making sure our bodies don’t hurt so that we can do our jobs.”
I snorted. “Must be nice.”
“What’s stopping you from going to get one?” he asked. “They’ve got all those fancy fucking spas around here. Make you listen to gong sounds and weird chime music. And the techs all whisper when they talk.”
I fought a smile. “Yes, they do have those.”
“Why don’t you go to one?”
Slowly, I set the stack of papers down. “Is this really bothering you, or do you just suck at making morning conversation?”
And I’ll be damned, Liam’s cheeks turned the rosiest shade of pink when he paused to take a sip of his coffee.
I sat back in my chair and studied him openly. We’d found a strange rhythm in our days. It wasn’t bad; we never outright argued about anything, but there was a simmering sort of tension behind every single interaction we had.
I’d been operating under the assumption that Liam didn’t notice it, because he was prickly with everyone. ButIfelt it. It was like the air vibrated, just a little bit, every time we found ourselves without the natural buffer of Mira. And every time that vibration hit my skin, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was imagining it.
I hadn’t lived with a man since Charles, and things had been so bad those final few months that any existing tension was the byproductof me wanting to smack the shit out of my then husband anytime he opened his mouth.
As much as I’d threatened or imagined violence against Liam, my feelings toward him were never rooted in that same place. Liam niggled under my skin, an itch that I couldn’t quite scratch, and now he was everywhere.
A constant, unyielding source of irritation that I couldn’t quell.
Maybeirritationwasn’t quite the right word.
