Changing Roles

I loved how she never let me forget who I really was. Not the mythical image that had been created about me. To her, I was Liam, friend to Everett, son of Simon and Elizabeth. Someone Shelby liked simply as a person. Someone I wanted to be—for her.

Just Liam.

Her snarky way of putting me in my place and keeping me grounded was exactly what I needed in my life. What I wanted. Her teasing was perfect for me, and I loved how she responded to mine. I loved hearing her laughter in the home I now realized I thought of as ours, not mine.

She was what I needed—and wanted. Always.

I wanted her beside me on the sofa at night, her feet in my lap.

I wanted her hands stroking my head at the end of a long day, while I complained about what happened on set, as her fingers worked their soothing magic to relax me.

I wanted her across the table, telling me to stop eating so many cookies as she shoved some god-awful bird food at me, which I would eat because she made it for me.

I flashed to the memory of tucking her in last night, the image filling my head.

I wanted her in my bed, her hair spread out on my pillow as I loved her. I wanted to fall asleep beside her and wake with her the next day. I wanted her on my arm every time I had to make an appearance, knowing her presence would keep me calm.

I was so fucked.

I peered at the whiskey bottle, trying to remember how full it had been when I started. As Shelby liked to remind me, unless it was beer, I wasn’t much of a drinker. Two or three, and I was usually quite inebriated; it just hit me. I frowned as I looked at the mostly empty bottle. I was sure I’d had more than three. Or four.

I looked around. I wasn’t even sure where my glass was anymore. I had been drinking right from the bottle, which wasn’t a good thing.

I sighed. I couldn’t feel my legs. That was definitely not a good sign.

I sat back in my chair, folding my arms across the bottle resting on my chest.

I knew what I wanted.

Now I needed to figure out how to make Shelby want the same things.

How to make her want me.

My eyes slowly drifted shut, the darkness welcome and quiet.

Maybe a ten-minute nap. That would clear my head.

Then I could figure it all out. When she got home, I’d know what to do and how to handle the whole situation.

I sighed, the sound sad in the room.

“Shelby.”SHELBYI tried not to grin at the phone screen after reading Liam’s text about his lunch. I could feel Liam’s boasting, and I knew he was proud of himself for his restraint over his idea of a limited lunch. So proud he couldn’t wait to tell me once he remembered. Quickly, I typed a reply and put down my phone.

“Sorry.” I smiled at Douglas, who was watching me closely. “Liam wanted to remind me of something he needed doing tomorrow.”

“Do you ever get time off?” he asked dryly.

The need to defend Liam was strong and came fast. “I have as much time off as I want. Liam is a generous employer.” I didn’t tell him I had never taken a “day off” the entire time I worked for Liam. Mostly because it didn’t feel like work—it felt like I was home. “I didn’t work at all this afternoon. I was busy getting ready for tonight.”

He eyed me with appreciation. “Worth the effort. You’re beautiful, Shelby.”

“Um, thank you.” Unsure of what to do next, I grabbed my menu. “Everything looks good,” I mused, keeping my eyes on the menu. Liam had called me “lovely” earlier, and it had made me blush. Although I appreciated Douglas telling me how nice I looked, it didn’t seem to matter as much as what Liam thought. Strangely enough, when Douglas greeted me with a kiss on my cheek, I had the same feeling as when Everett kissed me, an abiding fondness. Nothing else.

Lately, every time Liam kissed my cheek or grazed my forehead with his lips, I felt like I was being scorched with a hot branding iron. One with the initials LW stamped on it.

I shook my head, closed my eyes for a moment, and sighed. I needed to stop this train of thought. I was being ridiculous.An hour later, I shoved my phone into my purse. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I thought it was an emergency.”

“Did he really call you to ask where the pickles were?”

I nodded, my eyes unconsciously going back to my purse.

Hadn’t I left them on the shelf beside his supper?

I was sure I had. I didn’t want to put them on the plate in case they made the sandwiches soggy. I knew how much he loved pickles with his sandwiches. Did he not look in the refrigerator?