Page 81 of Between Secrets and Obsession

Once I finish my makeup, I head downstairs and find Liam sitting on the couch. He glares at me with his jaw locked tight, but I ignore him.

Sophie walks in carrying her violin and sees me. “Oh my gosh, Mads. You look absolutely beautiful!” She’s all smiles as I twirl in my dress.

“Are you excited about your date?”

Liam’s listening to our conversation, so I make sure to rub his face in it the same way he rubbed Victoria—and the numerous other chicks he’s been with over the years—in mine.

“Yep! Blake will be here in an hour to pick me up.”

Sophie squeals. “Great. That means I get to meet him. Do you know where you’re going?”

“He said it was a surprise and to wear something comfortable.”

She snorts as her gaze lowers down my dress. “That outfit is comfortable, huh?”

“Soph. I dance in fewer clothes than this in front of hundreds of people. It’s comfortable-ish, almost like wearing a nightie. Plus, it’ssexyand shows off my nipple rings,” I explain, and she nods, chuckling. As I grow more giddy about tonight, Liam forces me back to reality.

“You don’t need to be showing off anything or going anywhere with him.” He stands, grumbling as he scowls.

Sophie gives him awhat the fucklook and so do I.

“Excuse me? Don’t you have awifeto worry about instead?” I ask with my hands on my hips, but he doesn’t take the bait to argue. Instead, he shakes his head and walks out. Moments later, cabinet doors slam in the kitchen.

Sophie lowers her voice. “Screw him. I’m happy for you. Don’t leave before I meet Mr. Hot Cop. I need a shower. I’msweaty from playing in the concert hall all day. After lunch, the A/C broke, so it was like practicing in the pits of hell for four hours.”

“Sounds horrible.” I cringe, knowing how miserable it’s been outside lately. She’s been practicing on the weekends because they have a special fundraiser gala in a few weekends for all the rich people who donate ridiculous amounts of money to the symphony.

“It was.”

Sophie climbs the stairs, then I go to the kitchen where Liam’s loudly making a sandwich. He slams down everything he touches, and it’s painfully obvious he’s trying to get my attention. I go to the entryway and burn a hole in the back of his head.

“What’s your fucking problem?” I finally ask between gritted teeth.

“My problem?” He glares. “You want to know what my goddamn problem is?”

I’m already tired of his dramatics. “Yeah, I do. That’s why I asked.”

“I told you I don’t like the guy. You’re naïve enough, Maddie. That’s why you were scammed into buying a stolen car and now you’re going on a date with a womanizer. He hooks up with them, then ghosts ‘em. Blake’s the kind of bastard who’ll take your virginity, then leave you high and dry with promises he won’t keep.”

Glancing down at my fingernails, I pretend to be bored with this conversation. I lick my lips, then watch the vein pulse in his neck. He’s pissed, but I don’t care, because I am too. I move across the kitchen until I’m close enough to smack him because he more than deserves it right now, but I play nice and keep my hands to myself.

“Maybe I want a real man who can take my damn V-card and give me what I need for once,” I tell him.

Liam’s scowl intensifies.

“Plus, it’s not like he’d be the first man who’s left me with some sort of expectation, now will it?” I stare at him.

He opens his mouth, but I interrupt before he can speak.

“You. Are. Married,”I remind him.“You kissed me, then came home two days later with a wife. So the moment you slipped a ring on that woman’s finger was the moment you had zero say or opinions aboutanythingI do, especially when it comes to who I go out with. You should be worrying about her, not me, so stop fucking caring so much about what I’m doing. Got it?”

Fuck, that felt good to get off my chest.

“Mads,” he chokes out.

“Don’t call me that like we’re friends. We’re not. Not anymore. We’re roommates, that’s it. So starting now, I need you to stop acting like a protective older brother andback off. I’m not a child. I don’t need you butting into my business or telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Do you understand? Do you hear me loud and fucking clear?” I’m seething, my chest rising and falling as I glare at him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, but I can’t tell if he truly means it.