Page 49 of The Money Shot

I froze at the front door, my hand hovering over the doorknob like it might shock me. My pulse hammered in my ears, loudenough to drown out everything else. I thought about turning around and going back outside to run another mile. Or ten.

Instead, I took a deep breath and reached for my key, sliding it toward the lock. Before I could insert it, the door opened, and there stood Liam, balancing a basket of laundry on one hip.

He was wearing those shorts again. The ones that should probably be illegal.

“Hey, you look like you’ve just run a marathon, Jack,” he grinned. Liam’s gaze swept downward, lingering for half a second too long before making its way back up.

I flushed, heat prickling my neck despite the chill still clinging to my skin. “I, uh, needed to clear my head,” I muttered, brushing past him into the apartment. Then I remembered my growing pile of dirty laundry. “Wait a minute, Liam. I’ll come with you to the laundry room.”

I bolted to my room, stripping off my sweat-soaked clothes and pulled on fresh ones. I grabbed my hamper and a fistful of mismatched socks, then hurried back to meet Liam, who was waiting by the door with a patient look on his face.

The laundry room was unusually empty for a Saturday. It felt strange, almost too quiet, like the universe was giving us a moment of peace. I dumped my clothes into a washer, only to realize I’d forgotten detergent.

“Here,” Liam said, shaking some into my machine without waiting for me to ask.

That’s how it always was with us—one of us covering for the other without making a big deal about it. Even with something as inconsequential as freaking laundry detergent.

Then I realized I didn’t have quarters either.

Liam reached into the pocket of those shorts, and I forced myself to look away, my ears burning. “Got it,” he said casually, feeding both machines like it was nothing.

As the washers started up, he turned to leave. “I’m gonna head back to—”

“Wait.”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder.

“We need to talk,” I said, trying to sound firm, though my voice came out quieter than I intended.

Liam sighed, his expression softening. For a moment, I wondered if he could read my mind.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll talk while I edit.”

I followed him back to the apartment and into Bradley’s old room, which Liam had turned into his workspace. His laptop sat on the desk, the faint hum of it filling the silence. My eyes darted to the unmade bed and the unmistakable jug of lube on the floor. Heat crawled up my spine, and I glanced away.

Liam cleared his throat. “Let me show you what I’ve got so far.”

He sat at the desk, motioning for me to come closer. I hovered over his shoulder as he explained his editing process, but I barely caught a word.

On the screen, I watched myself—us.

The video was... OMFG hot.

I couldn’t believe that was me. Doing things I’d never imagined, things my dad would probably disown me for if he ever found out. But the worst part—the part I couldn’t stop thinking about—was how incredible Liam looked.

The only reason I looked halfway decent was because I was with him.

“So,” Liam said, snapping me out of my trance, “what do you want to talk about?”

It took me a second to remember. I cleared my throat, trying to shake the haze from my brain. “Rules,” I said. “We need rules to keep things, um, sane.”

Liam raised an eyebrow but nodded, waiting for me to continue.

“First rule,” I started, “we only... you know, do it when we’re making a video.”

Liam’s face scrunched up. “Why? This is our business. It’s not like we have some horrible boss telling us—”

“That’s just the way it has to be,” I interrupted, more forcefully than I intended.