Whatever the Cost Read Free Page B

between his teeth as memories from his day come back to him.
    Jacen watches Liam fiddle with the buttons and, while Liam is distracted by the task, uses the opportunity to scan all of his visible skin for any bruises or marks. There aren’t any and for this Jacen is incredibly grateful.
    “You’re smiling. What’s with the smiling?” The question has the same teasing tone to it that Jacen’s previous comments had too, but in a subtly different way. It’s just a hair softer, a smidge more earnest.
    Chuckling softly, Liam represses an even wider grin, his eyes alight.
    “What?”
    Liam’s only response is to rub a hand restlessly over the back of his neck.
    “What?” Jacen gapes. “Oh, well, now you have to tell me.”
    With a sly upward glance, Liam murmurs, “Client was a cowboy.”
    “A cowboy?!” The spoon clatters on the counter, spraying another drop of sauce on Jacen’s gingham. He wipes his hands on a rag, then plants them on his hips, waiting.
    Though Liam admittedly is dressed in full-on cowboy-mode himself, complete with one of many oversized silver belt buckles the roommates share whenever their attire seems to warrant it, that doesn’t mean anything really. Jacen is still completely surprised. “I shit you not. Country singer and everything. The real deal. Southern gentleman.”
    “How did you get a cowboy?” Honestly jealous, Jacen stares and shifts his weight to the other foot, “Well? Spill. Was he hot? Please, at least tell me he was a pig.”
    “No, he was hot,” Liam chuckles, blushing. “Gorgeous, thick, wavy long hair that he had tied back. Longer than yours. Soft blue eyes, really nice smile. Sweet as hell.”
    “Liam!” Jacen swats him with the dish towel.
    “What can I say? God loves me. He was bashful, too. First time. Closet case.”
    His brow furrowing, but still retaining a semblance of a smirk, Jacen shakes his head with astonishment. Turning back to his pot, he grabs one of the fresh dinner rolls from the basket already laid out along with the vinaigrette for the salad. Jacen bites a chunk out of the bread and flings the rest at Liam’s head.
    Ducking out of the way and laughing, Liam scoops up the roll and overhands it into the trashcan.
    “So not fair,” Jacen complains quietly around his mouthful. He shakes some more oregano into the pot’s bubbling concoction and asks without turning around, his tone light on the surface but deadly serious underneath, “He was nice?”
    There’s a pause, and it’s long enough to cause Jacen the beginnings of real concern. When Liam grunts and nods, Jacen sees it out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”
    “Good. That’s awesome, Lee,” Jacen says, using the nickname he alone uses for Liam. It’s become a way for Jacen to punctuate their closeness. He calls Liam ‘Lee’ because everyone who likes to act like they know William, but doesn’t—because, in this case, sexual closeness does not necessarily imply
actual
closeness—calls him ‘Will’ for short. And more and more, when Liam hears
that
particular nickname, it sours his mood and makes him close off. Being called Will is just another way that people try to get close, to get a piece of him, to claim and mark him. So then he just pushes them all away, receding inside himself, putting up walls. Liam has the opposite reaction when being called ‘Lee’ by Jacen. It reminds him that there is more to who he is than what the world sees. It gives him hope. “Maybe he’ll be a new regular.”
    “I don’t know. He’s from out of town.” Liam shrugs, as if, with a raise of his shoulders, he can push away any and all lingering hopes on the matter. “So, how ’bout you? Didn’t see you last night, but I had a late one. Couldn’t be sure.”
    “Oh. I had an overnight. With Spencer. Got back this afternoon after food shopping.”
    Other than the soft aria floating from the stereo, absolute, brittle, tense silence descends on the kitchen. Jacen’s clipped, abrupt way