Chapter Forty-One

West insists I take the loft with its private bath, skylight, and amazing view through the windows. As I sit on the bed and stare out at the valley, I think of West down in the garage doing “guy” stuff he said. I’ll give him a few minutes and then go see what’s up.

The bookshelf to the right catches my attention. On the upper rack sits a stack of magazines. The one on top features Bus Stop, and I slide it off.

Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a tight black T-shirt, West stands with the other guys, his guitar hanging nonchalantly in front of him. I give into a sigh and flip the cover open. There’s a collage of pictures of West, every one of them with a different gorgeous girl. Jealousy sparks in me, and I close the magazine and put it back.

The phone rings, and I don’t answer it. When the machine picks up, I hear, “Eve? Pick up.”

I snag the phone off the bedside table. “West? Where are you?”

“Still in the garage.”

I laugh. “Why are you calling me?”

He lowers his voice. “I miss you.”

I lie back on the bed. “You’re just in the garage.”

“I know.”

We listen to each other breathe for a few seconds, and it’s like I can feel him all through me.

“What are you wearing?” he whispers.

“The same thing I was wearing ten minutes ago when you saw me.”

“No,” he groans. “You’re supposed to make something up. Something sexy.”

“Oh.” I close my eyes and think of stuff I’ve seen in magazines that I think he might like. “A green see-through bra with matching see-through panties,” I say, not fully believing I actually just said that.

He takes in a breath. “I do love you in green.”

The gravelly tone to his voice has my belly swooping to my feet, and West chuckles. “I bet you’re blushing right now.”

I groan in embarrassment, but boldly ask, “What are you wearing?”

“No shirt. No Jeans. Just my snug Calvin Klein boxers.”

It’s my turn to take in a breath. I like that image. Very much.

“Bye, Green Eyes.”

“Bye,” I whisper.

I don’t know how long I lie on the bed, so turned on from a few seconds of conversation I can barely think straight. When I hear West rummaging in the kitchen, I finally get up, but instead of going downstairs, something has me picking up the guitar I see propped in the corner.

Cradling it, I settle on the top step of the loft and stare out across the cold valley. I strum a few chords, warming up. I try mimicking a few of Bus Stop’s songs and do okay I suppose. Our night at the beach comes back to me and has me transitioning into the notes I’d created and West had written lyrics to. I play it through a few times and add to it here and there.

I don’t know how much time goes by. I don’t care. I play. And play. And play some more. I totally lose myself in the rhythm, the strumming, and the chords. I try to remember all his words to the melody, but can’t, and so I focus on what feels right, what sounds right, and how it flows through my soul.

When I finish, I sit, my eyes still closed, relishing the vibrations of the guitar as it settles.

A soft clap fills the air, and my eyes open to see West standing at the bottom step.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say back.

He takes a step up.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Another step up. “Watching the most beautiful girl in the world play the loveliest song.”

I draw in a breath. “Oh…”

He takes another step up. “I’ll ask if I can kiss her.” Another step. “No, I’ll just kiss her.” One more. “No, I better ask her first.”

I stare at him as blood beats in my ears. “What are you talking about?”

Another step up. “Those are the three sentences that went through my head continuously until I finally worked up the nerve to kiss you.”

“You didn’t ask me.” Wait, did he?

He takes another step up, keeping his eyes leveled on mine the whole time. “Hell, Eve, I’ve never put so much thought into kissing a girl in my entire life.”

A few more steps and he’ll be right here.

“Finally I decided I’d just do what felt right.” One more step up.

“It was a great first kiss,” I breathe.

Another step. “The best.”

“And now?” Because please God, I hope he kisses me.

One last step and he leans in and looks me in the eyes. “And now…”

I hold my breath, but he doesn’t say anything. I try to say something, anything, but can’t wrangle my thoughts in.

“And now,” he says, gently rubbing my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, “food’s ready.”

I blink. What?

He turns and trots down the stairs. It takes me a second to realize what he’s just done, and I narrow my eyes as I put the guitar aside and slowly descend the stairs.

West looks up and grins.

I frown. “You’re kind of mean.” And I’m all kinds of turned on.

He laughs and pulls my chair out for me. “You think you’re hot and bothered now? Just wait.”