“Beck, drop it,” West replied firmly. There was a slight pause where the sound of a glass clinking against the table replaced words. “It doesn’t dictate my life. And this has nothing to with Mia.”
“It has everything to do with her, man. You’ve been staring at her all night. I’ve spent the whole time talking to the side of your damn head.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“You have to move on sooner or later.”
“There’s nothing to move on from because there was nothing to hold on to. Charlotte made sure of that. End of story.”
“Whatever you say. I just think—”
I bit my lower lip and stomped on the bottom step a few times. Beck stopped talking, and I wandered back into the dining room, forcing a smile onto my face.
I shouldn’t have listened to that conversation. It was obviously private, but now, I had a burning desire to know more about the man I’d spent so much time with this week.
Who was Charlotte, and why was it the end of it?
“Get lost on the way to the bathroom?” West quirked an eyebrow, standing and grabbing my bowl from dessert.
“I got delayed on the stairs, staring at the photos. I’m nosy.” I grinned. This time, it was genuine.
“He was an ugly little shit, wasn’t he?” Beck threw in. “I’ve always been the looker.”
“You’ve always been the ego, you mean.” West balanced Beck’s bowl on top of mine and his and lifted them, looking at me. “Another glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
“Beck, beer?”
“Nah, I gotta get going in a minute. You know. For the long walk up the street to my house.” He winked at me.
West shook his head, turning his back to us. He’d barely left the room when Beck’s gaze on me became too intense to ignore.
“What?” I focused on him.
“Got delayed staring at photos, huh?”
I winced. “I didn’t mean to hear. I just kinda...did.”
“Good. You were supposed to.” He half smiled. “Don’t ask me ‘cause I won’t tell you. Hell, he probably won’t tell you yet, either, but I wasn’t lying. He can’t take his damn eyes offa you.”
“It’s really not my business, Beck.”
His indigo-blue eyes, so dark they could almost pass at black, bored into me. “I think it’s more your business than either you or him know.”
“I thought you were leaving.” West appeared with the bottle of wine. There was just over a glass left, and I’d drunk it all, but I felt completely unaffected by it.
Beck held his hands up. “Going. I’m going.” He got up, walked around the table, and kissed the top of my head. “Thanks for a lovely dinner, gorgeous. Much better than being alone with this miserable fuck.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for cooking.”
“Always my pleasure to cook for a beautiful lady.”
“Beck. Get the fuck out.” West glared at him, the wine bottle poised to pour me another glass.
“All right, all right.” He backed up with his hands up, winking at me right before he left the room.
I smiled and looked down. He was, quite possibly, the most likable person I’d ever met.
West finished pouring my glass and put the bottle in the middle of the table. Then he sat back down. He hadn’t drunk all night, but now, he twirled an ice-cold bottle of beer between his finger and his thumb. He was staring at it as it twirled, and an air of awkwardness hung between us.
“We don’t have to sit at the table,” he finally said after several minutes. “Come sit on the back deck with me.”
I nodded and grabbed my glass, following him through the house to the sliding back doors that opened out onto a spacious deck. His backyard was much the same as the front, bare apart from the odd cactus, but the deck held a large sofa, a small table, and a fire pit. There was also a grill at the opposite end, next to an outdoor dining set.
Not to mention the hot tub in the corner by it. I wondered how much time he spent out there—and if he spent it alone.
We both sat on the large, cream sofa, and West put his beer on the table only to grab me by the ankles. I squeaked as his strong grip made me lose balance, but he took my wine before it spilled and put it next to his bottle.
Then, slowly, he unlaced my shoes, pulled them off, and put them on the floor at the end of the sofa.
“They can’t be comfortable anymore.”
“Not really,” I admitted. “Thank you.”
He smiled, putting my feet down and kicking his own shoes off. He reached down to peel his socks off and tucked them inside his shoes until we were both barefoot, and then he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it to fall loosely at his sides.
Did he ever wear anything else?
“So, you heard that, huh?”
I decided to play dumb and peered across at him. “Heard what?”
“Me and Beck. Talking. In there.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I bit the inside of my lip. “I guess that means you heard him and me talking.”