Chapter 35
West left me a note. I’ve read it a million times since getting up and around.
I’d fallen asleep last night, cuddled into West as he soothingly stroked my back. My back, and I didn’t even freak. At some point during the night, he left, and when I woke up this morning, the note was on my bedside table.
Anne comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. “West and Eve sitting in a tree…”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Dude, seriously? I’m so happy for you, I don’t know what to do with myself.” She drops her towel and starts dressing.
I blow out a nervous breath. What is my problem? I’ve got to calm down. It’s just brunch.
In. His. Suite.
It’s a second chance, and I don’t want to blow it. “Do you have any makeup I can use?”
“Are you serious?” She hops into her jeans. “Hell, yeah.” She yanks on a shirt and pulls the desk chair out. “Sit down.”
I do, and she excitedly digs around in her bag. “Not a lot,” I tell her. I’ve never worn makeup before. I don’t want to overdo my first time.
She waves me off. “I got this.”
She spins me so I can’t watch in the mirror and breaks out a brush. She swipes it through white powder. “Close your eyes.”
Soft bristles touch my lids. I ask, “What are you going to do today?”
She picks something else up and moves close again, this time brushing my lashes. “Well, I met this hot girl last night, and we’re doing lunch later.”
Excitement dances in me for her. “Really? That’s so great, Anne.”
“You’ll have to meet her. She’s coming to tomorrow’s show. You’ll like her. Maybe we can all do something afterward.” She smears something on my lips. “That is if you’re not with West.”
West—my funny, awesome, dark-haired boy who is waiting for me upstairs.
West—the boy who has turned me completely, utterly inside out and back again.
“Okay.” Anne nudges my shoulder. “Look.”
I turn around and oh-my-God, amazing! She brushed pale powder on my lids, blackened my lashes with mascara, and put peach-tinted gloss on my lips. In comparison to what most girls wear, it’s not much, but it all comes together and looks awesome.
“Your eyes are literally popping blue. West is going to die when he sees you.”
A nervous laugh slips out.
“Well?” she prods. “What do you think?”
“I never knew I could look so pretty.”
“You were already pretty. This makeup’s just decoration.” She waggles her brow, making the red ball jump, and then smoothes her hands up her striped faux-hawk. “Just like my bling.” She checks the time. “Five til. Don’t keep that sexy man waiting.”
I draw in a deep breath, give her a quick goodbye hug, and dressed in my usual jeans and tee, I’m out the door. I take the elevator up, bubbling with so much delight I might burst through my skin. At his door, I lift my none-so-steady hand and knock. I remind myself to breathe.
The door swings open, and I’m immediately assaulted with flowers. Everywhere.
Red ones. White ones. Yellow. Purple. Orange. In bouquets. In baskets. In vases. Hundreds of them. On the dresser and the end tables, the desk and the windowsills, and on the table already set with food.
I take a shocked step into the room, the door closes, and I turn to see West. Holding yet another bouquet. A grin breaks across his lips. God, I love his grin.
“Welcome,” he says, handing me the ones he’s holding.
I bury my nose in them and inhale. “No one’s ever given me flowers.”
He bows. “Well, I’m honored to be the first.”
Giddiness bubbles up inside of me, and I turn a circle, taking them all in again. When I come back around, West is looking at me. His lips twitch, and I launch myself into his arms.
“Thank you!”
He bursts into laughter and picks me up, spinning me around. I squeal, and he squeezes me. “Now that’s a sound I like,” he says.
I squeeze him again, and he lowers me to my feet.
“Hungry?” he asks, and I nod.
He puts the flowers I hold in a vase already set up on a side table and pulls my chair out for me.
The simple and gentlemanly romantic gesture has me all kinds of giddy again.
He goes about taking the silver tops off all the platters, revealing what has to be the entire room service brunch menu: eggs, fruit, pancakes, sausage, waffles, coffee, juice, crepes…
“I can’t eat all of this!”
“Well, I hope not. I’d be worried if you could.” He picks up my plate. “What do you want?”
“How about a tiny little bit of everything?”
He nods and starts serving me, and I take a second to just look at him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crème V-neck sweater. His thick black hair is doing that bedhead thing I adore. He shaved, which bums me out a little. I like his whiskers. He smells—I inhale—like West. My West.
He puts my plate down and serves himself next. “You wore makeup.”
“Yes. Anne put it on me,” I shyly admit, hoping he likes it.
“You look gorgeous. You look just as gorgeous without it, too.”
My insides get all gooey again. “Thanks.”
He sits down and lifts his coffee cup. “To the first brunch of many.”
I like the sound of that. I click my coffee cup to his, and we both dig in.
“So, are you hungover at all?” he asks.
“No. Little thirsty this morning, but that’s it.” A bit of hair peeks out from his V-neck sweater. I have this weird urge to bury my nose right there.
An image floats through my brain of him in that towel, and the temperature rises as I recall his lean muscles, the tattoo, and that light dusting of hair just below his navel.
He waves. “Did you hear what I asked you?”
I shake my head.
West arches a knowing brow. “You were just fantasizing about me, weren’t you?”
“No!” I deny.
“You were!”
I frown. “I was not.”
His gaze deepens, as does his voice. “Hell, Eve, fantasize away. Lord knows I do enough of that about you.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yeah.”
His sexy voice does lovely things to my insides. This might not be the moment, but I say it anyway. “I’m sorry for how I acted at your family’s house and afterwards. You saw and felt things I wasn’t ready for, and it scared me. I freaked, and I took it out on you.”
He sits back in his chair. “I love the frank honesty. Thank you. Let’s not keep things from each other, okay? Here on out, fresh start.”
My chest tightens with the guilt of things I am still keeping from him.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I want this to work for us.”
I press my lips together. I do, too. Very much. I have a real chance at something here. The life I never thought I’d get to experience. Happiness. Friends. A boyfriend. Love. Acceptance.
I need to tell him the rest. That thought wiggles into me, takes deep roots, and wars with my guilt. I shove it all into the deepest crevice of my mind and focus on this perfect guy in front of me. I can do this, can’t I? I can stay hidden and still be with West.
“I’ve never been in a real relationship,” he says. “It’s always been quick and no strings. I’d like to try the dating thing with you. That is, if you feel the same way.”
I nod. “I do feel the same way.”
His lips curve. “Well, then there. I guess we’re officially dating.” He lifts his coffee cup again. “To dating.”
“To dating.”
Last night tumbles through my thoughts, as well as the past weeks and everything back home. “West, be patient with me, okay? I want to be the way you described. Honest. Open. Talking. But this is all new to me, and I don’t know how. I’ll try. I promise. But be patient.”
He reaches across the small table and takes my hand. “We’ll be patient with each other.”
Something between us shifts into an anticipation that wasn’t there before. An awareness. Simultaneously, we stand and move into each other’s arms for a long and warm hug. West pulls back first, trailing his hands just below my rear and lifts me to straddle him.
I let out a surprised gasp, but go on instinct and wrap my legs around his waist. He pulls me in, and every inch of me tightens at the mind-numbing feeling of the new position.
I run my fingers through his hair and down his cheeks to outline his bottom lip with my thumb.
The kiss that comes next is soft and tender as we reacquaint ourselves with each other’s lips.
I slide my fingers back into his hair and tug on the strands.
West lets out a moan that vibrates through both our bodies and elicits a powerful excitement in me.
Our kiss deepens as he takes a few steps and lands with me on the bed.
He angles his head, taking the kiss deeper still, sliding his tongue over mine.
He squeezes both my hips, and the kiss transitions into something hotter, sexier, before he tears his lips away and moves to my neck.
There is no panic in me, only sensation, control, freedom, and power.
I grab at his sweater—to take it off, to hold on—I’m not sure, but he lifts up and asks, “Do you want me to take it off?”