Chapter 39
West insists I take the loft with its private bath, skylight, and amazing view through the windows of the valley.
The bookshelf to the right catches my eye. 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 in to a sigh and flip the cover open.
In the feature, there’s a collage of pictures of West, every one of them with a different gorgeous girl.
Jealousy sparks in me, and I put the magazine back.
A cordless phone rings on the bedside table, and I don’t answer it. The machine picks up. “Eve, you there?”
I snag the handset and bring it to my ear. “West? Where are you?”
“In the garage.”
“Why are you calling me from the garage?”
He lowers his voice. “I miss you.”
I recline back on the bed. “You’re just downstairs.”
“I know.”
We listen to each other breathe.
“What are you wearing?” he whispers.
“The same thing I was wearing when we got here.”
“No,” he groans. “You’re supposed to make something up. Something sexy.”
“Oh.” I think of stuff I’ve seen in magazines that he might like. “A blue see-through bra with matching see-through panties,” I say, not fully believing I just said that.
He takes a breath. “I do love you in blue.”
“What are you wearing?”
“No shirt. No jeans. Just snug Calvin Klein boxers.”
It’s my turn to take a breath. I like that image. Very much. “Not Daffy Duck?”
He laughs. “Bye, Blue Eyes.”
“Bye.”
Downstairs, West comes in and starts rummaging around the kitchen. But instead of joining him, I get my guitar.
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 mimic one 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 lose track of time as I play, disappearing into 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, 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, back.”
He takes a step up.
“What are you doing?”
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'd better ask her first.”
“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. “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.”
Another step. “The best.”
“And now?” Because, please God, I hope he kisses me.
One last step, and he leans in close. “Now…”
I take a breath.
“Now,” he says, gently rubbing my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “Food’s ready.”
With that, he turns and trots down the stairs, leaving me desperately wanting that kiss.