I’m about to remind him no one likes a bragger, but my brain goes on the fritz when we enter.
A California king bed with black silk sheets and a leather headboard sits in the middle of the room, facing a large flat-screen television that’s mounted to the ceiling. There’s a walk-in closet, and a luxurious bathroom attached. However, it’s the panoramic view of the Hollywood Hills from the wrap around windows that makes this room go from beautiful to holy crap.
“Wow.”
That’s all I can manage.
Waking up and falling asleep to that view every day must be quite the experience.
I’m not sure I’d ever leave.
His gravelly timbre reverberates inside me as he locks his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to the crook of my neck. “You like it?”
“It’s stunning. This place feels nothing like you and exactly like you at the same time.”
Warmth unfurls when one of his hands slides down, cupping me through my leggings. “I want to fuck you against this window.”
I’m assuming that’s what we’re about to do—especially since it’s the reason I’m here—but he removes his hand. “And I will…later.” He swats my ass. “Come on. Our date isn’t over yet.”
I can’t imagine what else he’d have planned after all this.
“What’s next?” I joke as I follow him back down the stairs. “Dinner on the Eiffel Tower? Perhaps a helicopter ride?”
His lips twitch as we cut through the house. “Even better.”
“A tour of your cars?” I question as he leads me to a solitary door on the opposite end of the house.
“Nah. My car’s in the other one.”
My heart slams against my chest as we enter a garage. Immediately, I’m transported back in time because it’s set up identically to the one at Gram’s house. Old instruments included.
“I can’t believe you kept everything.”
“It’s where we started.”
I assumed he meant him and Storm. However, he’s looking directly at me when he says it.
My heart thumps heavy and my stomach churns as he walks over to the futon.
“I racked my brain for the past four weeks, trying to figure out what a perfect date for Lennon Michael would entail. I thought about dinner at a fancy restaurant or hiring a world-renowned chef to come cook for us.” He exhales sharply. “But that’s not your style.”
He’s right. I don’t need fancy dinners or chefs.
I just need honesty.
Someone who wouldn’t steal from and hurt me.
Plopping down on the couch, he gestures to the upside-down crate with what appears to be two fast-food burgers wrapped in foil on it.
The room spins and my chest feels like it’s caving in. This is what we were doing right before I sang him my song for the first time.
It’s like he intentionally replicated that day.
Like he’s trying to go back.
“Because perfect to you is this…how it was between us before everything changed.” His voice drops to a raw rasp. “It’s who I was…not who I became.”
He’s right.
My fascination with him developed the first moment I saw him, but I fell in love with Phoenix Walker in this garage.
And that Phoenix is the one my heart will always belong to.
The heart in question constricts to the point of pain, and my feet stay rooted to the spot.
I’ve always wished I could press rewind on that day…but only so I could make a different decision.
Not so I could relive it.
“I’m not the same person either.”
“I know.” His tempestuous stare locks on me. “Just like I know how our story ends.” The groove in his forehead deepens, and he averts his gaze, like he can’t look at me when he says his next words. “It ends with you hopping on a plane tomorrow morning with no intention of ever seeing me again.” He drops his head. “I just want a few hours where I’m not the villain in it.”
He lifts his gaze to mine and something unspoken passes between us.
“Okay.”
He begins unwrapping our burgers as I sit down next to him. “I asked my housekeeper to pick these up from one of my favorite places in LA. They’re really good.”
They smell and look amazing.
I’m about to dig in, but a morbid thought occurs to me. “I know the instruments are the same and stuff, but this isn’t the futon, right?”
He takes a big bite of his burger…avoiding the question.
Narrowing my eyes, I reach for the Styrofoam cup of soda at my feet. “You can’t use that tactic twice in one day, Walker. Answer the question.”
His words come out muffled due to his mouth being stuffed. “I plead the fifth.”
I poke him in the ribs. “Phoenix.”
He strokes his thumb along his bottom lip before licking ketchup off it. “It is.” He laughs at my horrified expression. “You asked.”
Disgusted, I shake my head. Sure, I threw the sheets out and I was beyond grateful to discover that the mattress underneath was black, but it’s still gross.
“I…it looked like a murder scene.” I take a bite of my burger as another thought occurs to me. “Poor Storm. He’s been unknowingly sitting on a mattress full of my…hymen.” Bringing the straw to my mouth, I take a sip of my soda. “You’re a terrible friend.”
Phoenix laughs. “Relax. I washed it later that night.” His expression turns sheepish. “And Storm knows.”
That’s news to me. “What do you mean, he knows?”
His tongue finds his cheek. “You left the sheet in his garbage can, and Grams made him take out the trash every night before he went to bed. Plus, he walked in on us during…” He shrugs. “It wasn’t all that hard for him to put two and two together and figure out that I popped your cherry that night.”
“Half popped,” I maintain. “Sex doesn’t count unless you finish.”
A smirk plays on his lips. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart.”
I stop eating. “Okay, first, don’t sweetheart me. Ever. Secondly, I don’t make the rules, so don’t get mad at me.”
He reaches for a napkin. “Who made these rules then, huh? Because I’d like to put in a complaint and request a revision.”
Damn him. He looks so genuinely upset it’s adorable.
I’m sticking to my guns, though.
“Wow. For someone who had their own rule about not screwing virgins, you seem to really want to take credit for the job.”
“Damn right. And the sooner you admit it, the sooner we can put this argument to bed for good.”
Nope. I refuse to let him win. “I lost my virginity to you and Doug Goldstein at the end of my freshman year at Dartmouth. You both share the title.”
His nostrils flare and his jaw hardens. “I don’t share, Lennon. Not when it comes to you. This Doug Goldstein douchebag can go fuck himself. He doesn’t get to take credit for something I did.”
Sucks, doesn’t it.
“I—”
“You told me you didn’t regret it,” he says gruffly, his features going slack. “It was the very last thing you said to me…before I fucked everything up.”