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West sits down on the farthest possible edge of the couch and I smirk.
“I’m not going to bite you,” I say, risking another sip of coffee.
“Now that’s a shame.”
Goddamn it. That’s it. No more coffee for me.
It’s West’s turn to smirk as he hands me a napkin from the pile on the table.
“Thanks,” I say, wiping my mouth.
“Least I can do,” he says gallantly, accepting the fresh cup I hand him from my tray. He raises an eyebrow. “Meeting someone?”
“My parents,” I say. Maybe it’s time for me to cut out coffee altogether. My hands won’t stop tingling. Not sure that’s the caffeine’s work, though. “If you’re trying to find out if I’m seeing Callie again, you’re not being very subtle.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” says West. He puts a drawl in his words. He did that a couple of times last night with Callahan too, putting a heavy dose of Southern in his voice, like he’s trying to provoke a reaction.
Does that mean he’s trying to get a reaction now?
My dick gives a particularly stern twitch. Something must show on my face because West’s eyebrows inch upward. I talk fast, trying to get back on track.
“I walked her back to her room an hour ago,” I say.
“Keep your damn voice down.” West’s eyes search the room quickly. He didn’t have to bother; there’s nobody down here at all except that doorman, who’s standing outside, and the girl behind the desk who’s trying to hide the fact that she’s devouring one of those big, fat epic romance novels my mom loves so much.
“Keep your shirt on,” I say. West gives me a flat look and my face heats again. “I mean—”
“What, Raleigh?” West leans forward, his thick forearms braced on his knees, his hands cupping the coffee I gave him. His fingers are thick and well-formed. All of him is a little thick. The word reverberates in my head like a tuning fork, and I start to get a little dizzy.
“Nothing. I forgot what we were talking about.”
“Liar,” West says. His voice is low again, like last night when he told me to get on my knees. “Christ. The look on your face.”
I take a deep breath and try to get a grip. What the hell is wrong with me? I make a mental note to ask Cas about the side effects of sex. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it scrambles your brain. Like eggs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway. Callie is fine,” I say, making sure to keep my own voice low this time. “Did you have a good night?”
If it comes out a little snide, well… I tried.
“Not even close,” West says flatly. “Although the first half of it was… interesting.”
“Oh?” I say, feigning polite interest. A couple I don’t recognize smile at us as they walk in, passing through to find the sign that says Ballroom and following it down the narrow hall.
“You didn’t think so?” West asks, quirking one eyebrow.
“You know I did.” I can feel my face heating all over again. “What’s your deal, anyway? I get that you—” I glance around, mindful this time that our voices might carry, “You and she have some… stuff to work through. But you left her hanging last night.” A small voice in my head points out that he left us both hanging, but I don’t say that out loud.
West looks at the cup in his hands for a long time.
“Finn Hale is the most important person in the world to me,” says West quietly. “I can’t tell you how many times he saved my ass. We did dumb kid stuff together, too, but he was there for me when my own family shut me out.” West shakes his head. “It would gut him if I betrayed his trust like that. And if things went wrong somehow between Callie and me…” He takes a deep breath. “Losing them both like that is more of a risk than I’m willing to take.”
I nod, sitting back to study the ceiling, accepting his explanation for what it is.
“I get it,” I say.
“Thanks,” says West.
“You’re a coward.”
