“They heard about me and McKenna breaking up,” he says, but doesn’t offer any more details. “Because of course they did. I swear they’re more plugged into what goes on here than I am. And I go here.”
I’ve already picked up that West doesn’t get along with his brothers, and he never talks about his parents, at least not that I’ve heard, but it’s strange that his family doesn’t seem to be supporting him when he’s clearly the one who’s been wronged.
“They didn’t like her?” I ask, still trying to get a read on the situation.
He snort-laughs. “Are you kidding? They love her. My whole family does. My brothers are pissed we broke up, and I’m sure my parents are too.”
“Do they know she cheated on you?”
“Probably not. I haven’t talked to any of them yet.” He lets his head fall back against the cushion behind him. “But they won’t care. I’m sure it will still be my fault somehow.” He lets out another loud groan. “Fuck my goddamn fucking life.”
“Do you need a distraction?”
He lifts his head from the back of the couch and shoots me a look that I can only describe as bashful. “I think I might.”
“Come here.”
He gets to his feet without hesitating, but the rush of pride that moves through me is mixed with something dark and primal, and it takes a second to place it as possession.
West looks adorably shy as he sort of shuffles toward me, and I stand so he can take my chair. “Sit.”
He immediately sits in my vacated seat and watches curiously as I go to my closet to get the spare gaming desk chair I keep in there for when my friends come over.
“A helmet?” he asks as I move the helmet from where I put it on the seat of the chair earlier and onto one of the many built-in shelves inside my closet.
“For my bike.”
“You have a motorcycle?” He blinks like he’s trying to process this new bit of information.
I nod and drag the chair across the room.
“I’m such a moron,” he says sardonically. “I know your friends all have bikes. I’ve seen you with your helmet, and you were literally wearing a motorcycle jacket and boots when I saw you earlier today. I knowallthat, but it never occurred to me that you have a bike.” He shakes his head ruefully as I push the chair right up against his. “I swear I’m not as dumb as I seem. This is an off night.”
“You need to stop putting yourself down,” I say as I sit next to him. “You’re not a moron or dumb or any of the other things you call yourself.”
“I feel like all of those things,” he mumbles.
“You’re not,” I tell him firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He smiles, and two faint spots of color appear on his cheeks. “It makes sense you ride since you love things that go fast,” he says, effectively changing the subject.
I chuckle and push my hair back from my forehead with a swipe of my hand. “That’s one reason I like motorcycles. Are you a fan?”
“Depends what you mean by fan,” he says. “I’m a fan of bikes, and of people who ride them, but I’ll never willingly get on one.”
“But they have brakes.” I bump his arm with mine. “Isn’t that your thing?”
“They do have brakes,” he agrees with a laugh. “But they don’t have seatbelts or airbags or walls, and those are also very important when it comes to things that go fast.”
I nudge my mouse to flash my screen up. “But the lack of airbags and walls and seatbelts is part of the fun.”
“For you, maybe.” His eyes are shining with laughter. “But the thought of zooming down the road with nothing between me and the asphalt is a big nope. Same with potentially tussling with other vehicles that do have all those things and will definitely win against me and a bike.”
“Fair enough,” I concede. “But there’s nothing like feeling that kind of power between your legs.”
His eyes widen comically. “What?” he says, his voice so high it’s almost a squeak.
“The engine,” I say innocently. “That kind of speed is addictive.”
