Page 65 of Gilt

Judging from the severe lack of furniture inside, his friend is either really into minimalism or a dude. Inventorying the living room, my suspicions are confirmed. “I’m going to guess your friend is a guy.”

“How did you know?”

“Psychic,” I say dryly. “One couch, two chairs, every gaming system. A TV that takes up half the wall, and no pictures.”

“You’re a regular Nancy Drew.”

I spin toward him and trail my index finger along the hard planes of his chest. “Is your friend home?”

He catches my waist and pulls my body against his, dropping his lips to my ear, he whispers, “Does it matter?”

I’m guessing that, according to bro code, friends don’t cock-block friends in their bachelor pads. But as if to undermine my theory, an amused voice interrupts us. “Don’t mind me, I like to watch.”

I’m so wrapped up in Jameson that it takes a second for the familiarity of the voice to seep into my giddy brain, but when it does, I turn and gawk at the equally familiar face.

“Never fails,” Jameson grumbles. “Levi, you have terrible timing.”

“I have excellent timing,” Levi calls, grabbing an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter. He takes a bite and continues to talk as he chews. “That is, according to Michael Bay.”

“I wouldn’t brag about that, man.”

Neither of them seems to remember I’m here. I elbow Jameson in the ribs. There’s no point in trying to play it cool now, not when I’ve been staring like a catatonic fan girl for over a minute.

“Sorry, Duchess.” Jameson shifts and puts one hand possessively on the small of my back. “Emma Southerly meet Levi Rowe.”

“I know who he is,” I hiss. “What I don’t know is what we’re doing here.”

“Nice to meet you, Em,” Levi says before his movie-star white teeth crunch into the apple again. He swallows hard and I follow the slide of his throat. How on earth does he make that look sexy? “I figured Jameson had to have a girl up here if he was coming back to California.”

I raise a questioning eyebrow at my boyfriend. “This is the part of the scene where you tell me how you two know each other.”

Between the Wests’ money, and his sister’s brief bid for fame, it shouldn’t shock me that he knows Levi Rowe, former teenie bopper heartthrob turned up-and-coming action film star. I’d been safely past my tween years when he’d been doing his Disney Channel stint, but even though movies about transforming robots aren’t my cup of tea, I drooled over his abs like every hot-blooded female I know.

As if on cue, Levi steps away from the counter, his unbuttoned linen shirt fluttering open as he strides towards us. Those abs. “Jameson brings all his girls here to impress them.”

Levi extends his hand, and the two grip each other’s forearm as they lean into a masculine hug. After two seconds and a chest bump, I’m beginning to wonder if I stumbled into a frat house by mistake.

“Levi was at Stanford with me,” Jameson says. “For what, like two weeks? Turns out his serious college plans were a publicity stunt designed by a movie studio.”

“I plan on finishing someday.” Levi’s lips twitch into the grin that casting directors are willing to pay millions for.

“He plans on getting an honorary diploma,” Jameson clarifies.

“Jodie Foster got a doctorate,” Levi tells us.

“You’re going to have to find a script with less running, and more lines to snag one of those, professor,” Jameson advises him.

“I’ll have you know my agent sent over a serious part this morning.” He glances from Jameson to me, and back again. “And you know, I think I need to go read that now.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jameson agrees.

“Yep,” Levi says as he backs down the hall. “I’ll be in my room with my headphones on, deep in thought, completely oblivious to the outside world. If you scream for help, or”—he fakes a cough—“any other reason, I won’t hear you.”

“You’re overselling it,” Jameson calls after him, but he doesn’t miss the opportunity to haul me in the opposite direction. “Come on, Duchess.”

I steal a glance over my shoulder as Levi disappears into another room. “We’re at Levi Rowe’s house.”

“Yes,” Jameson says.