“A house?” Beckett tilted his head to the side, like the denial was already on the tip of his tongue, but he slipped his phone into his pocket and snapped his mouth closed. He walked across the room and came to stand beside Rhys, looking down at the computer screen. Rhys had already navigated the listing away from the main page displaying the price.
“This looks expensive,” Beckett murmured.
“It’s not.”
It was expensive for most people, but not for him. Rhys clicked through the gallery of images, and Beckett took them all in silently until he got to the last picture and the slideshow refreshed to the professional picture of the front of the house. Beckett straightened up and gave Rhys a resigned look.
“The bathroom looks nice,” Beckett said.
“It’s a wet room.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“No shower walls, and the tub is there in the back by the window.” Rhys clicked back to the picture. “You can slosh water all about and over the edges. It doesn’t matter.”
“Is that a concern?” Beckett arched a brow. “Have I been missing out on messy baths by being poor my whole adult life?”
Rhys laughed and wrapped an arm around Beckett’s waist, pressing his face against Beckett’s stomach and burying his grin in the well-worn uniform shirt. “Wouldn’t it be nice, don’t you think? To fuck me in the bath and not have to worry about clean up?”
“There’s always clean up.” Beckett threaded his fingers into Rhys’s hair and combed his way through.
“And you just step out of the tub and you’re in the shower.”
“Hmmn,” Beckett made a thoughtful sound. “And the bedroom has a nice view of the beach.”
“It does,” he agreed.
“Is it what you want?” Beckett asked.
“I want you,” Rhys answered. “I want what you want.”
“If that house would make you happy, then it’s what I want.”
Rhys looked up, brow knit with confusion. “What?”
“If you like it.” Beckett gestured at the computer screen.
“You’re not going to fight about the cost?” he asked.
“If you say it’s not expensive, then it’s not expensive,” Beckett conceded. “You are a shrewd businessman, Rhys. I trust you to make this decision.”
A sense of pride swelled in the center of Rhys’s chest. He rubbed at his sternum, mouth twisting into a half smile as he looked away.
“Can you see yourself living there?” Rhys asked.
“With you.” Beckett leaned over and clicked back to the pictures of the open floor plan living room and kitchen space. “There’s great appliances in there for cooking, and the front room has good light. You know. For the plants.”
“Obviously.”
“And my couch.”
Rhys cleared his throat. “Your what?”
“My couch.” Beckett smirked down at him. “Mine is much more comfortable than yours,andit has character.”
“Mine is Sebastian’s,” he corrected. “But yours is so…green.”
“Color never hurt anyone.”
