“This is not fancy.” He scoffed, adjusting the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “This isn’t even business casual.”
“How much did your suit cost?” Beckett asked.
“This isn’t even asuit.”
Beckett’s eyes sparked with something promising and dangerous. Rhys looked down at the hem of his slacks.
“How much?”
“More than dinner,” he grumbled.
“Then it can’t come on the date.”
Rhys couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “Do you propose I get naked?”
“Unless you have clothes that don’t cost a small fortune.” Beckett grinned and adjusted the way he was sitting, stretching his legs out and leaning back to rest on his bent arms.
Rhys unfolded the cuffs of his shirt so they hung loose around his wrists, then undid the buttons down the front. He pulled the tails of his shirt out from beneath the waistband of his pants and shrugged out of the soft material, discarding it beside the blanket. He still had on an undershirt, but it felt thin and revealing, and the way Beckett studied him didn’t do anything to make him feel any less exposed.
“Beckett.” Rhys undid the front of his belt, pulling it out of the loops and adding it to the growing pile. He popped the button his slacks, but stopped short of tugging down the zipper. “I’m more than my money.”
Beckett tilted his head to the side and gave Rhys a small smile. “I believe you.”
“Then why this?”
“Because I don’t thinkyoureally believe it.”
Rhys pulled down his zipper and shimmied out of his slacks. They were dry clean only, so he didn’t care about wrinkles. He dropped them on top of his belt, then peeled off his socks and shoved all of his discarded clothes to the side. He sat in front of Beckett in nothing more than an undershirt and a revealing pair of boxer briefs that did little to hide the assets Beckett had yet to explore.
“I think this is a ploy to get me naked,” he said.
“It’s an unintended side effect.” Beckett bit his lower lip and tore his attention away from Rhys, flipping open the picnic basket. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here.”
There were the sweaty palms again, but this time he didn’t have anything to dry them on.
Beckett reached into the picnic basket, his cheeks turning pink.
“Please put me out of my misery.” Rhys turned to stare out the window.
“Pickles are a good start.”
Rhys listened to Beckett rifle through the basket.
“And cheese. Though, this looks like really pricey cheese.”
“It is,” he said.
“Pickles. Cheese. Salami. Bread with oil and vinegar to dip. Strawberries. Cookies. Sparkling water.” Beckett closed the lid. “This is an admirable picnic you’ve put together.”
“I had thought we could go to the beach or the park or something,” he said.
“Here is better,” Beckett murmured, twisting open the lid on the pickle jar.
“You said it’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but what you’re wearing isn’t.” Beckett licked his lips in the slowest and most sinful way Rhys imagined anyone ever could lick their lips. His cock twitched, pushing against the tight material of his underwear and he hated the exposure. He felt seen, and it was horrible.
“You should eat something.” Rhys’s brain was racing a thousand miles a minute.
