“Clearly that wasn’t well received.” Beckett answered his look with a nonchalant shrug. “Since he’s marrying Jace.”
“Clearly.” Rhys snorted, a small laugh landing before his expression fell again. “So, I don’t understand why he was here. Why he was willing to help now.”
“Maybe he knows all of this.”
“I’ve never told him.”
“You don’t always have to,” Beckett said. “If you know someone, you know those kinds of things about them.”
“But Callahan doesn’t know me,” Rhys stressed. “He knows another version of me, or a piece of me. Not the authentic me.”
“Are you sure?” Beckett raised a brow. “He came over here, and I assure you he was all quiet attitude and judgement, but he saw me, Rhys. He saw me in your living room and in your life. Would the Rhys he knew then have even entertained a relationship with someone like me?”
Rhys winced.
“You can answer,” Beckett laughed. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“No.”
“Exactly. So, he saw me and maybe he knew things had changed.”
“Maybe,” Rhys grumbled.
“You’ll get a chance to clear the air with him soon enough.” Beckett took another drink of his coffee, lashes fluttering closed as his body finally started to wake up.
“Maybe.”
“In more pressing news.” Beckett set his coffee on the nightstand and slid down onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. “How long am I going to be a millionaire for?”
Rhys laughed, a rich and genuine sound that Beckett wanted to bottle so he could listen to it for the rest of his life whenever he got sad. He heard the glass of Rhys’s drink clank down onto the nightstand, and then Rhys was on top of him, his body all long and warm and clingy.
“For the rest of your life, if I have my way.”
“You say things like that…” Beckett rasped.
Rhys pulled his arm away and stared down. His cheeks were flushed and those pouty, kissable lips were still swollen from the midnight make-out session they’d had.
“I want everything that’s mine to be yours,” Rhys whispered.
Beckett closed his eyes and focused on the way Rhys’s breath felt against his cheek. He could smell the tomato juice and vodka, and he tipped his head back for a kiss.
“I’m serious,” Rhys said, a hint of pleading in his tone.
Beckett screwed his eyes closed tighter.
“Don’t say it,” he begged. “Don’t ask me. Not yet.”
“When?”
“You’ll know.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” Rhys pressed their foreheads together. “I would give up everything I’ve worked toward my whole life to be with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Just…not yet.”
“Beckett.” Rhys groaned, like Beckett’s words had hurt him. “Darling, I…”
Beckett wrapped his arms around Rhys’s back, dragging one hand up the back of his neck and through his hair to press his head down. He brought their lips together and made quick work of kissing any other promises, declarations, or questions out of Rhys’s mind. He knew what Rhys wanted from him. It was clear as day in his face every time Rhys looked at him, and there was a part of him that wanted it too.
