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He can’t deny it. The look on his face gives him away.Guilty.
“Oh my God, youdid. Why? Don’t you have better things to do?”
He shrugs and relaxes. “A while ago, I had to learn about the guy the tabloids kept comparing me to.” The elevator grows silent for a few seconds. “I hate to be a disappointment, but there’s no sex room.”
“Any room can be a sex room with enough creativity,” I say. “Do you read a lot?”
“Yeah. I do,” he admits. “And I’m aware of book boyfriends.”
“You’re referring to my shirt at the park. And what about them?” I lick my lips, knowing this manalmosthas me believing love might exist.
“They’re fictional.” He pushes off the wall as the elevator doors open, and the hallway is nothing but windows, like we’re suspended in the air.
“So is love, but I have a feeling you still think it exists,” I say.
“An anti-love, hopeless romantic, a pessimist, and an extrovert. What a fucking combination I’ve found.”
“I’m a realist, not a pessimist. Get my list right.” I grin, then stop and admire the city’s golden glow.
It’s a triplex penthouse with a multimillion-dollar view. I walk to the end of the hallway, and my eyes can’t scan over the area fast enough.
“Gorgeous,” I whisper, knowing only the lucky can experience this view and this adventure.
“Agreed,” he says, his deep blue eyes locked on me. “It gets better though.”
“How is that possible?”
He grabs my hand and my heart lurches forward. Easton Calloway might be mybiggestmistake.
I move beside him as he unlocks a door. He steps aside, allowing me to enter first. A winding staircase greets the entrance and leads to the top floor.
I move forward and run my fingers across the grand piano keys. They ring out in tune. I follow him past the formal dining and living rooms, and he pushes the door open. We’re standing on a glass-paned balcony overlooking Central Park.
“Wow,” I whisper. “Okay, I’m shocked. Next time someone asks me when a moment blew me away, I’ll say this one.”
“This place has a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from above. But from the ground, if you look up, the balcony hangs over, and the blue windows make it shine?—”
“Like a diamond in the sky.” I smile. “I’ll have to look up the next time I’m in the park after the sun sets.”
I stare out into the night, and so does he.
“To answer your earlier question … it does bother me, always being tracked and watched,” he tells me, and I know it took being vulnerable to share that.
“I noticed,” I say.
“Only my brother knows that,” he admits, moving his gaze from me because it grows too intense. “How did you know?”
I smile and interlock my fingers. “I saw it in your eyes. The window to your soul. But don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. Along with having a heart—oh, and being a Christian Grey fanboy.”
He chuckles. It’s a nice sound, one that he should share more often. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”
“You should be thanking your brother.”
“Do you prefer that version?” he asks, but I see how his jaw clenches tight.
“No,” I admit, turning my attention toward him. “Truth,” I confirm so he knows I’m serious.
He glances away.