Page 47 of A Matter of Fact

“I think I like you when you’re needy, but I need a little bit of a recovery period.” Beckett re-soaped his hands and finished cleaning Rhys up, then quickly washed himself and traded places under the spray.

Rhys had ridiculously soft and fluffy towels on a bar and he wrapped Rhys up, then himself. He avoided looking at his reflection because he didn’t want to see how much he felt at home in this overpriced bathroom with this extravagant and arrogant man on his arm.

“Let me go find my way around your kitchen so I can put the picnic away, and then I’ll meet you back in here?” Beckett adjusted the knot around his waist so the towel didn’t fall. Rhys answered him with a sleepy nod before dropping his towel entirely and climbing into the massive bed. The shower must have taken it out of him, and Beckett felt much the same. The adrenaline of a first time hookup was wearing off, and the reality of what had happened between him and Rhys set heavy on his shoulders.

Beckett made his way back down the hallway to the living room. He stacked the food neatly back into the picnic basket and carried it into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but a plastic container of spring greens and two oranges was far from it. Beckett shook his head and put the food on the top shelf, dumped the half-drank cans of sparkling water down the drain in the sink, and turned off the lights.

The plate glass window on the far wall was so large, the lights of the city illuminated the room, casting a colorful glow across the stark whiteness of the room. While he felt comfortable enough with Rhys, he missed the color of his own apartment. The softness and familiarity that came from living in a place. Not to imply that Rhys wasn’t living, but the condo didn’t feel livedinat all. It was bland and sterile, save for the sink, which Rhys didn’t even like.

With a sigh, he unwrapped the towel from around his waist and padded down the hall into the bedroom. Rhys was under the covers on his side, turned toward the empty pillow. Beckett walked around the bed and slid under the covers, settling in and meeting Rhys’s sleepy stare.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he whispered, brushing a damp lock of hair out of Rhys’s face.

“Waited for you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Rhys yawned. “I wanted to talk about our next date.”

“Oh?” He smiled softly. “Tell me more.”

“I know the picnic didn’t go as planned, but you set the budget and I went along with it.”

“Right.”

Cold toes dragged up the front of Beckett’s shin, and Rhys gave him a calculating smile. “I set the budget for the next one.”

“Absolutely not.” Beckett kicked Rhys’s foot away.

Rhys brought it back with more force and emphasis than the last time. “You didn’t let me finish.”

Beckett rolled his eyes. “Fine, go on.”

“Beckett.” Rhys blinked slowly, the creases around the corners of his eyes smoothing out as his face relaxed. His hand joined his feet in touching Beckett, and Beckett shivered at the contact. Rhys’s hand moved from his waist to his stomach, then up his chest to his throat. Rhys spread his fingers like he wanted to test the girth of Beckett’s neck, but he didn’t press, didn’t squeeze. He only held Beckett there in a way that had his lashes fluttering and his cock protesting about his earlier refusal for another romp.

“I know you don’t care about my money,” Rhys breathed against him. “But you are worth so much more than a three dollar jar of pickles.”

“And an expensive block of cheese,” Beckett murmured, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Even more than a whole wheel of it,” Rhys agreed. “I just want to show you that. I want you to know what you’re worth…to me.”

Two weeks earlier, the answer would have been a loud and resounding no, but Beckett did realize there was more to Rhys than he’d initially thought. He was rough around the edges and sometimes deliberately abrasive, but the more time they spent together, the better able Beckett was able to see it as the defense mechanism it was.

“I know what I’m worth,” he said. “And it’s more than money.”

“You deserve to have nice things,” Rhys said back.

“Figuratively.”

“And tangibly.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” he asked.

“I never do. I won’t start now.”

There he was. There was that sharp and cunning businessman Beckett knew Rhys had to be.

“What are you proposing then?”