Page 73 of Before Eve
West—my funny, awesome, dark-haired boy who is waiting for me upstairs.
West—the boy who has turned me completely, utterly inside out and back again.
“Okay.” Anne nudges my shoulder. “Look.”
I turn around and oh-my-God, amazing! She brushed pale powder on my lids, blackened my lashes with mascara, and put peach-tinted gloss on my lips. In comparison to what most girls wear, it’s not much, but it all comes together and looks awesome.
“Your eyes are literally popping blue. West is going to die when he sees you.”
A nervous laugh slips out.
“Well?” she prods. “What do you think?”
“I never knew I could look so pretty.”
“You were already pretty. This makeup’s just decoration.” She waggles her brow, making the red ball jump, and thensmoothes her hands up her striped faux-hawk. “Just like my bling.” She checks the time. “Five til. Don’t keep that sexy man waiting.”
I draw in a deep breath, give her a quick goodbye hug, and dressed in my usual jeans and tee, I’m out the door. I take the elevator up, bubbling with so much delight I might burst through my skin. At his door, I lift my none-so-steady hand and knock. I remind myself to breathe.
The door swings open, and I’m immediately assaulted with flowers. Everywhere.
Red ones. White ones. Yellow. Purple. Orange. In bouquets. In baskets. In vases. Hundreds of them. On the dresser and the end tables, the desk and the windowsills, and on the table already set with food.
I take a shocked step into the room, the door closes, and I turn to see West. Holding yet another bouquet. A grin breaks across his lips. God, I love his grin.
“Welcome,” he says, handing me the ones he’s holding.
I bury my nose in them and inhale. “No one’s ever given me flowers.”
He bows. “Well, I’m honored to be the first.”
Giddiness bubbles up inside of me, and I turn a circle, taking them all in again. When I come back around, West is looking at me. His lips twitch, and I launch myself into his arms.
“Thank you!”
He bursts into laughter and picks me up, spinning me around. I squeal, and he squeezes me. “Now that’s a sound I like,” he says.
I squeeze him again, and he lowers me to my feet.
“Hungry?” he asks, and I nod.
He puts the flowers I hold in a vase already set up on a side table and pulls my chair out for me. The simple and gentlemanlyromantic gesture has me all kinds of giddy again. He goes about taking the silver tops off all the platters, revealing what has to be the entire room service brunch menu: eggs, fruit, pancakes, sausage, waffles, coffee, juice, crepes…
“I can’t eat all of this!”
“Well, I hope not. I’d be worried if you could.” He picks up my plate. “What do you want?”
“How about a tiny little bit of everything?”
He nods and starts serving me, and I take a second to just look at him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crème V-neck sweater. His thick black hair is doing that bedhead thing I adore. He shaved, which bums me out a little. I like his whiskers. He smells—I inhale—like West. My West.
He puts my plate down and serves himself next. “You wore makeup.”
“Yes. Anne put it on me,” I shyly admit, hoping he likes it.
“You look gorgeous. You look just as gorgeous without it, too.”
My insides get all gooey again. “Thanks.”
