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The buildup of anticipation imploded inwardly when it failed deliver the expected results.
Drew was punishing me and I couldn’t make up my mind if I deserved it or not.
I slid down the door, my head hung low. Here I was, literally living in paradise and I felt like dog shit all over again.
A footfall sounded from the patio and I jerked my head up.
“Locking your door doesn’t help if you keep the sliding door open,” Matthias said from the patio. He’d thrown on a jacket with a hoodie and was carrying a nondescript black gym bag. When I didn’t reply, he said, “Sorry for getting your hopes up, Ciaran. If I had known…”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Fair enough.” He retreated. “I’ll catch your act in the morning, Ciaran.”
“Not so fast.” I locked my phone and scrambled to my feet. “I’m going with you.”
There was no way I wanted to be alone right now, otherwise I’d drown in my own miserable thoughts.
Matthias stepped into the room. “And I said you’re not.”
“Do people swim in the ocean at night?”
“Of course they do—” He stopped. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “Well played, Ciaran. It’d be in poor spirit to let you drown on your first night in Malibu. Get dressed, birthday boy, and meet me downstairs in five minutes.”
18
MATTHIAS
When I brought Ciaran down into the garage, he lost his ability to speak as he took in all the vehicles parked there. I flicked on the overhead lights and the cavernous room lit up section by section.
We had everything from antique cars to the most exotic cars in the world. It was spotless, though the perpetual scent of oil and exhaust lingered in the air.
Our steps echoed as Ciaran followed me deeper into the bay. Ciaran was further stupefied when I unlocked the forest green Ford Explorer instead of the gleaming Ferrari parked next to it.
“Excuse me, Mr. Moneybags,” Ciaran said, raising his hand like a sarcastic jackass, “but why are we getting into a rickety SUV and not this beautiful, magnificent machine?”
Ciaran’s voice took on a dreamy tone and he all but drooled over the hood of the Ferrari Stradale. I couldn’t fault him for his admiration but hell if I didn’t want to strangle him for calling me Mr. Moneybags. I wanted to strangle him for several reasons.
For starters, the tussle back on my bed affected me more than I cared to admit. At the time, I’d concentrated all my energy on reading his texts and not focusing on how his heated body had ground against mine while he struggled to snatch back his phone.
Ciaran wasn’t a lightweight. He’d had some substance to him, dense muscle, strong, powerful thighs. His facial expressions were determined.
I’d had the hasty idea of flipping him over and pinning him to the mattress just to see what kind of reaction I’d get, see if I’d get to watch a storm brew in his eyes. But that was stupid, of course. Ciaran had wanted his phone back and was willing to do whatever it took to get it. And I’d gotten caught up in witnessing his beautiful descent into anger.
Right now, though, he wasn’t angry. He was awestruck, staring at his reflection in the Ferrari.
“Saliva isn’t good for the paint job,” I quipped as I slipped into the driver’s seat of the SUV. “So maybe lean back a little. Better yet, kiddo, get inside the SUV.”
Ciaran did as I said, but there was an air of petulance to his movements. I wanted to laugh.
“Kiddo?” he criticized, shaking his head while buckling his seat belt. “Listen, why have that car at all if you don’t drive it?”
“I drive it all the time,” I said as I maneuvered out of the parking garage and away from the estate. This was a much safer topic than me thinking about other things. “But for tonight’s errand, I don’t want to draw attention.”
He studied me as he crafted his next question. “I’m surprised you own a normal car. I thought billionaires drove custom, one-of-a-kind cars. You know, like an outward display of your wealth for the peasants to gawk at.”
“The peasants deserve a break,” I said with a chuckle, turning onto Pacific Coast Highway toward Los Angeles. “And I’m not a billionaire. My dad is, and even that’s just on paper. You’d be surprised by how much of it is tied up in real estate, businesses, or investments.”
“Give me a second to try and feel sorry for you.” Ciaran paused, touching his chin in contemplation. “Nope, not going to happen. So, no piles of gold in your walk-in closet safe?”
