America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(48)
He winces. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault. I mean, not entirely. My parents thought it was visit your daughter at work day. I think they’re still there signing autographs.”
His wince is getting wince-ier. “Will that be awkward?”
“Do you go to your parents’ business and sign autographs?”
“Nah, I usually just wait for the charity auction they do for the children’s hospital and then send in signed underwear.”
And once more, the man’s surprised a laugh out of me. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. Nobody wants to bid on it, because Dad runs the auction, so usually a guy will win them for like eighteen bucks and mumble something about donating them to a bigger fundraiser at his wife’s office.”
He’s totally shameless. But I don’t think he actually has an overinflated ego. He’s too self-aware about the awkwardness of the underwear thing for that.
Plus, as noted, his underwear is really freaking comfortable.
I angle a pointed glance at the life-size cardboard cutout in the corner, and once again, he blushes. “That’s…for shock value.”
“You should get one of the rear view. Without the briefs. I have this weird feeling your friends would appreciate playing pin the dart on Beck’s butt cheeks.”
He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Brilliant idea. And here I was worried about what to get them all for Christmas. Glad you had a place to escape to. I promise I won’t baby-bomb you next time. Bathroom’s through that door. Should have soap and stuff in it. Let me go get some clothes. Be right back.”
He does indeed have clothes that fit me, though the RYDE sweat pants are tight in the butt and have to be rolled to my ankles—but so, so soft—and the T-shirt he finds me—a Half-Cocked Heroes T-shirt he says Levi sent him as a joke—is like wearing a dress, but I also get to shower in his orgasmic shower with the wall nozzles and rain spout that are utterly scrumptious and luxurious and about the only thing I miss about life in LA.
And I’ve never used SHYNE shower gel before—his body care line—but holy crap, it’s delicious. And smells just like Beck.
When I finally emerge from his guest room, buttloads of people have joined the crowd.
He introduces me to Levi Wilson, Tripp’s brother, who’s impossible to miss because he’s Copper Valley’s version of Justin Timberlake, and also Hank, Waylon, and June Rivers—Cash’s siblings, who all have identical eyes to the boy bander who went on to be a movie star—and Davis Remington, the fifth former member of Bro Code whom I never would’ve identified without the introduction thanks to the tattoos, beard, and man bun.
“They’re on your side first,” Beck assures me. He has the little boy up on his shoulders, and I’m guessing the kid’s seat of honor has something to do with the crayon marks all over the windows and removing him from further temptation.
“I always take not-Beck’s side,” Levi agrees. He’s holding Emma, the little girl whose bowels like to make their own introductions, and appears to have no concerns whatsoever about the possibility of his white pants becoming the proud owner of doodoo stains.
And on a related note, how do men get away with things like wearing white pants?
It’s mind-boggling. But I realize they’re RYDE jeans, so I assume they’re comfortable too.
Actually, is anyone here not wearing Beck’s clothes?
“Not-Beck’s side is usually the safer side,” one of the Rivers guys agrees.
Charlie arrives with a grocery cart full of food, and I take one whiff, and my feelings for Beck Ryder might just step firmly over that line that I’ve been wrestling to keep them behind, which is bad, because I do not want to go back to a full-time life in the public eye.
Plus, who says he’s even into me for real? I’m a geek who tasered him.
And all he wants is to rescue his reputation.
Still—“Did you order out Moroccan?”
“Oh, Hersheys, yeah,” he replies with a grin, and I realize he’s censoring himself for the kids’ sake, and could he be any more real and down to earth?
His mom frowns. “Is Moroccan spicy?”
“It’s flavorful. You’re gonna love it.”
He doesn’t wait for Charlie to unload the cart, but instead dives right in with everyone else grabbing cartons and bags and pulling out plates and silverware. “Hey, Charlie, Sarah, you guys go first,” Beck calls.
Charlie gives my clothes a once-over. “Do I want to know?”
“Emma’s teething,” Tripp tells her.
“She mauled you with drool?”
“Other end,” Tripp corrects.
“That’s a thing?”
“Yep.”
“I’m never having children.”
“Sometimes they throw up on you too.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Yes, he is,” Beck calls. “If you have children, you might leave me.”
“Dude, you have dependency issues,” the Rivers guy that I think is Hank says.
“Job security isn’t a bad thing,” Charlie retorts with a glare aimed at him, and hello, tension.
Beck swings James down onto a stool at the island and while I fix myself a plate, he talks the boy into trying a kefta kebab. “It’s like a hamburger on a stick.”