America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(58)

Beck’s right.

I need to find a way to enjoy this.

Own the story.

“Mackenzie. They’re just people. It’s okay,” I tell her.

“Sarah. They are not just people. They’re…they’re…they’re gods.”

“Do not tell Cooper she said that,” Beck breathes to me.

“Kinda understood,” I breathe back.

“This is all fun and embarrassing for all involved,” Charlie interrupts, “but are we filming a video or are we taking a walk down Cooper Rock Lane?”

“I would so walk down that lane if I could breathe when I was in the same room as him,” Mackenzie sighs.

Charlie shoves a phone at her. “Let’s do this.”

I blow out a breath and shake my hands out.

“Hey.” Beck takes them both in his hand—seriously, the man has ape hands too, with these long fingers that are genetically unlikely to be real, but I’ve never heard of finger extensions, so since he’s not a robot, they must be real, and I suspect they can probably do some fairly marvelous things to my body—and he sets them on my lap, squeezing gently while his opposite thumb softly rubs my shoulder. “It’s just you and me talking to a weird square box that will take over the world one day, okay?”

I snort indelicately. Yes, that was kinda funny. And also possibly true.

But more because his touch is shooting strange awareness vibes all over my body. Not just between my legs and to my breasts, but also to my knees, which are tingling pleasantly, and to my ears, which are getting hot, and to my ribs, which seem to be melting into a happy matrix of cotton candy and butterflies.

“I don’t know if I’m in the right headspace for this,” I whisper to him. “I feel like the atomic structure of my bones is shifting from a calcium construct to powdered sugar.”

“Just follow my lead, okay?”

He smiles at me—not that goofball grin, and not the smolder, but a real, friendly I’ve got you, Sarah smile—and my racing hearts starts to slow.

“Ready?”

I lick my lips and nod.

His eyes drift to my mouth, and his pupils go big and round, hiding all that beautiful deep summer sky and now I really don’t care that my ribs might shatter with the barest jostle of the spun glass fibers, because holy crap, Beck Ryder is into me.

He’s not just playing.

He’s into me.

And if he were just a vapid, superficial underwear fashion model who only cared about his bottom line and creating a foundation to make himself look good or to get some kind of tax break, I could write him off in a heartbeat.

But this guy?

This guy loves his family, and food, and life, and he makes everything brighter.

I’m in so much trouble.

He shifts back on the couch and crosses one knee at the ankle, then smiles at Charlie, who’s watching behind a phone on a tripod. Mackenzie points to him, and he starts talking. “Hey, there, awesome people of the world. Beck Ryder here with my friend, Sarah, because I read her blog yesterday and now I’m obsessed with stars.”

“You can’t see the stars from the city,” I tell him like a complete and total know-it-all. “There’s too much ambient light.”

“You ever seen the stars in Hawaii?” he asks me.

He doesn’t have gel in his hair, and it’s flopping over adorably, like he just rolled out of bed, and oh, actually, he did just roll out of bed. But he showered, so he shouldn’t have such perfect bedhead that’s making me want to run my fingers through it.

“Yes,” I say quickly, realizing I’m staring and not answering the question. Which requires some truth on my behalf. “That’s where I saw the Milky Way for the first time. We used to go to Hawaii once or twice every winter when I was growing up.”

He’s watching me so closely, I can’t tell if it’s because he likes what he sees, or if it’s because he’s totally on in celebrity mode, waiting for a sign that we’re supposed to cut the video because I’ve gone completely dorktastic.

“Ah, when you were growing up.” There’s a teasing note in his voice, and the smile that goes with it seems to both relax and speed up my heart all at the same time.

That’s biologically impossible.

Clearly I’m dying.

“There are rumors flying all over the internet about who your parents are,” he says.

“The ones about me being adopted by a band of cheetahs and raised by wolves are all completely true.”

And now he’s smiling wider. With the eye crinkle. And the smolder which might not actually be a smolder, but more of a that’s my girl, which is even more dangerous.

“Raised with wolves is probably more accurate, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I agree softly.

“How old were you the first time your parents got mobbed by the paparazzi?”

I frown. “I don’t know. I can’t ever remember a time when it wasn’t just normal to go anywhere in LA with them and have people screaming their names and taking our pictures.”

He grins and shakes his head.

“What?” I ask.

“Once, when I was…thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere in there. Anyway, the guys and I—all the guys from the neighborhood—we all set our alarms for like two in the morning on a school night, and we climbed out our windows and met up to go move this giant dinosaur we picked up at a flea market so it was staring directly into the high school principal’s bedroom window.”