When West led me inside his tiny apartment, I was surprised to see how clean and organized it was. Not like serial killer clean, but definitely tidier than I'd expect a guy's apartment to be.
West ran a hand through his thick black hair. "I need to take a shower. Are you okay waiting here?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied casually. "Take your time."
West grabbed his shower supplies before peeling off his t-shirt and heading toward the door. I had to swallow around my immediate reaction to his shirtless chest and back, because damn.
"The bathroom is detached. Across the hall, to the left. It's really inconvenient, I know."
"Gotta love these old walk-up apartment buildings," I joked, trying to break the tension and earning me one of his bright smiles before he disappeared.
I glanced around his apartment in a totally not-snooping way, trying not to think about him naked and wet. Not helpful, Maren. What drew my attention first was the electric keyboard sitting on a small coffee table, which was directly in front of his full-size bed.
There were pictures of him in uniform, a box of worn tap shoes, and a newspaper article about the launch of a free after-school dance program for at-risk youth in Newport, Rhode Island, funded by a trust.
When West came back inside, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, I found my voice lodged in my throat. He was all lean muscle and defined abs. His flawless alabaster skin and jet black hair slightly damp from the shower. Beads of water trickled down his face before he toweled them off.
I swallowed hard.
West strode across his room and plucked a fresh t-shirt from his dresser. "Forgot to grab a shirt on my way out. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," I said, my voice jumping six octaves higher. I certainly wasn't offended. I gestured to the piano, trying to think of something else to talk about besides his shirt and his body. "Do you play?" I asked, and West shook his head.
"Nah, that's just for decoration."
He went to move the piano under his bed, but I stopped him. My hand landed on his arm, and our eyes met once again. "Wait."
I wasn't sure how to comfort him, but the piano seemed like the most obvious distraction.
"Play something for me," I said, then softened my voice. "Please?"
I watched the tension leave his face, and West glanced down at my hand, which was still resting on his muscled forearm. The undeniable heat between us sparked, starting a flame low in my core.
"What do you want to hear?" West asked in his deep voice.
There were a million songs I would love to hear him play, and even more I wanted to hear him sing. Show tunes and pop songs. But, tonight wasn't just about me. "Play something that makes you happy."
West sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his chin in thought, and I settled beside him. The outline of our bodies pressed against each other, stoking the burning flame inside me. He was warm from the shower and smelled like soap and boy-deodorant.
"Okay, I've got something," West announced, looking sheepish. "But if I play, you have to sing along."
"Me?" I asked. He wanted me to sing with him? No way. He was so much better than me.
His long fingers brushed over the keys, and I watched his lips quirk into a grin. "Promise me you'll sing, or no song."
The shadow of West's usually carefree-self appeared, and I realized this was what he needed. He needed music to help heal his heart. So, I set my pride aside. I wanted to comfort him.
"Fine," I said, giving in to his request. "I'll sing. As long as I know the words."
"You'll know this one. Trust me."
The first measures of A Whole New World drifted into the room, followed by West's rich tenor. I was so surprised by his choice of song that my mouth fell open.
Aladdin was my favorite Disney movie. The hardheaded princess and the talented street rat coming together to find love.
Sitting in West's apartment, listening to him sing my favorite song from my favorite comfort movie, I couldn't help but feel closer to him. This was who West was at his core. A guy who came home and sang songs and took care of his dying neighbor.
Whatever he may or may not be, West was a good person.
Tears pricked in my eyes when his voice swelled with the chorus, and he glanced over at me, smiling. I couldn't help but feel like he was singing to me, not just for me.
Like maybe we could find a new world, one where this feeling between us and our professional life could coexist. If there was a feeling on his end.
When it was time for Jasmine's part, West nudged my shoulder with his. I started singing softly, knowing my voice was nowhere as good as his, but West gave me an incredulous look.
"Come on, Red. I know you can sing louder than that."
My cheeks flushed, but I decided to let out my real voice. The one that only came out at the Stage Actors Dance Studio or when I was alone.
He didn't look away from my face while I sang, and I hoped West knew how special this moment was to me.
West's tenor joined mine, and we sang the rest of the song to each other, sitting side by side on his bed. His deep brown eyes holding mine as the song came to an end.
When West played the final notes, we stared into each other's eyes, breathing the same air. My skin prickled with heat and excitement. I felt alive in a way I hadn't remembered feeling before. So many emotions tumbling inside me.
"Maren—" West started, my name a deep rasp in the back of his throat. "Your voice is so beautiful." He drew a line down the side of my face with his fingers. "Just like the rest of you."
Like the rest of me? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did like me.
Before he could say anything else, I placed my hand on the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Lingering for a moment and breathing in his clean scent before pulling away.
When my lips left his skin, West was staring at me. Wide and open. I watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat once before he licked his lips. Nothing was said for a hot beat, and just enough time passed for embarrassment to set in.
Maybe I read the signs wrong. Maybe the kiss was too much. Before I knew what I was doing, I was explaining myself.
"I'm sorry if that was inappropriate, but..." I rolled my lips together, tasting his clean scent, "you looked like you needed to be kissed. And I wanted to be the one to kiss you."
West took my hand in his, and the look on his face was indescribable.
"You look like you should be kissed," he said firmly. "Every day. Each morning and each night by someone who deserves you. By someone who can give you the world."
No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I tried to hide just how much his words touched me behind a joke, because accepting compliments wasn't really my thing.
"You're starting to sound like Aladdin."
"Maybe I am," West answered, wearing a playfully crooked grin. "A nobody from nowhere who was plucked off the street by a beautiful princess."
An unavoidable smile stretched across my face. I'd never been called a beautiful princess before, but I found I kinda liked it. Something told me West had more experience with royalty than he was letting on.
"You've never been a nobody from nowhere. You're a somebody who was standing on the wrong stage. I just helped put you back where you belong." I studied his face, trying to understand why I felt so strongly about him, but came away with more questions than answers. "Something tells me you've always been a prince."
West chuckled. "I wouldn't call myself a prince. Not even close."
The Armani suit. The car. The carelessly handsome way he carried himself. I knew West Tenney was different.
"But you were raised like one, weren't you?"
West leaned over and picked up a picture that sitting beside his bed. It looked like it was taken ten years ago, when West still had a boyish look. Everyone was dressed in a white uniform, and he was standing beside what must be his siblings.
And, holy shit. In the background was the biggest house I'd ever seen. No, not a house. A palatial mansion, like something out of a fairy tale.
"Was that your house?"
West shrugged. "The Tenney family occupied that home for 161 years, but we don't live there anymore." I watched a coldness settle over him. "I might've grown up in a mansion, but my family was never royalty. It was all an illusion. My father is a monster." He put the picture on top of the piano and let out a long sigh. "Those are my siblings. Nora, Easton, South, and me, Westmore." He let out another humorless chuckle. AKA the black sheep of the family. Definitely not a prince."
I realized West and I had more in common than I could've imagined. We both grew up around wealth. We both had families that rejected us. We both chose to go our own way. Yet, we somehow found ourselves here.
"You're more of a prince than you're letting on, Westmore." I gave him a wide flirty smile, trying to warm the coolness in his dark eyes. "A diamond in the rough, maybe?"
My efforts seemed to pay off because West shook his head and scooted closer to me. Slowly, he lifted a hand to my cheek—his fingers pushing back a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. The room was so quiet, I swore West could hear my heart pounding in my chest or feel the heat radiating off my face.
The closer West got to me, the closer I wanted him to be.
"You're the princess in our story," West said. A smile curling around his lips. "Beautiful. Smart. Punctual."
"Punctual?"
We both let out another tight laugh before his gaze settled on mine. Every nerve seemed to vibrate with excitement at the thought of West touching me again.
And he didn't disappoint.
West's hands slid into my hair, ever so slightly tilting my face up. His breath fanning over my cheeks. "I meant kissable. Not punctual." West's gaze fell to my lips. "Maren, you are very beautiful, and smart, and...kissable."
The word drew us closer together.
The fire burning between us could've set the room ablaze. I didn't just want him to kiss me, I wanted him to destroy me. I wanted his lips to consume me in a kiss that would be my undoing. If I was going to burn, then I wanted West to be the one holding the matches.
But if we were going to burn together tonight, and torch our former relationship, I had to know he understood what was at stake.
I swallowed hard, trying not to look away from the intensity of his warm, steady gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked West slowly. My voice thick with desire. "Because if you kiss me right now, there's no going back. We cross this line, and the line disappears."
"I don't want to go back," West replied. "I want to be right here. In this moment with you for as long as I can. Without any lines or boundaries." I drew in a shuddering breath, and West's thumb stroked over my lower lip. "Maren, I'm tired of pretending I don't like you. But if you don't want this, if you don't want me, just say the word, and I'll leave you alone."
He wanted me, despite the consequences. He didn't care what tomorrow meant. He wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him.
The only problem was that I knew his decision was tainted with grief. Would West regret kissing me once the bite of Denny's death wasn't so sharp? Would he hate himself next week when our working relationship was strained?
I didn't know.
West must have seen the hesitation in my eyes because he pulled back an inch. That inch could've been a mile based on the way it felt, and I didn't want to push West away. Not this time.
It might've been the stupidest, most impulsive thing I've ever said. I knew that. But I said it anyway.
"Don't," I whispered, covering West's hands with my own, holding him in place, "don't leave me alone."
"I won't, Red," West promised me. "I swear."
In the span of a heartbeat, West's head canted to one side and his pillowy-soft lips found mine. With that kiss, he sealed our fate and lit the match, setting my world ablaze.
Slow, soft kisses turned into slower, deeper confessions. Like he was reading each page of my journal and tearing out the ugly parts. Like I was listening to the song inside his heart and finally understanding who he was.
Each kiss, each confession pulled me closer toward the inferno now blazing between us. With his hands in my hair, I straddled his lap and let our kisses deepen, like we were melting together. Burning into each other.
Chest to chest, heart to heart, I wanted to feel every breath, every inch of him as his tongue parted my lips and slid into my mouth. I moaned around the feel of his smooth tongue on mine as his hands left my hair and traced the outline of my body, leaving a trail of fire behind.
This might be our first kiss, but my brain had imagined the delicious ache of pleasure that West's lips could coax from me a thousand times. Somehow, this kiss was better than anything I'd ever experienced. With each sweep of his lips over mine, West was burning down all the hurt and pain locked inside my heart.
We tipped backward on the bed, and suddenly I was on top of West, kissing him with my whole body and leaning into his rather impressive erection. I said a small prayer of thanks for basketball shorts and leggings. The hard length of him rubbed against my middle as we found a rhythm together. Moving our hips ever so slightly as slow, delicious kisses turned ravenous.
This was nothing like our dance at the Oiled Olive. It was sensuous. Sweet. But still mind-blowingly hot.
With my hair wrapped around his fist, West gently tipped my head back. His mouth kissed a trail down my throat before his teeth nipped at the lobe of my ear.
"You are addictive," West whispered in my ear.
I'd wanted West to destroy me, and he was doing just that with each slow thrust of his hips. I never wanted anyone more than I wanted him.
I didn't know what tomorrow might look like, but I knew I wanted this.
Between each hot, wild kiss I placed on his lips, West moaned or gripped my hips tighter, and I loved hearing his reaction to my body. When his hands traveled down to my ass, and his hard column of flesh slid against the spot I wanted him to be, I broke off our kiss and gasped out his name.
"I love when you say my name like that," West muttered. His fingers dug into me, holding me tighter. "It does something to me."
I'd never wished clothes could vanish before, but damn, could these pants evaporate? Please?
I gasped again, and I could feel West grinning when he kissed me. I melted into him all over again, letting my tongue and lips say the things I couldn't give voice to. I did want him to be mine. I wanted to be his. All his.
Those weren't the things a girl said to a guy the first time they made out. Especially not one that she still needed to work with.
In one easy motion, West rolled me onto my back, and we switched positions. Now I was looking up at him, my breath coming and going in short pants. In the low light of his room, with shadows flickering and New York City traffic blaring, I had trouble thinking of anything else but how badly l wanted to be with him.
He kissed me once, slow and soft, and the kiss tugged on my burning desire. But this time, instead of increasing the tempo, West broke off our kiss and lowered onto his elbows. Careful of my dark red hair fanned out on the bed around us.
"If you're wondering," West said, brushing his nose against mine, "this isn't just a game to me. I know you think I bring girls up here all the time because I'm a stripper, but I don't. I don't like taking advantage of women." He pressed a kiss against my forehead. "Ever since we met, it's only been you, Red. Even when I try not to think about you, I end up thinking about you."
I swallowed hard, staring up at this man. Hanging on his every word.
"Am I crazy?" West asked, his dark brows drawn together. "Or are you thinking about me, too? As more than a client."
I have no idea what possessed me to say these next words. Maybe West, the space alien, had a truth serum in his salvia along with a tractor beam in his pants. Because I ended up saying this:
"I've worn your shirt to bed almost every night, and I talk about you to my cat."
And now I wanted to melt into the bed.
West cracked a grin, and I knew how crazy I sounded. "And real people, too," I added in embarrassment, but it wasn't making things any better. "What I mean is, yes, I think about you, too. Even when I shouldn't. As more than my client."
"Well," West drawled, rolling onto his side and pulling close. "Maybe instead of talking to cats and other real people about our feelings, we can talk to each other."
Maturity and honesty about feelings from a man? Now I knew West was a space alien. He definitely wasn't a New Yorker. Every guy I'd ever been with was perfectly content to live in constant relationship ambiguity. Even though being honest about my feelings with a guy wasn't something I normally did—especially not after Tommy.
As much as West was worried about taking advantage of me, I was worried about taking advantage of him. He had lost a friend today and was emotionally vulnerable. I didn't want to influence his decisions right now.
"I think we should wait to talk about our feelings," I said slowly. "You've had a really tough day, and neither one of us are thinking straight."
West curled his arm around me, and I laid my head on his chest. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest.
"You're probably right. We can talk about this another day."
It wasn't late, and I was nowhere near tired. The adrenaline and other hormones still floating around in my blood after finding West and kissing him had me wide awake.
"And now I really want to watch Aladdin," I admitted, and we both laughed, breaking some of the tension.
"I think I can make that happen."
We spent the rest of the night laughing, eating popcorn, and of course, singing to every song. It was the kind of comfortable innocence that I needed, and I thought West needed too.
From time to time, between songs and bites of popcorn, his lips found mine, and we'd get lost in a tangle of kisses that left me breathless and had me wishing the night would never end. That the sun would forget to rise and we could stay in this moment forever. Without the complications of tomorrow.
If you're the kind of person that likes a chapter song, this one pairs nicely with Hero by Enrique Iglesias, or A Whole New World from Aladdin.
Who is your favorite Disney Prince (or prince by marriage)? Mine is probably Flynn Rider, if I'm being honest. Or Naveen. I love a scoundrel turned simp. It's my favorite male character arc.
I also love writing first kisses! And this one was no exception! I thought I was going to explode if I didn't finally push these two together. This is by far the slowest burn I've ever written.
Thanks for sticking with me, and Maren, and West.
xx
AJ