Page 103 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Charlotte?”

I turned and spotted him standing atthe edge of the sidewalk, cane in hand.

“You wouldn’t mind?” heasked sheepishly, indicating his arm.

I hurried back. “Oh mygosh, yes. You can lean on me.”

He looped his arm throughmine. “Hopefully, I won’t need to. But balancing getstrickier—”

“As the night wears on,” Ifinished for him. “I noticed.”

The corner of his mouthtwitched, like he didn’t want to smile. “You notice a lot,huh?”

“No, I’m obtuse when itcomes to most things. But I try to be considerate. Sorry Iabandoned you.”

“I won’t have thisforever,” he said, like an apology.

“So what if you do?” Ishrugged. “You’re not going to be able to stay here forever either.That doesn’t mean it’s bad that you need it right now.”

We made our way to the line where thesand got damp and dropped down, safely away from the waves. He tookout the joint and lit it, taking a few quick puffs before passingit to me.

I inhaled and held it,staring out at the rapidly dimming blue dusk over the sea. “This isbeautiful.”

“You’re tellingme.”

I turned to him. He was looking at me,not the view.

I passed the joint back andtucked my hair behind my ears. “Shut up.”

“It’s my birthday. Let mebe cheesy,” he argued.

I held up a finger. “It’syour birthday on Friday.”

“It’s mybirthdayweek,” he insisted stubbornly. “If girls get to do that, so doguys. It’s equality.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’sridiculous.”

“It suits my purposes,” hesaid tightly, then exhaled.

I thought for a momentwhile I took another hit. “Okay. Top five things that make youhappy.”

He tilted his head. “Thisplace is one of them. Not just the sex part. I like sex, obviously.But it’s the atmosphere of escape that makes it a draw forme.”

“That’s one.” If he’d kepttrack for me, it was only fair that I kept track forhim.

“Seeing other people behappy. Making other people happy.”

“You already mentionedthat,” I reminded him. “On the way down. I don’t think it shouldcount, now.”

“I’m not constantlyreiterating that to sound like some kind of saint, to beclear.”

“It actually makes youracts of giving less saintly,” I pointed out, wriggling my toesdeeper into the sand. “Because you’re doing them forself-gratification.”

“Does that make your blowjobs less saintly?” he teased me.

I took the joint back andtossed my hair haughtily. “Excuse me? Iwason my knees.”

“And I was the one praisingGod.” He thought for a minute. “Was that two?”

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