Prologue

PROLOGUE

Los Angeles

West Scott

I remember the night we met. You poured me my beer and then glanced at the credit card I handed over, and you cocked a brow, smirked that smirk of yours, and said, “Fuckin’ Beaufort? Beaufort Weston Scott. Your folks do not love you, papi.”

Some say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Feed him, and he will love you forever. For me, the magic word was evidently annoyance. With that single line, you irritated the fuck out of me—and that was after I’d come into the bar and low-key stalked you for a couple of weeks already. So I’d been gearing up to buy you a beer and see if you were interested in going out. Then you insulted me to my face?

“How cool is your own name?”

“Very.” You slid the beer my way, still smirking. “I’m Alfie.”

Your definition of cool needed some work.

And yet…back then, I did find you incredibly fucking cool. There was something about you. You were brazen, bold, and so open. I mean, we were in a Philly bar in LA, surrounded by strangers from home who wanted to catch a game.

I’d been careful about bringing up my sexuality my whole life, and you were the complete opposite. For instance, the first time I saw you, you were slinging shots to a couple truck drivers, and it was, “Here you go, hon” this, and “How you doin’, gorgeous” that.

You were by no means flamboyant; if anything, you stood out as a cocky motherfucker with plenty of street-smarts who screamed danger. Even so, your flirtatious behavior left no doubt. You were gay, and you were so goddamn beautiful that I couldn’t look away from you.

I’m an ass man, so for me to get stuck on a pair of eyes was unheard of back then. You were, and are, a special culture cocktail. Irish father, half-Italian and half-Puerto-Rican mother. Your dark hair was short but messy, like you’d spent the day in the ocean, surfing, before starting your shift at the bar. You had a tan and some freckles. And those eyes… My God, Alfie.

A week or so later when we got to talking and you said you were a part-time model, I wasn’t surprised at all. It wasn’t your dream, you said, but the pay was too good to resist.

You were too good to resist for me. I can admit today, I was on edge about your age. Still in your college years, you’d moved to LA to make it big. But I just couldn’t hold back. I put a gag on the jaded fucker in me who said you’d never go for someone like me, and I asked you out.

Meeting you shook my entire existence. For the first time ever, I felt alive.

We went from zero to sixty in one summer. You were gonna be my forever. We were gonna raise a family together. We were gonna spend late nights laughing and fucking and dreaming. You quickly proved you were useless in the kitchen, so I handled that, and you sat on the counter and made up stories to make me laugh.

Boy, did you make me laugh.

You couldn’t say a sentence without cursing, you spoke with your hands, you were so animated, and your joy made those green eyes light up in the way I was addicted to.

You were untamed and amazing in every way imaginable.

I hate you for changing. I hate you for breaking my fucking heart.

You ruined me.