by S. E. Hall
“Um, getting out, going in my house? I don’t understand the question,” I tilt my head.
“I’ll come open your door and go up with you while you change,” he says matter-of-factly, reaching for his door handle.
This time, I stop him with not quite as firm a grip on his, beyond firm, bicep. “Why?”
“Because I’m taking you to dinner,” he says intently, looking at me like he’s the one who should be confused.
I cover my mouth and snicker, not at all offended, more so enjoying his painful attempt at chivalry. “You really haven’t ever done this before, have you?” I can’t keep the teasing lilt from my voice.
“I think this is a trap and any time a woman asks you about other women in their past, you’re supposed to say “no, never, you’re the first,” but yes, I have opened a car door before. However,” he holds up a finger and his voice climbs excitedly, “I have never waited in a woman’s house while she changed into something, to, uh, go out.”
“Thank you for the honesty,” I giggle, patting his hand with a bit of patronization in my reply. “But I meant, you’ve never dated, or whatever this is we’re doing, before.”
“Not really, no. I guess in high school, dances and what not, I sort of did for that night. But beyond that? Nope. Why, am I screwing it up?”
“Eh, no, but maybe try incorporating the words “can” and “will” into what you say. For instance, “Bellamy, can I come up and wait while you change? I would love to take you to dinner, if you’re free” might be better.” I smile encouragingly, not wanting to deter him or hurt his feelings.
“Have you eaten?” That’s his response.
“No.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but…”
He gently lays a finger over my lips, his eyes holding mine hostage with a fierce, downright primitive, authority. “Will you eat if I take you to dinner?” he asks in a rough baritone, barely fringed with control.
“Of course, but…” I mumble past his fingers, this time being stopped by his “sshh.”
“Can you stop being so damn stubborn and just let me take you out for a nice dinner?” He smirks.
I nod…it’s that damn smirk. I’d rather stare at it than attempt to make a point. A point that honestly, would be an attempt to conform him into being like every other guy. And I don’t want every other guy. I want uncensored, all he’s got, Jefferson Kendrick.
“Good, I’m hungry.” He hops out and comes to open my door, offering me his hand, which I take.
We walk to my apartment and he again makes that grumbly sound that I don’t yet know precisely what it means, so I pretend not to hear it and open the door.
“This is it,” I hold out my arms. “Not much, but it’s mine. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable and I’ll go change. Any particular dress code?”
He stops looking around my place and at me. “Whatever you want to wear is more than fine, Bellamy. You’d look gorgeous in a gunny sack.”
“Okay,” I blush. “Be right back.”
I dash to my room, throwing clothes around like a madwoman. I don’t have much in the way of fancy…and the Kendricks are pretty fancy, despite never boasting it.
To relax, I turn my clock radio on low, and laugh quietly to myself. Unsteady by Chase Holfelder is playing…quite appropriately. I feel unsteady to say the least, wading into new, exciting waters in which I want to swim, float and bask…not drown.
Jefferson Kendrick, with his suave, charming demeanor and off-the-charts, sexy good looks, has drowning warnings practically flashing off him.
And yet, I’ve never been more willing to take such a huge risk in my life.
I can’t explain, even to myself, the inexplicable pull I feel toward him. It’s brand new to me. But I’m dying to explore it.
So I pull out my one, bargain find, “just in case” staple that I can only hope captures his attention half as much as he captivates mine.
The little black dress in the very back of my closet.
Fifteen
JT
I’M TAKING BELLAMY to dinner tonight to spend time with her. Time during which we’re clothed. To talk.
It recently occurred to me, in one of my rare, sporadic “deep thoughts” moments, that every married couple in my life, even after all these years, still make each other laugh. Still hold hands and whisper in each other’s ears.
And fuck.
A lot.
I want it all too.
I want to date Bellamy, make sure there’s more here than just a challenge. See if I can picture us, after we fuck one day soon of course, holding hands and making each other laugh.
Already pretty sure of the answer though, which is why, while she’s in the bedroom getting ready…I’m making a few calls. Calls that remind me so much of my dad and Uncle Saw, it’s disturbing. But, it was my father, after all, who told me to go after her with everything I’ve got—so it’s only fitting that he’s the one I’m calling.
“Hello?”
“Dad, I can’t talk very loud,” I whisper into the phone.
“Why not?” he bellows in my ear. “Are you okay? Put them on the phone, I’ll pay whatever they want.”
Dear God…my mom and her crime shows that she makes him watch.
“Dad, I haven’t been abducted for ransom. I just don’t want Bellamy to hear me. Simmer down, Superman.”
“Oh, hold on then.” He covers the phone, but I can still hear him calming my mom down. Which is immediately followed by the distinct smack that I know is her hitting him for scaring the shit out of her. “Alright son, I’m back.”
“Where’d she get ya?” I quietly laugh.
“Arm. Twisted her ring palm-in first too. Evil. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“Don’t we own a part of the Appleton Apartments?” I don’t know why I bother asking, someone in my family owns part of just about everything in this area. How they manage it all, I’m still learning.
My dad chuckles deeply in my ear. “I knew there was some of me in you somewhere. Yes, we do. Wait, don’t tell me. This’ll be fun. Lemme see if I can guess. She…has a creepy neighbor you want removed?”
“No. Well shit, I don’t know. I’ll check that out too.”
“She has a bunch of stuff that doesn’t work? Her locks aren’t safe? Air conditioning is out? Your Uncle Sawyer dealt with that once, went ape shit,” he laughs harder.
“No, none of the above. I don’t have much time, so can I just tell you the problem?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve been waiting.”
Not even gonna argue.
“She’s on the bottom floor,” I state simply, the implication obvious.
“Oh,” he grumbles. “Say no more, I’ll take care of it.” I know my father, knew it’d be obvious.
“And Dad, could we furnish it? She uh, works very hard for what little she does have, but…”
“Diving right in, then?” He chuckles, yet I hear the undertone of skepticism.
“Almost positive. But even if not, she’s Brynn’s best friend. Want her safe, with things half as nice as she is, ya know?”
“Yes, I do know. Do you?” His voice tilts at the end, to the pitch of a lesson being taught.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I didn’t catch the actual lesson, just the fact there was one there.
“I’ll get her moved, but the furnishings? Coming out of your weekly paycheck. Worth doing for her, worth doing it for her yourself. Make sense?”
“Yes, sir, perfect sense. Wouldn’t have it any other way. And Dad? Thank you.”
I hang up, satisfied with the good start. I’ll worry about her lack of car after a few dates.
Or tomorrow. We’ll see.
“I’m ready,” she says shyly and I turn, taking her in slowly, twice. Little black dress that snugly outlines the perfection that hides underneath. Her long, auburn locks hanging over her shoulders in soft curls. And the sweet pink tint of uncertainty on her cheeks.<
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Breathtaking.
Definitely gonna worry about the car tomorrow.
“Come here,” I crook my finger at her and she smiles, walking over to me. “Bellamy, you’re absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she casts her eyes down to my shirt. “What about you, though? Are you dry yet?”
“Dry enough. Just wanna feed you, Gorgeous. You ready?”
She bobs her head eagerly and I take her hand in mine, leading us out. She gives mine a squeeze and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her smile, so full and sweet…she’s excited, I imagine going through the gamut of all those “girl” feelings— dressed up nice, fancy date, those things. And maybe, happy it’s with me.
And another totally unfamiliar, baffling thought hits me out of nowhere.
This is why men suddenly change, shocking everyone who knows them, and one certain woman is instantly more than enough. Able to make them, unasked, do the frilly, special stuff for only her…
She smiled like that.
DINNER IS UNLIKE any meal I’ve ever had.
Oh, I’ve eaten at this restaurant many times. Had their steak. May have even sat at this exact table before.
But never have I been completely engrossed in a conversation the way I am tonight. I don’t even want to think about how closely I resemble a woman right now, but…I resemble a woman right now.
Not to stereotype the entire gender. Maybe some of them don’t feel this way, but it’s the only thing I can think to equate it to, because I know what I interpret being “a man” to feel like…and that’s not what’s going on with me right now.
Her every move, word, expression—I am wholly attuned to, oblivious to all else. For instance, she’s a little chilly. There are tiny goosebumps on her arms and she’s hunching her shoulders to trap her body heat close to her. I really wish I had a jacket for her.
Another fact…she didn’t like the appetizer, forcing a smile through the one bite she took, subtly pushing the plate aside after.
And she loves the house band, providing subdued, romantic music in the background. I know this because she’s closed her eyes and sighed at the start of four different songs.
I like her.
Not just her startling beauty and killer body. More than her innocent essence.
Her.
It almost feels beyond my control, a preordained connection, as though I couldn’t not like her even if I was determined to convince myself of such.
Good Lord, JT. Need a tampon?
I must laugh because she asks, “What were you just thinking, that tickled you?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. And I definitely don’t want to tell you.”
“Okay then, tell me something else, something you do want me to know,” she smiles, adding in that soft, feminine sigh of happiness that gets prettier every time I hear it.
“What do you want to know? Ask me anything.” I flip the script, wandering blindly into unfamiliar territory.
“Hmmm,” she taps her chin with one dainty finger. “Cats or dogs?”
I let out a laugh too loud for the upscale restaurant, but I can’t help it. “That’s your burning question?”
“Not to worry, I have more. Answer so we can move on. They get better as we go,” she bounces her eyebrows.
I nod to our server to refill our wine glasses—no checking Bellamy’s I.D. here because he and every other waiter, hostess and the owner know my family—and take a drink.
“Neither,” I answer. “I’ve never had either one, so I really have no idea, but I feel sure I’m a neither. Had a turtle once. Did something wrong though ‘cause it died almost immediately after being placed in my care.”
“How sad,” her bottom lip pooches out and I fight like hell not to lean across the table and pull it between my teeth. “What was his name?”
“Whose?” I’m still staring at that sexy mouth of hers.
“Your turtle,” she snickers. Then, catching on to where my line of vision has zeroed in, she slowly runs the tip of her tongue across her lips. “Jefferson,” she says low and raspy, “did I lose you?”
“No, sorry,” I shake my head and meet her eyes. “What about you, animal lover?”
Her lids droop sexily and a saucy grin curls her mouth. “I, too, am a neither. I’m a no to turtles as well.”
“Are you now?” I rest my chin on my hand, matching her grin with a pleased one of my own. Very pleased; I was sure she was gonna think me an ass if forced to admit…I have no idea what the turtle’s name was.
“I am. One checkmark in our “things in common” column. Okay, next question. Favorite part of the female body?”
“I’m supposed to say her mind or some shit like that here, right?” I ask on an accidental chuckle.
“No,” she waves a dismissive hand. “You’re supposed to tell me the truth, and if you are going to lie, try not to make it the cheesiest thing you could possibly say.”
“That, I can do. As long as you don’t get offended.”
“I wouldn’t have asked just to trap you into a Woman’s Lib rant. I want to know.”
This is actually a hard one…so many delicious parts to choose from. My answer really isn’t pussy. Other things have to catch my attention first before I want to venture there. Honestly. Well-kept secret among men? Pussy varies a little, tightness and muscle control, scent (that’s a big one), hair or bare…but the real deciding factors are many.
Smiles—fake and toothy, or beautiful?
Laughs—also fake and obnoxious, or adorable, sexy?
Hair—long and red…or not?
Humor, wit—quick, sassy and intelligent, or just give up?
And of course, because despite my behavior tonight, I do have a dick…Tits—full, spectacular and responsive, with proportional nipples that tighten into pretty buds, or saggy, flat bags beyond redemption with big ass saucer nipples?
“Jefferson?” Her voice once again regains my focus.
“Sorry. I was debating, and I can’t decide. I think it’s a three-way tie between smile, tits and hair,” I shrug. Damn, I forgot ass.
She sets down her wine, licking a drop off her lips. Shit, I forgot lips too. “Okay, now tell me your answer, considering me as your only subject,” she murmurs with a wickedly saucy glint in her eyes.
“I gotta get you to drink wine more often,” I wink. “Bold Bellamy is fun. And sexy as hell. For only you, I’m gonna say, in order,” I stall, seriously considering my answer, “smile slash lips in general, eyes, tits, hair and ass.”
“Why thank you, kind sir,” she blushes and giggles. “For you, I say, in order, charisma, wink slash eyes in general, abs slash delicious V, face, smile and smirk, then chest. Oh, and your back. And the finger crook thing you do.”
“You didn’t say we could pick everything but length of pinky toenail, cheater,” I laugh.
“My game, my rules,” she blows me a cheeky kiss. “Next. Sleeping. Snuggled up, an even room temp of like seventy-two, or foot sticking out of the covers, minimal clothing and a freezing sixty-eight or lower?”
“Well I know your answer,” I grin. “Not because of your very loaded wording or anything. I’d be a meet in the middle of all that I guess. I’d concede to seventy-two degrees and light covers, if there was a ceiling fan on low and you agreed to minimal clothing.”
She nods. “I could agree to those terms, if you throw in snuggling. Okay, movies. Horror, comedy, rom-com, action or psychological thriller?”
I motion to have our glasses topped off, bottle now empty, which is probably a good thing. I refuse to end this date, actual date, with sex. I don’t hate my dick…I just like Bellamy, loose and comfortable with very telling conversation, more.
“I don’t like horror at all, and rom-com? I’d bear my way through one for you. But personally, I’d go psychological thriller, action then comedy.”
“Well you’re in luck, Jefferson,” she purrs, finding my foot under the table with her own. “Be
cause I’ll pick psychological thrills first every time. And I loathe stupid, predictable horror movies. So, I’ll give up rom-coms, you scratch actions, and our third choice will now be comedies. Deal?”
“Yeah, um, deal,” I tug at my collar. First date and she just decided our movie choices plan—for the future.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling her. We get along great and have a ton in common. I’m just a tiny bit apprehensive of the speed at which we’re moving.
But, I did want to get to know her, and one must factor in the wine, so I won’t panic…yet.
“You about ready to get out of here?” I ask. “I’ll call for a car since I drank.”
“Anytime you are. And Jefferson, thank you. I had a really nice time.”
“Me too, Bellamy. Me too.”
Sixteen
Bellamy
I WAKE UP with only a small trace of a hangover—nothing a few Tylenol and some food won’t fix. Thankfully, I don’t have to be at work until eleven.
While I’m buttering my toast between sips of much needed coffee, there’s a knock at the door. Who the hell would be here this early? Or…at all. I have very few visitors as it is, let alone unexpected ones.
I check the peephole and accidently shriek in horror. Jefferson, looking gorgeous, is on the other side of my door, while I’m in ratty pajamas, with even rattier hair no doubt. At least I took a second to brush my teeth!
“I heard you, Bellamy. Why aren’t you opening the door?” he asks.
“Because I look like death warmed over. How are you already up, functioning and here? Looking great?”
“I’m a man, over six feet tall and two hundred pounds. Half a bottle of wine doesn’t faze me like it does your tiny self. I don’t care how you think you look, I’m sure you’re gorgeous as ever. Let me in, I’ve got great news for ya.”
“One word about my appearance and I’m kicking you out,” I grumble my threat as I undo the three locks and slowly open the door.
“Morning,” he eyes me from top to bottom. “You look precious, as predicted. Can I come in?”
I move aside, giving him room, then shut the door and turn to find him already on the couch. Arms across the back, stretched legs out and a confident grin on his face. His right leg is bouncing rather fast though, and his eyes twinkle with agenda. Clearly, he’s barely able to contain this news he has for me.