by S. E. Hall
I honk twice as we fly past the house, my aunt and uncle still there for some reason, but no time for goodbyes, and grip the wheel harder when there’s still no answer on the fourth ring.
“Dammit!” I disconnect, then stab the button again. “Call Sky.”
That brat picks up right away. “We’re noring shu. Like it?” Hmmm, wonder if she’s drunk.
“Put Brynn on the phone!” I yell.
“She left. Bye!” She hangs up on me.
“Okay Sutton, I can’t drive and run interference. Gonna need you on your game, buddy,” I seethe, doing well past the speed limit. Uncle Tate. I tap my brakes, bringing it down by ten miles-per-hour. “Push the home button on my phone; there’s no code,” I explain as calmly as possible. “Now, much like your phone, you know, the exact same model you got at the store with me when I bought mine? Yeah, go to the contacts and call Judd on speaker, please.”
“‘Bout to beat your ass,” he warns, hopefully while correctly working the goddamn phone.
“Sounds great, looking forward to it. Right after you get Judd on the phone!” Losing it—my shit—just about gone.
“Hello?” Finally, a coherent voice filling my car.
“Judd, about your wife…” I start.
“On it. Brynn just called me on her way home. She’d had enough. I’m going to get Sky now. Want me to stay ‘til you get there?”
“Not sure, assess and call me back. I’m about twenty minutes out at the most.”
“10-4,” he says and hangs up.
“Why don’t you just call Bellamy?” Sutton asks. “Or I could call Presley.”
“Bellamy’s been texting me in hieroglyphics; she’s soused. And if Bellamy’s soused, that means Presley’s hangin’ naked from a chandelier by now. How much accurate information you think we’ll get from those two?”
“Shit, I can’t put Presley on the back of my bike in nude chandelier swingin’ condition.”
“Judd can take her home.”
“The fuck he will. I’ll take care of mine.”
Just what I need, compounding problems. “Sutton,” I heave a sigh, ‘cause he really is a good guy, “Presley isn’t yours, man. Nor will she ever be. I don’t want any details, but whatever happened last night, it was probably just that, one night. Not saying she’s…promiscuous, because truthfully,” I laugh, “she’s the exact opposite, from what I’ve heard. The world’s wildest, biggest tease. And she gets bored very easily. And you? Talking ‘bout mine? Where’d my man-whore buddy go?”
“Yeah, okay,” his voice loses some oomph as he rubs his head. “I’m not getting all deep and shit, but, I’m not bored. Far from it. So, I’m taking care of her. At least for tonight. Got it?”
“Whatever you say, man. I’m actually rootin’ for ya. Against her, and my Uncle Sawyer.”
Poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance.
“YOU DIDN’T CALL me back, prick.” I push past Judd when he opens Bellamy’s door.
“Eat a dick. Been a lil’ fucking busy. Come see for yourself.”
“If that’s J with a J, T, him, throw him away! I mean out. Throw him out, Jed!” my baby yells from the back and I hold in my laugh.
“You Jed?” I ask Judd.
“It would seem,” he shakes his head. “And I think you’re J with a J, T, if I was a guessing man. You got it from here? I’m taking my wife home and putting her to bed, in the spare room. Tequila makes her snore like a lumberjack with a severe upper respiratory infection.”
“Yeah, I got it. Brynn went home safe, sober?” I double-check.
“Yep. What about P? Which one of us is getting that one? Rock, paper, scissors?” he chuckles, getting his hands ready.
“Neither! I only answer to ‘Sugar’ now, from the big, huge, really big guy!” Well, thankfully her hearing wasn’t affected by the alcohol, since Presley now screams at us too.
“I think she means you,” Judd says to Sutton.
“Oh, she does,” he confirms smugly. “Watch this. Not good enough, Sugar. What’s my name?” he bellows.
“Big Papa!”
At least he has the decency to blush and duck his head.
“Really, fucker? That’s my cousin and I got enough to deal with. Plus, I know her actual Papa wouldn’t take too well to that.” I grimace because…this fucking day already.
“Sorry ‘bout that, not what I meant. Lemme try again. Presley, do you remember my damn name or not?” he yells louder. I wonder if the neighbors are taking roll?
“Sutton Patrick Ellis!”
“I’ll be right back,” he grouses, heading down the hall. “You promised if I told you my middle name, it’d be our secret,” I hear him whining.
“Do not get loud with me, sir. I’m drunk. Very, very drunk. Now take us home.”
Hold right the entire fuck up. Us?
I was gonna wait ‘til everyone cleared out, but if “us” includes Bellamy—we got ourselves a problem. She’s not going a damn place.
I grab the door for Judd, carrying my passed-out sister through it. “You need help with your truck door?”
“Nah, I got it. Go deal with your fall-out,” he laughs.
“Night, and thanks.” I shut the door and head down the hall toward the terror-dome, formerly known as Bellamy’s bedroom.
What the…
“Yo, Patrick! Why the hell are you in my woman’s bed?”
“Not your woman,” she sasses.
“Because Presley asked me to lay down with her,” he says as smooth as if it was Psalms. “Your woman is way over there on the other side, whole, beautiful body between us.”
“Not his woman,” she hisses.
“Here.” I throw my keys at him. “Take my car, and Presley, and go.”
“I’m not leaving Presley! I mean Bellamy!” Presley hurls the keys, aiming for me I’m guessing, that land on the other side of the room, coming nowhere near me. “You left her all alone, crying, and ignored her. You suck. That’s not how you treat your woman, Jefferson!”
“You don’t get to call him ‘Jefferson,’” she whispers. “And, not his woman.”
“Yes you fucking are!” I finally explode, sick of hearing her little, incorrect add-ins.
“Nope,” she pops the “p,” shaking her head. “No sirree, bob.”
“Baby, look at me,” I plead with her. “You’re drunk, so we’re not gonna do this now. Especially with Goober and Gomer watching. You are my woman, I love you and that’s it. I’m putting you to bed and we’ll talk in the morning. Sutton, get those keys, get Presley and get the fuck out. I’m done.”
“Bye.” Bellamy hugs Presley. “Thanks, girlfriend. Still not his woman.”
“Damn right you’re not. Me and you, ‘morrow, man-hunting. Don’t forget!” P rambles from over Sutton’s shoulder, where he’s flopped her like a rag-doll, grabbing the keys off the floor and walking out. “Ow!” she yelps.
“Man-hunting my ass,” I hear Sutton snarl, after spanking her ass. “Night, J. Call me tomorrow to work out the car!”
The front door shuts and I look to Bellamy…who’s already fast asleep.
Thirty-Seven
Bellamy
I NEED TO call an exterminator, because clearly, something crawled in my mouth last night and died. Maybe had a little friend too that burrowed its way into my ear and is currently digging tunnels through my brain tissue. That, or I’m hungover as hell.
Flashes of the night before begin coming to me in a muddled barrage…tequila, dancing, crying and maybe a game of ‘Pin the Penis on the Naked Guy?’ And Presley. Good Lord, Presley. Love her, but I cannot keep up, nor will I ever try again.
I attempt sitting up, only to nix that plan immediately and lie back down, slowly and painfully. I guess if I just die here, someone will eventually notice an odor and come find me. Jefferson probably won’t get his security deposit back though; as if he has to pay one.
Jefferson.
Oh God, now I remember it all. He hates me. I was st
upid; and I lost him.
“Baby,” he speaks so softly it’s possibly a façade born of misery, but then he gently raps on the door. “You awake?”
Okay, I seem to have found him. And if I didn’t feel like busted ass, I’d leap out of this bed and climb him like a tree.
“Come in.” Whose voice was that? Amongst the rodents of the night, is there also an eighty-year-old chain smoker hiding under my bed, speaking for me?
“Hey,” he pokes his head inside and just like that—all is forgotten, forgiven; anything to start over. Everything I said, every question, every doubt.
“Hey. What’re you doing here?”
“You really thought there was a chance in hell I’d leave you alone? Slept on your couch, checked on ya through the night. I didn’t want you getting sick or falling. Plus, I wanted to be here to say I was sorry right when you woke up. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I smile.
He clears his throat. “Anyway, I brought you a few cures,” he moves inside the room, carrying a tray of stuff. “Take these with this,” he hands me two pills and a glass full of something thick and red. My expression must ask for me, because he laughs and answers. “Tylenol, and a sure-fire hangover cure. Just down it so fast you don’t taste it. You’ll thank me later, I promise.”
What do I have to lose? I couldn’t possibly feel worse, so I gulp down the mystery muck…but I taste it. Good God, do I taste it. “Yeah, gonna need to brush my teeth,” I sort of say, sort of gag. “Like, for the rest of the day.”
“Come on, I’ll help you.” He sets the tray aside and bends down to maneuver me out of bed as painlessly as possible. “Why’d you do this to yourself, babe?”
“Because I’m a moron,” I groan, hobbling to the bathroom with one arm around his waist. “I was miserable, thinking I lost you, so, I just kept piling on the misery I guess. I gotta pee, too.”
“So pee,” he laughs, moving me to the toilet. “I’ll get your toothbrush ready.”
Either I’m still drunk or he’s been hitting the bottle this morning—I look at him like it’s the latter. “I’m not gonna pee in front of you!” Ouch. No more yelling, Bellamy.
“Why not? I do have two sisters. And, I’m somewhat familiar with your anatomy,” he winks.
“Why are you being so nice to me? I thought, after yesterday…”
“You thought what? That we had a fight and I’d just quit, disappear, stop loving you? Jesus Bellamy, it doesn’t work like that, and I told you I was sorry. I may have overreacted a bit, but you pissed me off, so I took some time and got over it. The same time you’d deserve if the tables were turned. And guess what? You’re gonna piss me off again, lots of times, and I’m gonna do the same to you. But I’ll always come back, always. And so will you, or I’ll come find you. And when we get to the point where it’s an option, I’ll be expecting make-up sex, which rumor has it, is worth the fight,” he tosses in another wink. “Now pee,” he commands, ripping my shorts and panties down.
“Like I can break flow with you listening,” I grump.
“Here.” He turns on the faucet, then starts prepping my toothbrush, and the second I hear the water…I’m peeing in front of him. Definitely still drunk.
HE BRINGS ME a light, late snack in bed, lying beside me to eat his sandwich. Crumbs be damned; I don’t wanna be anywhere else—out of bed or away from Jefferson.
Despite the rough start, today has been wonderful. We’ve done absolutely nothing, just lazing around and talking, about any and everything. Except the fight. That’s over.
“Your dad called earlier,” he calmly says between bites, causing me to almost choke on mine.
“C…called you?” I clarify, once I can breathe again.
“Yep. Your parents are coming in a few weeks, staying with my folks. Don’t worry, my mom and aunts have been informed and are already flying around, losing feathers, planning.”
“Should I call him, my dad? Or my mom?”
“Yeah, often. But not about that. They think we’re surprising you, remember? And just to make sure they don’t slip-up, so does my family. So, mum’s the word,” he taps the end of my nose.
“K,” I snuggle into him. “I think there’s something to your hangover brew. I feel pretty close to human again.”
“I’m glad, but promise me something, okay?” He understands my silence is invitation to go on. “If you wanna drink, especially in a safe place like home, which I was very happy about by the way, go ahead. But when you’re buzzed, feeling good, stop. Or at least slow down. Otherwise, you ruin it by wasting the entire next day feeling like shit. And whatever you do, I mean even if you get a memo that the world is ending the next day, swear to me that you will never, no matter what, try to drink head to head with Presley Beckett ever again. The girl’s a mutant or something. A lot of the shit she can do is fucking abnormal. Guarantee you she didn’t have a hangover today. She’s a walking billboard for the ‘do not try this at home’ campaign.”
“I promise, swear, vow, and pledge, on every form of holy book in existence,” I snicker. “Presley’s way too much for me to handle.”
“She’s too much for any one person to handle. Why do you think it takes the combined effort of our entire family?”
“I like her, though. She’s pretty cool.”
“That she is, one of my favorite people in the world. And I really hope she gives Sutton a chance,” he breathes out heavily, “he’d be good for her. No way she’d push his big ass around. But, I might as well hope for Georgia snow in July. Never gonna happen.”
“That’s a shame. He seems great, adores her, and…he’s not exactly painful to look at.” I simply reciprocate conversation.
Or so I thought.
Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back with Jefferson sitting on top of my thighs, staring down at me with an evil smirk. “Do tell, baby. What’s your favorite non-painful part of him to look at?” He slides my shirt up, just high enough to tickle my sides.
“Jefferson,” I wheeze, trying to squirm away in positively futile effort, because I’m beyond ticklish. “Stop, no tickling!”
“You want me to stop? Then tell me all about how purty Sutton is,” he laughs, bending to blow a raspberry on my belly.
“He’s not,” I squeal when the tickling resumes. “He’s awful, grotesque!”
“That’s what I thought,” he rolls off to lie beside me, looking over at me with a beautiful, happy smile while I catch my breath.
“So, I should probably bathe before going to bed. Ya think?”
“Going to bed?” He laughs. “You’re in the bed now, baby. Think that ship may have sailed. The minute you woke up today.”
“I meant for the night, to sleep.” I swat his arm and throw my legs over the side of the bed, kinda curious if they’re even gonna work. I’ll be dipped, they do. “You staying the night?” I ask as I walk into the bathroom.
Too forward? Comfortable? Assumingly domestic? Shit! I am so bad at this. We make up, out of the frying pan, and I just have to hurl us right into another fire.
“You asking me to?” His plush whisper warms my neck as he sweeps me up, effortlessly, in his arms, surprising a little yelp from me.
As is custom whenever he strips me of breath and sensibility, I can only nod.
He slowly shakes his head back and forth, a sly grin magnifying the twinkle in his dark eyes. “You know I need-”
“The words. Yeah, yeah,” I huff and roll my eyes as if exasperated rather than the more accurate enchanted. “Jefferson, would you like to stay the night with me?”
“I’d love to,” the spark of excitement in me is undeniable and I must somehow reveal my visceral reaction because his eyes smolder knowingly as his mouth covers mine, hard and hungry. So heated and rapturous, it sends sharp tingles of female awareness throughout my whole body. He shows no signs of relenting, still holding me effortlessly in his arms, and I’m the one who eventually breaks for air.
“But I have a few condit
ions,” he taunts breathlessly, his chest heaving. “To make things interesting.”
“Huh?”
He laughs, setting me on my feet. “To spending the night. I have a few proposals. You can veto any one, but only one. Deal?”
I prop both hands on my hips—bluffing my ass off—that there’s even a remote chance I’m gonna drive a hard bargain. “And what do I get in return?”
“Depends on what you veto,” he winks.
“I’m listening,” I strum it out slowly.
“First, we take that bath of yours, together.” His dark brows arch mischievously, waiting for my refusal.
“Next?” is all he gets. I’m a virgin, not a nun.
“We get to pick what the other sleeps in.” I don’t think he realizes that his eyebrows just bounced up and down, twice.
I can only assume he’s going to choose that I sleep naked, which is fine. I’m not ashamed of my body, and he’s more than seen my breasts, gotten a pretty good look at my ass… and let’s not forget what happened at the concert or the way I sat in that chair during “Behavior Modification 101.” My pussy is no longer a mystery to him either.
I shrug, but flash a challengingly sexy grin. “What else ya got?”
“You know you have to veto right when I say it. No waiting ‘til the end to decide how to use it. Part of the risk.”
“Got it, Senator Sexonthebrain. Go on.”
“Tomorrow, you let me drive you to quit the diner and go apply at that boutique.”
“I was going to go do both of those anyway, actually.”
“Like I said, you let me take you.”
He’s silent, something very endearing about the sudden aura of nervousness around him.
“Jefferson, was that all?”
He clears his throat, his tell, and advances a step to take my hand in his, rubbing circles in my palm with his thumb. “I want to keep some stuff here. Maybe one dresser drawer, one in here, a shelf in the shower and some closet space.”