* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
What do you know? I’m at the warehouse on Nineteenth Street, prepping for the next party. Stop by when you’re done attacking the StairMaster. Address below.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
How did you know I use the StairMaster?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
It’s the most attackable piece of cardio. Ergo, perfect for you.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
Touché. I’ll cut my workout short. See you in forty minutes.
* * *
Bellamy
21
A Gentlemanly Fucker
I’m still seeing red as I press the button on the buzzer to let Bellamy into the warehouse. The groan of the industrial elevator heralds her arrival with the crank of the gears as the elevator rises.
I head to the doors, huffing in impatience as I wait.
When the elevator opens, I half expect to see a sweaty, disheveled Bellamy in yoga pants and a sports bra. Instead, there’s her no-nonsense doppelganger. And, fuck my life, that’s just as hot.
She steps out in a V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and Converse sneakers. No makeup either, except for glossy red lips, and her hair is pulled high in a ponytail. Freshly scrubbed from a post-gym shower, she’s as alluring as ever.
I’m still pissed about the piece, except now I’m turned on too.
I gesture her into the industrial-style loft space with a sweep of my arm. There’s barely any furniture in here—just a grand piano.
“Come in,” I growl as I stalk away from her and over to the instrument.
“Should I let my friends know where I am?”
I toss her a look that says don’t joke about that. “No.”
She raises her hands in surrender. “Fine. Bad joke.”
“I don’t think you’d have come here if you thought there was an issue.”
“You’re right. It’s not an issue. I’m good being here.”
“Good. You should feel that way with me.” When I reach the piano, I spin around, folding my arms. “So, that was quite a hatchet job.”
She lifts her chin. “I wouldn’t call it a hatchet job. It was a fair and honest assessment.”
I arch a brow. “You call that fair? Is that really what you think of me? That I’m some sort of master puppeteer? A kind of elitist matchmaker?”
Her look says duh. “Easton, you are those things,” she says, her assessment cool and even.
I smile, winningly. “I’m providing incredible opportunities.”
“And I’m assessing them on my show.”
I stab my finger against my sternum. “It’s my job to help people meet.”
She points at herself. “And it’s my job to analyze whether those methods work.”
“I wouldn’t call that an analysis. It was an evisceration,” I say, taking a step closer to her. “And I seriously can’t believe you think so little of me.”
“I seriously can’t believe that’s the worst thing that’s happened to you today.”
“What else do you think happened to me today?”
“Stepped in a piece of gum? Bumped into a trashcan? Dealt with assholes at work? That was just a story. It was just a report. It hardly merits this level of reaction.”
How can she be so even-keeled? “You took my business apart on your show. My parties are not the human algorithm. And online dating is not the solution.”
She simply shrugs, flicking an errant strand of hair off her shoulder, like this is all no big deal. “Easton, I call it like I see it. You may have had some success. And good on you. But these parties aren’t accessible to everybody. The price is high, they’re overdone, and the reality is there’s romance for everyone out there.” She gestures to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “People can meet in the strangest of ways. It’s happened to me. And the whole idea that your way is the best way is, frankly, irritating.”
My nostrils flare, and a dragon of anger thrashes inside me. “You’ve seen it happen in your own life? Is that what you mean? Are you talking about some guy?”
Her eyes turn wickedly curious. “Are you . . . jealous?” She sounds far too delighted for my own good.
“Yes,” I seethe, stepping closer. “Yes, I’m fucking jealous.”
“Why?” She steps closer too. “Because I’ve dated other men?”
I shrug. “Evidently I am.”
“I had a feeling.” She leans in even more and stage whispers, “So, I’m also going to tell you something really important.”
“Yes?”
Eyes narrowed, she gets right up in my face. “You need to get over yourself. Because the piece wasn’t about you. Past men I’ve dated aren’t about you. None of that is about you. So, let it go.”
“I thought we had some sort of understanding,” I seethe.
She points at my chest. “Yes, and it goes like this. I do my job, and you do your job. And while we’re at it, you’re ridiculously sexy and it drives me crazy. Your mind excites me. Your letters thrill me and that bugs the hell out of me. But I’m still going to do my job. And that’s what I did today. My job.”
I’m positive I’ve never been this aroused.
But, holy hell, there’s more—did she just say she’s just as turned on as I am?
I swallow roughly. “My letters thrill you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised.”
My lips twitch in a grin. “So, what are we going to do about this?”
Her hand darts up to grab the collar of my shirt and tugs me close. “What we should have done the night we met.”
She nibbles on the corner of those lush red lips. The fact that she took a moment to put on her lipstick makes me even harder. We’re talking redwood tree levels here.
“We need to fuck it out,” I agree.
Her dreamy brown eyes glitter with desire. Her fist tightens around my collar. “And we need to fuck it out right now.”
I rope an arm around her waist, splaying my hand across the small of her back to press her lithe body against me. The second she’s flush with my hard length, her eyes float closed, and a shuddery breath ghosts past her lips.
It is on.
Hauling her even closer, I crush her mouth with mine. I kiss her fiercely, all teeth and tongue and fire. She kisses me back the same way, like we’re passing a bottle of fiery tequila between us. Drawing her bottom lip between mine, I suck hard, eliciting a heady moan from the heart of the woman I want.