Are you kidding me? I grab her arm before she can storm away. “You think that was for my benefit? One, I don’t need a Mayday with you. Don’t want one. Two, that was my grandmother asking for help in code. And since you don’t believe me, you’re coming with me to fetch her.”
Bellamy’s hand flies to her mouth, but it’s too late to take anything back. “Oh, shoot, Easton. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, still irritated. “You have more walls than an international border.”
“That might be true,” she admits, chagrined. “I’ll help rescue Grandma from a bad date any way I can.”
I huff. “You damn well better.”
The Supper Lounge is a few blocks away on Sixth Avenue, so there’s time to walk and talk. But the second we step outside the warehouse, Bellamy’s phone rings. She holds up a finger to me, then answers it.
“Hey, Bryn,” she says, sliding into a professional voice as we walk along Nineteenth Street, then she’s quiet as she listens.
“I appreciate you calling me back, especially at night,” she says finally.
Another pause. It lasts nearly a minute, until we’re nearing the crosswalk.
“Definitely,” she tells the caller with a crisp nod. “I can be there Thursday afternoon.”
Silence.
“I appreciate you making time for me so quickly. Thank you.”
Another pause as we reach the intersection, then Bellamy laughs. “So glad Bruce is doing well with Queen LaTofu. I had a feeling about those two. It’s nice to know they’re in kitty love.”
My brows climb at that, and Bellamy thanks the woman and hangs up. “Cat affairs,” she explains.
“Sounds like quite a lot of feline tomfoolery going on.”
“It does seem that way.” She segues back to that more businesslike tone. “Bryn used to head up The Dating Pool. She works as a consultant now.”
I don’t ask if Bellamy is setting up an interview with the woman because I don’t want to bring up the podcast after our piano encounter. I’m more interested in why Bellamy needed a hot hate fuck.
I know why I did—the woman pissed me all the way off, and I can’t get her out of my head.
We’re not going to become a thing. Bellamy and I are on opposite sides of the romance ring in every way, professionally and personally.
She wants big, epic romance. I don’t.
Case closed.
I should say goodnight so we can go our separate ways. Let her off the hook for fetching Coco.
And yet, I don’t want to.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Grandma,” I say. “Mostly to hear you say, you were right, Easton. I have a reputation to uphold as a ‘cocky fucker.’ Your words.”
“Hmm. I believe I called you cocky. Not sure I used the work fucker.”
“Poetic license,” I say. “Though, I’d say it fully applies, now.”
“Art imitating life, I suppose.”
“No. The other way around.”
“Fair point,” she says. “And since you are a cocky fucker—now officially my words—you can’t wait to say I told you so.”
I tap my chin. “That’s not true. I can definitely wait. Because it’s going to be so very satisfying,” I say, then I lean closer, coast a finger along her cheek. “Like fucking you was.”
She shivers, and I file that away.
Oh, yes, I can wait for my you were right.
We round the corner and reach The Supper Lounge. I push open the heavy doors and usher Bellamy inside, where we hunt through the crowd for my elegant grandmother.
A swing band plays on a low stage in the corner, and the notes of a saxophone float over the tables. “Bet she’s out with some suit,” I mutter. “She can’t resist guys in suits.”
Bellamy shoots me a flirty side-eye stare. “A sharp-dressed man is catnip,” she says, her gaze traveling along my tailored shirt.
I tug on the collar. “Only a bit wrinkled from when this wildly sexy woman who detests me nearly tore it off.”
“She must really hate you.”
“It’s a deep and abiding kind of hate,” I say.
“The type of hate that runs bone”—she licks her lips—“deep.”
I’d give the woman a slow clap for that if she wouldn’t think I was sucking up to her. “The irresistible kind,” I say instead.
We weave through tables, scanning for a high-fashion grandmother with gunmetal-gray hair.
“There she is,” Bellamy declares.
I look at her in surprise. “You recognize my grandmother?”
“Saw her at the party.” She points, and lo and behold, there’s Coco, wedged between . . . two women?
Huh.
That’s not what I expected.
“I bet her date brought his sisters along,” I grumble. “See? Online dating is crazy.”
“Because of the possibility a date might bring his sisters? That makes no sense, Easton.”
“No, because people surprise you in weird ways. The other week, her date brought his adult kids. I swear . . .”
“All dating is weird,” she says. “Not just online dating.”
We reach my grandmother, sandwiched between two harmless-looking little old ladies. When she spots me, Coco beams through her tiger-print eyeglasses. “Is the chopper ready, munchkin?”
“Yes, Harvey said to . . . chop, chop.”
“Ah,” she says, then explains to her companions. “Helicopter talk for time to skedaddle.”
The curly-haired woman to her right frowns. “Are you sure you have to go? I wanted to tell you my mulch recipe. It’s fantastic for New York gardens.”
“How wonderful,” Coco says as she slinks out of the booth.
The redhead grabs her arm. “One more thing. Be sure to save your cardboard. For the mulch. I can bring you some of mine if you want to try it.”
Coco taps her temple. “Email me all the details.”
Then, skedaddle we do. A minute later, we hit the street, and my grandmother breathes a huge sigh of relief. “I thought I’d never escape.”
I give her a look that says what gives. “I thought you were on a date gone bad.”
She scoffs. “Dates I can handle. Boring friends from college are the worst. That was Ursula and Dolores, and they’re simply dreadful. I got snookered into meeting them when they mentioned how much fun we’d had in our sorority.” She shakes her finger. “But let that be a lesson—old memories do not forecast new ones. I was bored senseless. Mulch. I’m not sure how I survived.”
Beside me, Bellamy chuckles under her breath.
“Let me get this straight,” I say to clarify. “You called in a Mayday because you were bored?”
My grandmother stares sharply at me, no joking in her blue eyes. “Isn’t that what Maydays are for, dear? I don’t have much time left on this earth. I can’t spend it being un-entertained. I wanted to talk about sex and music and cocktails. But I also didn’t want to offend them. Decorum matters.” With that, she turns to Bellamy and offers her hand. “I’m Coco Ford. I recognize you from the party.”