Just a plain hot coffee.
Made the way I liked it, because Kai was Kai, which meant he remembered that kind of thing, but it wasn't what I wanted.
I wanted a frappe.
With chocolate syrup. And maybe a little caramel. But I wanted one made for me especially by Christopher.
Ugh.
Even days later, his name was like a knife to the gut.
No, that wasn't quite right.
I had once taken a knife to the gut.
That was bad.
This was worse.
This was like a knife to the gut, the blade being pulled out, and then having acid poured inside.
"I mean, but my dickishness is half my charm," Bellamy declared, dropping down on the couch beside me, taking up more room than he needed, like he so often did. Bellamy wasn't a fan of personal space. Of any sort of civil boundary, really. Yes, he was right; it was all part of his charm. But it didn't mean that when you were angry with him, it didn't bug the crap out of you.
"Can I ask you one thing, Bells?" I asked, gaze moving over to the TV which was stubbornly set on a big tiger documentary which wasn't really about big tigers at all, but a character study of increasingly bat shit crazy individuals. And, you know, letting the general public know which kind of oil to use if you wanted a tiger to eat a body. Which was likely useful to someone out there.
No more baking shows.
Because I'd shared them with Christopher.
No more action movies.
Because I'd shared them with Alexander.
And nothing romantic for very obvious reasons.
"How big it is?" he asked, drawing my attention back to him.
"How big what is?"
"My unmentionables," he clarified, eyes twinkling. "It's okay to ask. Don't be shy. It is natural to wonder. And fantasize..."
"You're not my type, Bells," I told him, but I felt my lips curving up, and that was the closest thing to a good mood I'd felt since Quin had shown up in Zagori to bring me home.
"I know," he agreed, the humor leaving his tone, his head nodding.
"Wait..." I said, feeling my body stiffen.
"Now she's starting to get it," he told me, lips quirking up, but mostly humorless.
"Did you set me up? I mean, not with just a job. But like... were you trying to set me up with Christopher?"
"What can I say? I saw something there."
"But... why?" I asked.
Bellamy was absolutely the sort of person to meddle. Everything he did made him butt his nose into your life. Even your relationships. He was the first one dragging you out on the town if he thought you hadn't gotten laid in too long.
This seemed different, though.
Unlike him.
"I had been starved for entertainment lately," he told me, hedging, only giving me a partial truth. I knew that move all too well. Clients tried to pull it all the time.
"And you thought fucking up my life would be fun?"
"Improving upon it, more like. Fucking it up is a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"No, actually, I don't think. In fact, I know it isn't dramatic, because I am the one living through it."
"Come on, you had fun. Admit it."
"I was held against my will. I was cut off from the outside world. I was nearly killed."
"But you got to have Adamos rush in and save the day, all 'knight in shining armor' and such. That had to have been fun."
"Yes, activating a bit of my PTSD was a rip-roaring riot, Bells."
His face, usually so calm, so carefree, so incredibly pleased with himself, looked uncharacteristically serious, worried.
"I didn't know."
"I mean, no one could have predicted that someone would break in and try to murder me in my bed. I can't be mad at you too much about that."
"I meant that you had PTSD, pretty girl. I didn't know that."
"Yes, well, only one person really does. So you couldn't have had any idea. I didn't want anyone to."
"Is that one person Adamos?" he asked, too smart for his own good sometimes.
"We played poker. Winner chose the personal question."
I wasn't going to mention that even if Christopher didn't ask, I wanted to tell him, I wanted him to know.
"Can't you just play strip poker like a normal person?"
"So you can cheat to get me down to my panties like last time?" I shot back, small-eyeing him.
"If you wanted a fair game, you shouldn't have decided to play with a known cheat," he suggested, nudging me with his shoulder.
"I think I fell for him, Bells," I admitted, voice low because it was surprisingly difficult to admit. As though it was some sort of weakness. Something others might judge me for.
"I was starting to suspect that," he agreed, nodding. "Spent a lot of time icing those eyelids to get the swelling down. You almost accomplished it. Almost," he told me, chin ducking, giving me sad eyes. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I just thought you two would hit it off. He conveniently had that situation with his brother going on. You were between cases. It was serendipitous."
"Except it wasn't. I believe his words were 'It was always going to end'."
"Sounds like maybe he was hurting too."
I had come to that conclusion myself.
I'd been going through cycles.
One part of that cycle was complete misery and selfishness, just being completely consumed by my unhappiness. The next was annoyance at myself for getting involved. Then there was all-consuming insecurity; the surety that I had sort of blown things out of proportion, and had created this big fantasy in my head. And then, lastly, there was the small, niggling idea that maybe—possibly—what we had wasn't silly or one-sided, that he cared for me. Even if his parting words had been a bit cool.
Cool was a defense mechanism.
I knew this well.
Maybe he was using it to cover up his pain, possibly even to spare me more of it. Since I had lost my shit on that deck with him.
Not one of my finest moments, that was for sure. It would haunt me, to be perfectly honest.
I didn't like being that weak, that vulnerable.
Thank God it had only been Christopher and Quin who had witnessed it.
I didn't see Christopher day in and day out. And Quin was too good of a man to tease me with my breakdown.
"What were you thinking, Bells?" I asked, shaking my head. "I mean, really. If you wanted to get me laid, you could have taken me to any random dive bar in any corner of this country, found me someone with trouble written all over him. You know, tall, dark, handsome, covered in tattoos, some of them maybe even gang symbols. Then plied me with tequila. And things would have taken care of themselves. Why would you drag me halfway around the world to introduce me to this particular guy? When you knew it was doomed to fail?"
"I knew you could get yourself laid, Mills. I wasn't trying to get you orgasms. If that was the goal, I would have gotten you a vibrator. Or one of those things that blows puffs of air on your clit. I read the most glowing reviews of one of those on a site once, that said—"
"Bells," I cut him off. "Focus. We were talking about why you set me up with Christopher, not recommending sex toys."
"Well, let me just say, that stimulator came highly recommended. Anyway, look," he said, sighing. "I get that not everyone came from the background that I did. Not everyone had it easy in the money department, in the career department. I get that you had to claw your way up. And I even get that it was harder on you. The only girl—at the time—in this all-boys club. As such, you busted your ass. You forsook everything else that life had to offer. You defined yourself by your career successes. You built this persona of this badass workaholic chick who avoided men like the plague, except for the couple hours of fun they could provide her in bed."