Page 53 of Embody

“No, no, we’re good,” Mr. Manager starts to panic.

He’s cut short when Songbird’s mouth finally moves, and I don’t think he realizes the awe with which he speaks. “Who the hell are you?”

I can’t not…

“Monster, Monster Slong,” I reply with a straight face. “Pleasure doing business with you,Zeke Stryker. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve left my woman waiting long enough. You know, the gorgeousgingersnap, that if you ever come near again, I’ll break both your arms and legs? Have a good night, and thank you Mr. Salazar.”

Walking out, I should feel great. I don’t. Bellamy knows it too the minute she sees me, because her chin drops to her chest. I get in the car, start it and turn on some music without either of us saying a word.

You have to be fucking kidding me.“The Place Where You Belong” by Shai? Theonetime it’s been played on the radio in the last twenty years isnow?

The only reason I even know the song is because of theBeverly Hills Copmovie. I wasn’t even born yet when it released, but have watched it…and alas, am revisiting its archaic soundtrack at the most inopportune moment possible.

I reach up to turn the station, but Bellamy lays a hand on arm to stop me. “I like this song,” she says in a sweet, hushed tone. That delicate, tender sound only a woman can make, that even if she’s wrong and you’re spitting-mad at her…you kind of instantly forget exactly why. Or at least stop brooding and speak to her—if not for any other reason than to hear the sound again.

What?No really, what in the hell is happening to me? I need a beer and a ball game, like yesterfuckingday.

“I’m pissed as hell right now,” I gruffly inform her.

“I know.” She makesthesound…again. “I’m just not sure exactly why, or for what the most, or…whatever I mean to say. So why don’t you tell me?”

The song she insisted on is over so I turn off the radio and take a minute to choose my next words wisely. I can talk like Uncle Zach, blunt yet rational, or I can go the route I feel—Uncle Sawyer Avenue—totally screwing it up and undoubtedly making things worse.

Dragging in two lungfuls and letting them out in a long, loud exhale, I chose the Zach Reece route. “Rather than me letting loose with angry assumptions, I’m gonna ask you a few questions.”

“Okayy,” she drawls out cynically.

“Did he touch you more than the one time I saw?”

“Yes. And like I said, I told my manager, who did nothing about it.”

“That’s been fixed. Your sorry excuse for a manager has been advised exactly where he went wrong and told the band they couldn’t ever come back.”

Her head snaps my direction. “How’d you finagle that?”

“Doesn’t matter how, I did, so you don’t have to worry about it happening again. Next question, why didn’t you call me? If you were being groped and harassed, you should’ve called. I’d have been there in minutes.”

We’ve reached her apartment and parked, so we both shift in our seats to look at each other. She sighs, but holds her eyes on mine as she answers. “Couple reasons. One, I wasn’t sure if we were at that place, you know, where I had an actual boyfriend I could call to just at least come sit and make sure things went okay. I mean, Marshall is only a friend, and I’d never call him with that expectation.”

“The guy, your ride home, from the bar? The one tossing back shots and left you sitting alone?In a bar?That guy?” I can’t contain my sarcasm, or resentment…being compared to him in any way is below the damn belt.

“Yeah,” her head lowers, as does her voice.

“Wellthank Godyou wouldn’t call him! And whatever we are, we’re sure the fuck not that! What are the other reasons? I hope they’re better than the last one.” I shake my head, rubbing my throbbing temples.

“I wasn’t sure I had the leeway to ask you to come. And if I did, I knew you wouldn’t just sit and keep an eye on things,” she laughs quietly. “You’d have gotten in a fight, and not only do I really need that job, I definitely don’t feel like I have the right to lure you into fights. Not that I’d ever want to use that right, if I did have it.”

“So, you’re not sure where we stand, if we’re at “the place” where you can call me, but you’re positive that I’d get in a fight for someone messing with you? That make sense to you? Because it sure as hell doesn’t to me.”

“No,” she mumbles. “Saying it out loud, I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, at all, which is why I’m gonna ask you one last question and I need you to be honest with me.” My voice is solemn; a lot I didn’t think would ever possibly matter to me hinging on her answer.

“I won’t ever lie to you, Jefferson. What is it?”

I know I shouldn’t ask, crossing over into “Sawyer Says” land, but I have to be sure. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna try to become a new and improved, gallant even, version of myself—putting my own dick in detention—if she says what I really hope she doesn’t.

Deep breath. Huge. Well past lung capacity. “Is any part of the reason you didn’t call me because it washim? I saw the way you reacted to his “Ballad to Bellamy” that night. You liked every minute of it and were mesmerized, the lone girl picked out of a crowd by the sexy rock star. Did you get excited when he came in, hoping he’d be as suave and totally into you like before?”

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