Page 78 of Embody

I park, jump out and hurry around to get her door and bag. “Hey,” I grab a quick taste of her plush mouth, “sorry it took me so long, traffic was a bitch.”

“No problem, thanks for coming.” Her voice; something’s different. And she doesn’t “get in” my car, she launches herself in and giggles with her bounce.Hmmmm.

I put her stuff in the backseat, then climb in, grinning to myself when it crosses my mind—I won’t be doing this very many more times.

“You seem happy,” I say easily, holding onto the right word, which would be…radiant. “Good day, I take it?”

“Unbelievable,” it comes out an exhale of whimsical air.

I reach over and take her hand. “Tell me about it. Have anything to do with whatever’s in the bag?”

Dear God. Note to self in my “new to actual relationships” notebook: don’t ask a woman showing flashing neon signs of wild emotions—happy, sad, mad, or otherwise—stirring inside her to “tell you all about it” unless youreallywant to know.

As I’m driving around, scoping out decent car lots, Bellamy chatters non-stop, without taking a breath, so fast I honestly can’t make out a few words.

But I listen as best I can, truly happy…because she’s happy.

She tells me what’s in the bag, but refuses to let me see her new outfit until the night of the concert, making me want to see it all that much more. She finally comes up for air to ask me what I think about her taking the job at the store she already absolutely loves, which I’ve gathered from the parts I did hear.

“What’d you say the owner’s name was?” I ask, striving to sound casual.

“Kelly, um…Teller! Yep, that’s it.”

Clue. From. God.

Teller…as in a bank teller…as in the safety deposit box where my car title is tucked away.

“Hold on,” I warn, putting my arm across her all soccer-mom style as I make an illegal U-turn.

“Jefferson! I can’t die, I finally have a good job offer and a boyfriend!” she yells, swatting me with adrenalized might in the shoulder.

Damn if she isn’t something else…the funniest, brightest part of my every single day. Only my Bellamy would choose that response while dodging death by U-turn.

When we’re safely parked in front of the bank, I shut off the car and shift in my seat to look right at her, bright green eyes—pupils dilated with crazy-high endorphin levels but still dazzling—and take both her hands in mine.

“I was told, by somewhat of an entrepreneur in the field, that I had toaskyou to be my girlfriend.” I raise one brow and grin.

“So ask me,” she coolly counters, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

I laugh. “But you just said I already was.”

“So don’t ask me,” she leans in and feathers her lips across mine. “Totally up to you, Mr. Rulebook. But either way, we both know, you’re my boyfriend.”

I suppress a groan, turned the fuck on by her cute, confident claim. “Is that so?”

“Yep. And just to confirm that we’re on the same page, we’re monogamous. So, any little chippies that try to move in on you, be sure to let them know I used to be a yellow belt in karate.” She proudly tilts her chin and I do all I can to contain my laughter.

“Couple things,” I say as seriously as I’m able.

“Yes?” she asks in smooth challenge.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but doesn’t monogamous mean only having sex with one person? I’m damn sure I’d remember if that applied to us,” I wink.

“When we get to that point, yes, itabsolutelymeans that. Until then, it means being loyal,in all ways, to one mate. As in, no dating or canoodling with anyone else.”

She saidwhen, notif, we get to that point. Don’t think my dick didn’t hear her too, twitching once.

“Stop picturing us having sex and ask me your other thing,” she interrupts me from… picturing us having sex.

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