Page 96 of Embody

Thirty-One

Bellamy

IT’S FINALLY THEnight of the Sam Hunt concert. I was beginning to think it’d never get here.

Because my new outfit makes me feel so hip and sexy, I decide what I wearunder itshould too, so I grab the raciest bra and panties I own. Which won’t win any races, but they’re the best I have.

The lace of the bra abrades my deliciously tortured nipples, still hyper-sensitive from all the attention Jefferson gave them, and my breasts swell, hot and heavy at the reminder. The things he’d done—with his mouth, tongue, hands, teeth—I felt positivelyworshipped. Not to be crude…but the man can suck a tit. Very well indeed.

Dressed and putting the final touches on my make-up, I hear my phone ping. I go hunt it down and feel my brows draw together in worry as I stare at the screen, followed by a pang of guilt at my reaction.

 

Brynn: Be there in 30 to get you. I’m so excited!

 

Shame on me. Brynn’s my best friend and the one who invited me. How shitty of a person am I for being slightly disappointed that Jefferson…

 

Jefferson: On my way. You ready?

 

Alrighty, what we have here is a dilemma of alarming proportions. Guess somebody should’ve thought to plan things out…before now. Might as well ring the bell to start the fight now, which is really not how I want to begin the night. But, as always, I don’t want to be the cause of an argument either. So, I don’t reply to either one of them.

They’ll find out and be at each other’s throats soon enough.

As I’m slipping on my absolutely fabulous boots, the first knock sounds at my door. For a second, I debate answering. How entertaining would it be to leave “Thing One” out there waiting until “Thing Two” showed up to surprise them?

Pretty damn entertaining. I snicker to myself, but ultimately decide that pouring fuel on the fire wouldn’t be worth a show before theactualshow and go answer it.

“Oh, hell yes,” Jefferson’s eyes rake over me from head to toe. “Giddy the fuck up, baby. You make me wanna be a cowboy,” he growls his approval.

“Thank you,” I laugh. “You look pretty good yourself.”

Does he ever. Faded jeans molded to his hips. White, untucked dress shirt tight across his broad shoulders. Hair a perfect, dark mess. And he smells divine. Jefferson Tate Kendrick could turn the heads of the blind.

“We need to go. As innow.” He tugs me to him by both hips, burying his face in my hair. “Or, we could stay here and I’ll sing any damn song you want.”

“Um,” I groan regretfully, “we have to, uh, wait.”

“For?” He pulls back, intuitive enough to scowl, but gets interrupted by his phone… blaring “Maneater” by Nelly whatever. Which does not make me happy. Whoever the hell she is, she’s gonna have to find a new man to eat.

And when he answers,right in front of me, “not happy” skyrockets to hurt,veryoffended, and homicidally jealous. Didn’t know I had the capability to feel all those things at once, or the last of them at all, but I’m positive now—I can definitely do jealous.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks his “Maneater” with a smile. A real smile. Not nervous, tight or awkward. Nope, it’s authentic. Digging the knife deeper and giving it a twist.

I push off him and stomp away to go find my purse. I’m glad Brynn’s on her way now. I am so riding with her.

I dilly-dally in my room, mentally urging Brynn to hurry up, when I sense him approach. “What’re you doing?”

I whirl around to drill him with my teary-eyed glare, firmly in place. “Does it matter,Maneater? You can go ahead and leave, I have a ride,” I snip as bitingly as I can manage while also on the verge of crying.

His eyes widen, but only briefly, before the shake of his shoulders gives away his silent laughing. Then he rubs a hand over his mouth to hide what I assume is a coy smirk.

“What’s so funny?” I hiss. “You know, not only do you appear to be a liar, knowing exactly what a ‘chippie’ and ‘canoodling’ are, but you couldat leastkeep pretending long enough to answer your booty callaftermy nipples quit tingling from your touch!”

---