Page 43 of The Problem with Perfect

“You never answered my question earlier,” I say, taking a seat on the couch.

She tosses back a shot then gasps at the burn, her eyes closed. “About?”

“About Connor.” Bellamy pours another shot. “You said you were mad at yourself. Why?”

“Because I believed him.”

It’s all she says, and I wait, hoping she’ll finish telling me what happened. Instead, she sets down her still full shot glass, takes a swig straight from the bottle, and leans back against the liquor cabinet. She’s not super plastered, but I can tell she’s a bit wobbly based on the glassy way she watches me.

“I never understood what all the fuss was about,” Bellamy says a minute or so later.

“What do you mean?”

“About you. All the women who wanted you…I never got it.” She nods. “Now I do. I get what they all see when they look at Cedar Point’s most attractive tourist destination.”

Bellamy pushes off the cabinet and saunters toward me, and before I can ask what she’s doing, she crawls onto my lap, straddling me, and presses her lips to mine. I’m shocked at first, but it’s easy to get lost in the kiss. After our make-out session in the car earlier, my libido is eager to continue things, and I moan into her mouth when her tongue tangles with mine. My hands rest on her hips, then slide back, grabbing her ass and grinding her down on me, and she yanks her mouth away and whimpers when she feels how quickly I’ve grown hard for her.

“Fuck,” I whisper, tugging her mouth back to mine.

Never in a million years did I think I’d be in this spot right here with Bellamy Mitchell. How do you fall for your best friend’s little sister? Bellamy, whose ass feels amazing in my hands. Bellamy, whose hands are reaching for my jeans. Bellamy, who smells like strawberries and tastes like tequila.

That’s a douse of cold water, and I pull back, reminding myself that she’s had a lot to drink tonight.

“Bellamy, we need to stop,” I say, bringing our foreheads together as I try to catch my breath. “You’re drunk.”

“It’s fine,” she tells me, leaning down and kissing my neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Itdoesmatter,” I tell her, lifting her off of me and setting her on the couch. “It matters because I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

She scoffs. “Like you don’t go drink and then get laid with random people at Lucky’s.”

“Not when I’m this drunk—and not when they are, either,” I reply. “You might not feel like it right now, but you will tomorrow.”

Bellamy glares at me, and I can’t help how it makes me smile.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I tell her, feeling like it’s that night from two weeks ago all over again.

She begrudgingly lets me lead her upstairs and down to Abby’s room then falls almost immediately into the bed, which is still outfitted with the bedding from the last time she was here. Instead of naked and face down, this time she’s curled up on her side, looking at me.

“Is the idea of sex with me so off-putting that you’ll sleep with thousands of tourists but not me?”

I grin. “I haven’t had sex with thousands of tourists.”

“Hundreds, then.”

I shake my head. “Not hundreds, either, but my number doesn’t matter, just like yours doesn’t.”

“So it doesn’t matter that I’ve only ever had sex with Connor?”

My surprise is evident, and I scratch at my chin and then the back of my neck, trying to decide what to say. When Bellamy told me she didn’t have a lot of experience, I thought she was just comparing herself to me. The idea that she’s only ever been with Connor…I mean, she really is inexperienced. It makes me feel even worse, the way I’ve been thinking about her.

Not only is she far too young for me, she’s far too innocent as well.

“You can’t say it doesn’t matter. I can see on your face that it does.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bellamy. I’m just surprised, is all. I mean, I would have assumed all the boys would have been after you in high school, at least. Or that you’d have had some boyfriend over the years.”

“Well, they weren’t, and I didn’t. And now I hate that he’s the only one I’ve been with.”

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