Page 73 of The Problem with Perfect

Me: Someone’s eager.

Bellamy: I’m an excellent student, especially when I have a great teacher.

Biting my lip, I set my phone down. Something has shifted in the way Bellamy talks to me. We’ve been texting more often, and it always feels like there’s a somewhat sexual undertone to everything.

I mean, in this context, we’re actually talking about sex, but it’s not just this. A few days ago, I asked if she wanted a tour of the construction site because she’d asked me about that. Her response?I always want you to show me around.

Now, maybe it’s just me. Maybe I just have a filthy mind.

But I don’t think so.

Me: Come over tonight. 7-ish? Wear a skirt.

Bellamy: *salute emoji*

I laugh and send off one more text.

Me: And no panties.

She doesn’t reply, and for a minute, I wonder if that’s asking too much or if I’ve crossed a line somehow. Eventually, I let it go and get back to work, prepping the paperwork to update our insurance to reflect our upcoming business expansion.

Before I know it, it’s six-thirty, and I wrap things up and head upstairs to shower quickly and change. I’m just coming down the stairs when I hear a knock at the door. I pull it open, a smile on my face, but it morphs immediately into shock when I see Boyd standing at my doorstep.

“Hey, man,” he says, giving me a hug that I awkwardly return. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

He pulls back, his eyes narrowing. “You forgot I was coming.”

“I forgot you were coming.”

Boyd laughs and slaps my shoulder. “No worries. I figured you didn’t put tomorrow on the calendar when I was talking with Jackson earlier and he was clueless, too.”

I step to the side, waving him in, then close the door and follow him into the living room.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I told you two I wanted to do a bi-annual meeting, one in December and one in June.”

My shoulders fall, my mind finally recalling the conversation we had in January. “Youdidsay that.”

“I did, but that’s okay. I’m here until Sunday, so if you’re busy tomorrow we can do it over the weekend.”

Boyd steps into my kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a beer. We’ve been friends since we were in elementary school, so his comfort in my house and ability to just grab stuff is pretty natural. I feel the same when I’m in the Mitchells’ house.

The only thing that’s different is this whole thing with Bellamy.

Shit. Bellamy.

I grab my phone and flick off a text.

Me: Abort. Boyd is here.

But just as I send it, I hear another knock at my door.

“Someone’s popular today,” Boyd jokes as he drops down onto my couch.

I don’t respond, instead returning to the front door and pulling it open, my mouth drying when I see Bellamy standing there in a short skirt and stockings. She lifts the hem of the skirt just a little bit so I can see that the stockings stop high on her thigh. When I don’t say anything, she puts the hem back down, her teasing expression falling.

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