Page 22 of The Problem with Perfect

“I like it. The idea that we fell for each other over months of working together…sounds very Bellamy.”

She laughs, and it slams into my chest, the sound rich and genuine and beautiful.

“Sounds very Bellamy?” she asks, picking up her wine glass. “What does that even mean?”

I grin and shrug a shoulder. “It just seems like you to fall for someone slowly instead of an instant attraction, you know? You seem like the type of person who is measured about the decisions she makes.”

Her lips tilt up. “Measured. Huh.” She takes a sip of her cabernet. “And how was our love story for you? Because I wouldn’t say a slow-growing attraction would be very Rusty.”

Chuckling, I lean back in my chair. “Well maybe that’s why it was different for me than how I normally am. We’d known each other our whole lives, but I never really knew you, and then once we started spending time together, once I got to know you, it changed me.”

“Good girl changes the bad boy, huh?” she asks, giggling.

“I mean, the movies use that because it works, right?”

She shakes her head, but her smile is still there. “But that’s the only place it works. I’d bet you a billion dollars a good girl could never convince Rusty Fuller to be a one-woman kind of guy.”

Dennis appears then and sets up his little tray stand, quickly and efficiently getting our food set on our table before disappearing back inside, but my mind stays firmly rooted on what she just said: that nobody could ever convince me to be a one-woman guy. Is that really how people see me? As a manwhore only interested in getting into bed?

I look out to the water, digesting the concept until it sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why I’m that surprised. It’s mostly true. Idosleep around. Idoprefer one-night stands and casual sex to relationships. I have for a long time, mostly because the last time I thought about something more, it nearly destroyed me.

I feel like I’ve reached my capacity for pain and loss at this point. Simple is better, easier. Less complicated, and less likely to blow my world apart again.

We spend a few minutes digging into our dinners, me lost in my thoughts and Bellamy in hers. All the while, I wonder if I’ll be able to convince anyone this relationship is real. If everyone sees me the way Bellamy does—as a guy who isn’t capable of committing—maybe we’re screwed before we even start.

* * *

“So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six?”

She nods. “Yeah. Connor said to head over by six-thirty and we’ll cook out on their deck.”

Because it didn’t take too long for us to come up with our backstory, we spent the rest of dinner reminding each other of details we already vaguely knew about each other. Bellamy told me about her CPA Exam and her online degree and her penchant for Cherry Garcia ice cream. I told her about my enjoyment of swimming and hiking, and some of the simpler details about how things are coming with the new Cedar Cider site.

Overall, it was a pretty nice dinner, and the part of me that used to go on dates when I was younger was reminded that they can actually be fun. With the right person, of course.

“Do we need to bring anything?” I ask.

“No, but I might stop to get wine or something.”

I grin. “I’ve got you covered. I have a bottle I can bring.”

“Great. Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

We both stand there for a long moment before she sticks her hand out like she’s going to shake mine.

I laugh. “I thought I was the awkward one.”

She rolls her eyes and drops her hand.

“How about we start with a hug?”

Bellamy beams at me. “Oh, I like hugs. That sounds great.”

Then she’s tucking herself against me, her arms around my waist and her head pressed against my chest. Slowly, I wrap my arms around her as well, the sensation different than I was expecting, the warmth of her seeping into my skin in a way that makes me realize how cold I was before this moment.

It unsettles me.

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