Page 65 of The Problem with Perfect

“Hey, how’s Bellamy doing?” he asked me.

I was so surprised I didn’t really know how to answer, so I just said, “She’s great.”

He nodded. “That’s good to hear. You know she used to come in here with her daddy when she was young, asked all kinds of questions. Curious little thing.”

“She’s pretty smart,” I responded, struggling to know what to say.

Roy finished ringing me up with a smile. “Well, tell her I said hi, would ya? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

Of course I agreed, because what else was I going to say? No? I can count on one hand the number of times Roy has had anything to say to me outside of my order total and asking whether I’m paying with cash or card, so it felt particularly unusual.

As it turns out, Roy isn’t the only one who suddenly has things to say to me. Maryanne Charles, one of the cashiers at One Stop, tells me they’re doing a free shopping bag day with a big smile on her face when she almost never smiles at me.

“You and Bellamy should both come and do your shopping together. They’re really nice bags, and you could get more than one.”

Even Nick has started tossing out a “Give Bellamy my best” when I leave the construction site. Suddenly, it feels like I’m getting more smiles and hellos than I’ve gotten in a long time.

“It’s because you’re dating Bellamy. Duh.”

I pin Jackson with a look as I pull into a parking spot outside The Mitch on Friday night.

He shrugs. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I mean, I’ve only lived here for what, six months? And evenIcan hear the difference in how people are talking to you. It’s because of Bellamy.”

I ruminate on what he’s said for the rest of the evening as we sit at The Mitch and Bellamy flits up and down the length of the bar grabbing beers and chatting with patrons. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed how friendly she is with everyone, asking each customer—some of whom I don’t even recognize, let alone know their name—how their family is doing or about their kid’s graduation or some other very personal thing that shows she’s regularly asking questions and paying attention to the people around town.

My parents used to have that quality, that interest, knowing everyone in Cedar Point and investing in their lives. I, personally, haven’t bought into it—not because there’s no merit for someone else, but because I just haven’t had the bandwidth. The mental strain of raising my sister and starting a business consumed all my energy for years, and by the time I might have gotten around to caring, I was on pretty much everyone’s shit list because I’d been uninterested for so long. Now, though, people seem to be associating me with Bellamy, linking us together and connecting her friendliness and welcoming attitude with us as a pair instead of paying any mind to my naturally bristly demeanor.

Part of me doesn’t know how to handle it. I’ve never gotten so many unnecessary questions in my life, and I’ve kind of just been dealing with it as it comes. But there’s something small in my chest that stands a bit taller when people want to talk to me, even when it’s about Bellamy and notme. Bellamy is amazing, and there’s something I can’t deny about how it feels to be associated with her, with her and her kindness and willingness to open her heart and soul to just about everyone.

I chat with Jackson for quite a while and Andy when he shows up later on. All the while, my eyes never leave the woman who has very nearly taken over my every waking thought. I can’t get our conversation from Saturday night out of my head.

Sex lessons.

The idea is hot as hell, even though it shouldn’t be. Ishouldfeel like a creep, enjoying the thought of teaching Bellamy more about her body, about the things she likes, what gives her pleasure.

But I don’t.

Instead, I feel like a fucking lion, the king of the pride. It’s almost animalistic, the kind of primal need that zips through me when I think about taking her back to my place after she’s done working tonight, when I think about getting her naked and laying her back on my bed, spreading her legs and stroking my tongue through her folds until she’s shaking.

Her eye catches mine, and she must see something in my expression, because she bites her lip and looks away, almost shyly. It’s been almost a week since our conversation on her dock. We texted a few times on Sunday, and I told her we should take a few days to think about it, to figure out our boundaries and the rules of engagement.

I’m pretty sure my rules are going to piss her off, but I also don’t doubt she’ll get over it. Or at least, I’m hoping she will, because I’ve been jacking off to the image of her straddling me, tits squished together and head tossed back, every night since she said she wanted me to be her sex tutor.

Our undeniable chemistry is growing harder and harder to resist, and now, I feel like a live wire, my entire body strung tight, like just a simple touch might send me careening over the edge.

* * *

Bellamy was the first on tonight, which means she’s the first one cut, thankfully, but it’s still pretty late when we walk through the front door of my house.

“Want something to eat? Or drink?” I ask, heading to the kitchen.

“No, I’m alright.”

I nod, grabbing a glass of water for myself and drinking the entire thing down.

“Well then,” I say once I’m done, turning to look at Bellamy where she hovers at the edge of the living room near the stairs. “Should we head up?”

She gives me a nervous smile then turns and starts upstairs, and I follow in her wake. Once we’re both in my bedroom, I tell her to take a seat on the edge of my bed, and I lean back on my dresser, crossing my arms.

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