Chapter 11 Bellamy
BELLAMY
Lola crunches into a cheese puff like she’s trying to commit a noise violation inside the SUV.
“Okay,” she says around the mouthful, orange dust on her fingertips. “So you’re telling me, not only did you not get murdered at the Calloways—”
I sigh. “Seriously?”
“—but Gage didn’t even kiss you? No one did?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Jesus, Lo. What do you mean no one? Who do you expect me to kiss?”
She levels me with a deadpan stare before tossing another cheese puff into her mouth. “One of them, all of them, whatever. All I know is that those are the only two acceptable endings to that evening.”
I reach for the visor, flipping it down to block the late-afternoon glare bleeding through the windshield. “Why on earth would those be the only two options?”
She smirks, shakes another cheese puff out of the bag, and tosses it into her mouth. “I don’t make the rules, sis.”
I pluck a cheese puff from the bag and flick it at her face to let her know exactly what I think of her so-called rules. It bounces off her cheekbone and lands in her lap.
She gasps dramatically. “Harsh.”
“You deserved it.”
She kicks her feet up on the dash, ankles crossed, completely unbothered.
“I’m just saying, let’s review. Gage doesn’t snitch about the yacht.
He invites you to the party. He makes moon eyes at you—don’t even try to argue that.
His mom invites you over for dinner, which is a whole psychological warfare situation on its own.
Then you stay for dessert, and he walks you to the car.
” She pauses for effect after ticking each item off on her fingers. “And what happens next?”
I shrug and stare straight ahead at the back entrance of Otto’s Music. “Nothing.”
Lola twists toward me so hard her seatbelt squeaks. “Nothing! That man was looking at you like he was gonna devour you at that party. Ugh, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Lo.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for patience. Between surveillance and the drive home, we have hours left together in this car. “Remind me again why we’re doing recon together?”
“Because you love me.” Now it’s her turn to flick a cheese puff at me. “All I’m saying is, I would’ve bet money that he was going to kiss you. I mean, come on, Gage Calloway? That’s a man who goes after what he wants.”
A weird little flicker rolls through my chest, like someone brushing fingers across my lungs. I don’t like it. I definitely don’t like that Lola sees it happen.
“Or,” I say, dragging the word out. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not something he wants?”
“Absolutely not,” she mumbles around a cheese puff hanging halfway out of her mouth. She plucks it from between her lips and points it at me. “Delete that sentence from your vocabulary. Set it on fire. Throw it into the ocean.”
I bark out a laugh. “Lola.”
“Nope. I saw the way he looked at you. There is no universe where that man wasn’t thinking about kissing you at the very least.”
I throw my hands up, letting them fall to my thighs with a slap. “Well, he didn’t. So, case closed, detective. Let’s move on, please. Focus on this job.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Huh. So you did want him to.”
“What? I—no—I didn’t say that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You know what? Face forward. Watch the street. The whole point of being here is gathering information, remember? Recon? Crime? Illegal activity? Ring any bells?”
She reaches for her giant fountain drink, popping the straw between her teeth. “Fine. But this conversation is not over.”
“God help me.”
She leans forward, peering through the windshield.
“The delivery guy said they usually drop shipments around now, but he didn’t specify if it’s weekly, biweekly, lunar cycle, whatever.
So today we watch. And tomorrow we come back, and the next day, and the next.
Until we have this job mapped out like Beck’s back tattoo. ”
I smother a laugh at the image. Our brother spent a year planning out an intricate back tattoo, but when the time came, he backpedaled.
First it was seasonal allergies, then food poisoning, and finally a case of the flu that mysteriously lasted three weeks.
I think he enjoyed the planning and sketching more than the idea of actually getting it done.
“Wonderful,” I mutter, reaching into the cupholder for my iced coffee. It's completely watered down now. Fucking perfect.
She shifts in her seat, rummages around in the crinkly snack bag again. “I’m still hungry. Do you want anything? There’s a taco truck down the block. We could run and grab—”
“Lola.” My voice is thin. I check the time on the dash again and exhale. “We’re almost done,” I say. “If the delivery doesn’t show in the next ten minutes, we'll pack it up and come back tomorrow.”
Lola sighs dramatically. “I’m withering away. My organs are eating themselves.”
“Good. Maybe they’ll start with your mouth.”
She flips me off with cheese-dusted fingers.
I look past her, toying with the end of my straw, and letting my attention drag across the surrounding landscape.
A couple of dumpsters and a fire escape in the alley to Otto’s Music, a faded mural on the rear entrance of an old apothecary, a line of parked cars down the street, and an overnight parking lot.
A dark truck rolls by, slow enough that the unicorn skull and crossbones bumper sticker grabs my attention.
What are the chances that someone else’s brothers had a custom-made sticker that specific? And it just so happens to be on the same SUV I saw in the Calloway driveway the other day?
My gaze flies to the driver. My pulse detonates at the familiar profile.
Gage.
I blink twice, as if that’ll change it. It doesn’t.
The truck turns the corner and disappears from my line of sight, but I know how these streets curve, how this road ends abruptly in a dead end that leads to a wide walking trail a block down.
If I don’t see his truck in thirty seconds, then I know he parked somewhere behind us. My mind spins with the implications.
Lola crumples the snack bag and shoves it between the seats. “I’m serious, Bells. I’m gonna go in there and pretend to buy a ukulele and find the delivery schedule if—”
“I’m hungry,” I announce.
She blinks. “That’s my line.”
“I’m stealing it,” I say, setting my iced coffee in the cupholder. “You want anything? I’ll go to one of the food trucks and grab something.”
She stares at me for a second, suspicious. “Now you’re hungry?”
“Apparently my stomach needs attention, too.” I shove my sunglasses up onto my nose to avoid her gaze. “Do you want something or not?”
“Fries,” she decides. “And a soda. And if you don’t come back, I’m calling Beck.”
“Duly noted.”
I slip out of the SUV before she can ask any more questions and shut the door gently, like that will somehow muffle the sound of my heartbeat.
The heat hits me first—heavy, baked concrete and faint oil, the hum of an AC unit working double-time. I stroll down the sidewalk, just a girl casually going to get fries and whatever else my sister said.
I spot the truck half a block down, tucked along the curb on the side street. Same dent. Same faded sticker on the bumper. Same ache under my ribs.
I could keep walking, pretend I never saw it.
Instead, my feet carry me straight to the passenger side.
He’s in the driver’s seat, profile tipped slightly down, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. He’s not even looking at me when I yank the door open and slide into the passenger seat.
The passenger door thunks shut behind me, sealing in the hum of the A/C and the scent of him—citrus, sun, and something darker, something I never forgot even when I swore I had.
He doesn’t startle. Of course he doesn’t.
He just flicks his eyes from his phone to me, lazy as sin, like he knew I’d climb into this truck. I hate the idea of being a foregone conclusion.
His mouth tips into a slow, knowing grin. “You lost, Bell?”
I shove my sunglasses up my nose and lean back, feigning a calm I absolutely do not feel. “Four times, Gage. Four times in as many weeks.”
His brows tug together, just a little. “Yeah?”
“The yacht.” I hold up a finger. “Outside Marty’s. Sunday dinner at Coco’s. And now here.” I hook my thumb toward the rear windshield, in the vague direction of my sister.
He tilts his head toward me, and his hair falls across his forehead. “The world is full of coincidences, Bell.”
“Bullshit.” I flash him my sweetest smile. “Twice is a coincidence, Gage. But four times?” I pause with a tsk, shaking my head twice. “It’s a problem.”
His mouth curves, lazy and slow. “So, what are you saying?”
I shift in my seat, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, my spine to press back instead of curl forward. “Are you following me?”
“How do I know you’re not the one following me?” His eyes practically sparkle with amusement.
“Please,” I say with a scoff. “I’ve been here for hours.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Anger rises like the tide, mostly at myself for being in this position. But I save a little for him, too.
He tilts his head, studying me. “Hours, huh?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
His hand flexes once on the wheel. “You on a job, Bell?”
“Is that what you’re doing?” I shoot back, grappling for the upper hand. “Are you on a job?”
He drags his thumb across his lower lip, slow enough that my breath hitches. “If I told you I was? Would that make you nervous?”
Something cold and electric slides down my spine.
A shard of honesty cuts through me before I can stop it. “Am I the job?”
The words leave me, and the immediate cold prickle at the base of my spine tells me I shouldn’t have asked. Gage’s smile softens, and I can’t tell if it’s laced with pity or kindness. I turn away, stare through the windshield, and force my pulse to settle.
He leans his head back against the headrest, letting his attention drift out the windshield. “What if I just really like you?”
A disbelieving laugh bursts out of me. “Come on, Gage. That line doesn’t seriously work, does it?”
He huffs a noise that sounds more like a groan than a laugh. “You tell me, Bell.”
I shake my head, but my mouth betrays me, curling into a small grin. “Nah, you had ample opportunity to prove that if it were true.”
His brows lift. “Yeah?”
“Do you really need me to count out all the coincidences again?”
He turns toward me, and heat rolls off him in waves. “Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. “I think I do.”
Something in the air shifts between us, turning the cool air warmer. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life, and I’m not about to start now.
“The yacht, outside Marty’s, Coco’s party, when you walked me to my car after Coco’s dinner.” I let my gaze slide to his mouth for half a second before dragging it away. “You didn’t try to kiss me once.”
It comes out like an accusation, and I want to shove the words back in my mouth the instant they leave it.
His eyes drop to my lips, slow and deliberate. When they come back up, something molten lives there. He smiles like I’ve just handed him his favorite weapon.
“Is that what you wanted?”
Heat flashes through me, hot and treacherous. My heart kicks so hard it’s almost painful. I force myself not to look away.
“I didn’t say that.”
He watches me like a predator who’s just noticed his prey stopped running. His grin deepens. “Do you want to be kissed, Bell?”
The nickname does something awful to me, awakening something inside of me I thought was dormant.
A saner version of me would backpedal. Laugh it off and pretend she didn’t just hand him that much power.
“Because if you wanted me to kiss you…” His voice drops to a sinful rumble as he leans closer, so close I feel his breath against my cheek. “All you had to do was climb into my lap.” A beat. “You remember how to do that, don’t you, Bell?”
My whole body floods with heat. Images flash—my knees on this exact seat, my hands in his hair, my mouth on his—I dig my nails into my palms and refuse to look away.
“Who says you’re what I want?”
For a heartbeat, his expression cracks. A muscle feathers in his jaw.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel before he slides his hand off it, forearm shifting to brace on the center console instead.
Veins pull tight in his wrist. The movement makes his shoulders roll closer, his body edging into my space.
“Since when,” he says quietly, “do you wait for permission to take what you want?”
My mouth goes dry. The truck suddenly feels very small. Very closed in. The throb of my pulse echoes in my ears.
He leans in half an inch, then another. Slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to close the distance between us. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, knuckles grazing my cheek as he leans in.
His eyes roam over my face—my cheekbones, the curve of my jaw, the hollow of my throat—with an intensity that makes my skin burn, like I'm something precious and fleeting and he’s trying to commit it to memory before I disappear.
His nose skims mine, and my lungs forget how to work.
“Bell,” he whispers, mouth a breath from mine, “don’t lie. Not to me.”
My entire world narrows to the inch of air between us.
A sudden rap against the glass behind my head shatters the moment. I startle backward, but Gage remains perfectly still, his eyes never leaving mine even as someone pounds on the window.
Slowly, I twist and look behind me. Lola stands there, eyebrows high, one hand on her hip, her expression flat as a dead battery.
“What,” she says, voice muffled through the glass. “The fuck.”
I exhale so sharply it’s almost a laugh. Saved by my sister—because holy hell, was I actually about to make out with Gage in his car like we’re teenagers again?
“I should’ve figured your sister would be around here somewhere.” Gage pulls back, chuckling under his breath and dragging his palm over his mouth.
Lola opens the passenger door, and I all but tumble out into the heat, my eyes still locked with Gage’s, like we’re somehow tethered by an invisible string.
Lola loops her arm through mine.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on with all of this, but we’re going now,” she announces like he’s a problem she’s already decided to solve.
I start to turn.
“Bell.” His voice hits my spine like a touch.
I shouldn’t look, but I do anyway.
He’s got one arm draped over the wheel, the other stretched across the passenger seat, head tilted, grin slow and wicked.
“I’ll be seeing you.”
My heartbeat goes sideways. I swallow, turn, and let Lola drag me down the sidewalk before I can do something incredibly, unforgivably reckless.