Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Bellamy
It's been two weeks since I slipped out of my hotel room, quiet as a mouse. Two weeks, and I haven’t stopped thinking about the man I left behind. His presence still lingers in my thoughts, a quiet echo that refuses to fade. No matter how hard I’ve tried to forget him, I can’t.
It’s as if my mind and my body have decided that no other man exists in the world, at least not for me.
I’ve never had the kind of connection with anyone as I did with Reid.
It’s alarming and surprising, because let’s face it, men are jerks.
Okay, maybe not all of them, and yes, I can admit that my opinions are skewed because of my father, who put his career above his family.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to get this man out of my head.
The memory of my time with him is distracting me.
Yesterday, my boss, Grant, was standing at my office door, watching me stare off into space.
I’ll give you one guess as to what I was thinking about.
Luckily, Grant Riggins and his brothers are laid back and easy to work for.
He teased me for it, asked me his question, and then disappeared back into his office.
Something's got to give. I can’t keep this up. Reid was just a man. A man who will forever hold a piece of my past, one I’ll never forget, but it was my choice to sneak out, so I need to deal with the consequences and stop thinking about a stranger I’ll never see again.
My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I answer without seeing who it is.
“Bellamy? I expected your voicemail,” my dad greets me. From the sound of his voice, he’s happy he reached me.
Inwardly, I groan. Fucking Reid and his sexy abs. He distracted me again, because my dad’s right, he would have gotten my voicemail otherwise. “Hi,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone.
“It’s so good to hear your voice, sweetheart.”
Good thing he can’t see me rolling my eyes. “What’s up?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries. Not with him. He made his choice.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Fine.”
He sighs, and the sound is heavy even through the line. “Listen, there’s this work thing—the one I mentioned to you last summer. I’d really love it if you would come. It’s family day,” he explains.
“I wish I could, but I’m busy.”
“I didn’t tell you when it was,” he counters.
“Work is swamped right now, Dad.”
“It’s the first week of July—in two weeks. Sweetheart, I’d really love to see you,” he says, and I can hear the longing in his voice, but he’s about fifteen years too late.
“Sorry,” I tell him, even though I’m not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for leaving us. He put his job first, leaving Mom and me on our own.
“I’ll send you the details, in case you change your mind. I really hope you do.”
“We’ll see,” I tell him, just like my mom used to when I’d ask for something when I was little and she damn well knew I wasn’t going to get it.
I should feel guilty for giving him an inch of false hope, but in his gut, he knows that I won’t be there.
It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than an invitation to a work thing, as he called it, to move our relationship forward.
Sure, he calls and texts frequently, but it’s the effort he puts into coming to see me that he’s always lacked motivation for. Calls and messages are fast, and he can get right back to work.
“You can bring a friend, or if you’re seeing anyone…,” he offers, his voice trailing off.
“Not seeing anyone,” I tell him with a sigh. And the last man I did see is the only reason I answered this call, but I keep that to myself.
“I hope you’ve been well,” he says, and the longing once again present in his tone giving me pause.
“Yeah, I’m good. I was in Los Angeles two weeks ago for a college friend’s wedding,” I tell him, tossing him a bone of information about me. It’s not something I usually do, and something twists in my gut when his tone tells me he’s glad that I did.
“That’s wonderful. I hope you had a great time, and I’m sure it was nice getting to catch up with a friend from college.”
“She was kind of a bridezilla,” I confess, because the alternative is blurting out that I met a man, spent an incredible night with him, then ran scared at what he made me feel in just a matter of hours. Not a conversation I want to have, especially with my father.
“Oh, well, did you get to visit the ocean?”
Twist the knife, Dad. “Yeah, the ocean was nice. Took a walk on the beach my last night there. Hey, I have a few things I need to finish up today before I head home, so I need to go,” I tell him, glancing at the clock. It’s true, but I really just want to end this uncomfortable conversation.
“Good. Good. Well, I hope to see you in two weeks. I’ll send you all the information.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“See you,” I tell him, ending the call and tossing my phone on my desk. I have so much anger in my chest where my father is concerned. I hate being a bitch—that’s not who I am at all—but I don’t know how to get past this pain.
My phone vibrates, and I don’t have to look to know it’s my father, but I do anyway.
Sperm Donor: Attached is the flyer with all the information. I hope to see you there.
Instead of looking at the flyer, I close out of the message and text my best friend, Amanda.
Me: Drinks. My place.
Amanda: Tough week?
Me: Something like that.
Amanda: I had plans to be on your couch when you got home anyway. You’ve been avoiding me.
Me: Lies. I’d never avoid my bestie.
She’s right. I’ve been avoiding her because I’m unsure how to break the news to her about Reid, and the silence feels wrong. Then, telling her the details about that night also feels bad. Selfishly, I want to keep Reid and our time together just for me.
Amanda: Uh-huh. I’ll bring dinner. Any requests?
Me: Anything. I’ll stop and grab the wine, and plan on staying.
I make a mental note to grab a couple of bottles of wine. Something tells me I’m going to need them.
Amanda: Sounds like a plan. See you soon.
Tossing my phone back on my desk, I push Reid, my dad, and even my best friend out of my mind so I can concentrate, finish my work, and start the weekend.
Just as she promised, Amanda is sitting on my couch when I get home. “Hey,” I greet her. “Have you been here long?”
“Nope. Maybe five minutes.” She points to the coffee table with two pizza boxes, two plates, a stack of napkins, and two coffee mugs. “Gave me time to get set up.”
“Perfect Pies,” I say with a groan. “It’s been forever since I’ve had their pizza.”
“We ate there before you left for Los Angeles for Tabby’s wedding.” Amanda laughs.
“Right? That was over two weeks ago.” Kicking off my shoes, I drop my bag next to the recliner, place the wine bag on the coffee table next to our dinner, and join my best friend on the couch.
“I need to change, but I need Perfect Pies pizza more.” Tossing open a box, I slap a slice on a plate, then open the next box, add a couple of breadsticks with sauce, and hand it to Amanda before doing the same for me.
“Damn, that’s good,” Amanda says after finishing her first bite.
“Good choice,” I tell her, taking a massive bite. “How was your week?”
“Same old.”
“Booked any hot talent lately?” I ask her. Amanda is a talent coordinator, and she’s always finding great new artists to bring into their bar.
“I don’t pick them based on their looks.” She sticks her tongue out at me.
“Oh, I know they have to sound good, too, but you get all those headshots to drool over all day, while I get to look at shipping and inventory reports.” Don’t get me wrong, I love my job.
The Riggins family is incredible to work for, and even though they’re all madly in love with their wives, they’re easy on the eyes.
Still, Amanda gets hundreds of demo tapes a week that almost always come with headshots, and some of them are drool-worthy. My bestie has a fun job.
“The worst part is when they have the look, but their voice just doesn’t match it. It makes me feel bad to turn them down, but we only have so many days in a week for me to get talent on the stage.”
“You book talent for one of the hottest bars on the strip. You’re damn good at what you do. Don’t feel bad about having to say no. That’s just a part of it.”
“I know, but you should read some of the letters. They talk about struggles, like living in their cars, and that hits me in my feels.”
“I love your soft heart,” I tell her.
“Enough about me.” She places her now-empty plate on the coffee table and pours us both some wine into the coffee mugs.
“Why are we using coffee mugs?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. I guess it felt like wineglasses were too fancy for pizza and breadsticks on the couch.”
“I don’t care what I’m drinking it out of, as long as I’m drinking it.”
“About that, are you ready to share what’s been going on with you?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I ask, taking a hefty sip of my wine.
“Bellamy.” Her tone holds a warning, one that I take, because she’s my best friend, and I know I can trust her with this.
“The wedding was a pain in the ass, just as I thought it would be.” Might as well start with the stuff that I know she’s already assuming happened.
“I told you to tell her no. Just because you were sorority sisters in college does not mean you have to fly across the country to be bossed around to be in her wedding. And, you haven’t talked to her since you graduated from college.” She gives me a pointed look.
“I know.” I sigh. “You’re right. She was just as bad as I had imagined that she would be. As soon as all my bridesmaid duties were over, I dashed and hit the hotel bar.”
“Ah.” Amanda turns to face me, crossing her legs. “Now, this is where the story gets interesting. Please proceed.” She waves her hand in the air as if she’s royal, before taking a big chug of her wine.