Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Coy
Pressing the piano keys, I send a somber array of sounds fluttering through the air. Something about it catches my ear, and I turn toward the instrument.
I play it again, this time quickening the tempo and changing the chords every couple of beats. It’s brighter. Snappier. Catchy. I tap it out again. It feels good.
“Hum, hum, hum … I didn’t believe when you whispered my name …”
My fingers stop. I reconsider and start again.
“Hum, hum, hum … Lipstick stains on my T-shirt, a fear in my heart that this can’t work … Ooh, yeah, things aren’t the same …”
I drop my hands to my side.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I ask an empty room.
I pivot on the bench and rest my elbows on my knees.
A myriad of feelings has battled inside me all morning. Not only do I have a weird energy and a surge in creativity but I also have an annoying prickle in the back of my mind.
I know why. It’s not lost on me.
“It doesn’t hit the same when you’re the one getting walked away from, does it?”
I know the night she’s talking about. The night on the boat.
The Fourth of July three years ago just before I hit it big in music.
My parents throw a massive party every year on their houseboat, and, naturally, Bells was there.
We drank a lot and flirted even more. As the night wore on, we danced on the deck before finding ourselves in a bedroom.
That night creeps up on me often.
The sweetness of her body against my tongue. The heaviness of her hands against my skin.
The warmth of her smile, the heat of her tongue—the searing pain in my chest as I held her against me as the sun started to rise over the horizon.
I never thought I’d have Bellamy. Not again. We might’ve fumbled around when we were teenagers, but this was different. This was fucking real. This was touching and kissing and looking at each other while our bodies moved together—not just an awkward exchange of bodily fluids.
This was the moment that the two of us hooked up as adults. It wasn’t just two horny kids looking for quick relief from a burst of lust. It was the culmination of something that I’d always wondered about the possibility of happening.
That night on the boat, I lost track of myself for a moment.
I blame it on the alcohol. I held her face in my hands and told her that I would be there for her if she ever needed me.
That all she had to do was call. I hoped she’d read into things and give me some sort of indication that she did need me—daily.
Instead, Bellamy made it clear that I was a peripheral part of her life in her subtle way. She cracked jokes and talked about me like a guy she barely knew. She put a bit of distance between our naked bodies and fell asleep shortly after that.
So I stayed there. Emotionally. Physically. In every way. Right where she wanted me.
Just like I do now.
Her indifference to me—that night specifically—shook my confidence a little.
I’d never attempted to connect with someone like that.
To be shot down? Ouch. But, more than that, it diminished that sliver of possibility about the future.
It freed me in a way that I didn’t want once I had it but took advantage of anyway.
I slept with women. I acknowledged that they would never want the real me because if the one person who knew me better than anyone didn’t, who would?
I watched Bellamy as I texted Meadow back a few hours later. The thought of leaving Bellamy softened my excitement of dashing to New York City to open for a headliner in Times Square. But I knew what I had to do—both for her and for me.
I left before she woke up and hoped it made things easier for her.
But did it?
The doorbell rings before I can think about it too in depth. I glance at my watch as I make my way down the hallway and descend the stairs.
Did she change her mind and decide to bring Bree over?
I tug open the door without looking through the peephole.
Standing on the other side is a smiling Bree and a scowling Bellamy.
My cheeks split into a grin. “Well, I didn’t expect to see you two today.”
“Mom said I could come,” Bree says, holding up a mitt and a workbook. “I’m ready to get busy.”
“That’s great,” I say, looking at Bellamy over Bree’s head. “What do you want to do first?”
“Baseball. But Mom said it has to be piano because I have a recital coming up,” Bree says with a sigh.
Bellamy crosses her arms over her chest. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say, motioning for Bree to come inside.
I step out of the way as they both walk by me, then shut the door behind them.
“Can I use the bathroom before we get started?” Bree asks. “I gotta pee bad.”
I laugh, pulling my eyes from Bellamy’s. “Sure. Go into the kitchen. There’s a door on the left with a calendar hanging on it. That’s a bathroom.”
“Thanks!” Bree sets her stuff on the floor and takes off toward the kitchen.
Once her footsteps fade away, Bellamy sighs.
“About earlier …” She bites her bottom lip.
I reach forward and spring it free. She gasps at the contact. I could, too, by the heat that fires through my veins, but I contain my surprise better than her.
“What did you mean earlier?” I ask her.
“What do you mean?”
I roll my eyes. “You know what you said. You insinuated that I walk away from you, I assume, like it’s a joke.”
Her cheeks flush as she looks toward the kitchen. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that. It doesn’t matter. I—”
“The hell it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t, Coy. I’m only here because Lauren couldn’t get anyone else for Bree, and Bree was so excited. So, I’m a sucker, all right? But I’m here for her, not to hash out things that don’t matter between us.”
I furrow my brows and try to work out what she’s saying and what she’s not saying. I feel like both are equally important.
“Bells, if something is bothering you, I wanna talk about it.”
She shoots me a dirty look. “Please don’t placate me.”
“I’m not.”
She covers her face with her hands and holds them there.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“I’m manifesting.”
“What are you manifesting?”
“Peace, love, and goodwill to men.”
I snort. “So, you’re trying to manifest yourself into a Hallmark card?”
She drops her hands and fights a smile.
I want to reach out and touch the side of her face. My fingers burn to run through her hair, and it’s almost impossible not to reach out and pull her to me.
She’s too beautiful, too sexy—too real and raw with her makeup-free face and the cellulite that I know dimples her ass. What you see with Bellamy Davenport is what you get, and there’s something remarkably, insanely attractive about that.
“If you get sick of doing this, just give me the heads-up, and I’ll get Bree out of here,” she tells me. “I know this is going to get old really fast.”
I shrug. “Maybe not.”
She quirks a brow like she doesn’t believe me. “I can handle Bree, but you’ll have to tell Lauren. She’s all about this.”
“I think Lauren was all about me.”
She scoffs. “I bet you do.”
“What? Are you saying she wasn’t?”
“I’m saying that you think every woman is about you.”
I can’t help myself. I take a step closer and grin. “What about you? Are you about me?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bat an eyelash. “No.”
For a split second, my confidence is dinged. Maybe she’s not. But then I see it—the chink in her armor. The acknowledgment of the energy between us. The way her eyes light up as she’s undoubtedly thinking about that night on the boat again too.
Because I for damn sure am.
“Why do you pretend you aren’t attracted to me?” I ask her.
“Why do you pretend I am?”
I take another step toward her. “Why do you pretend you don’t like me?”
“Because I don’t,” she says with a slight wobble to her tone.
I stop just in front of her.
She looks up at me, refusing to bend to my will, and grins. I lick my lips as I tell myself not to kiss her.
“You’re right, Coy. I need to stop lying to both of us.”
I nod, closing the slightest gap between us. Our bodies nearly touch and would if our breathing wasn’t so shallow.
My cock goes hard; my blood turns red hot as I watch desire pool in her eyes.
I straddle her feet with mine and peer down at her.
“Part of my manifestation journey is being clear about what I want,” she almost purrs. “I used to think that if I just told myself that I didn’t want certain things, or people, that the desire would go away. But that’s not how it works.”
“Nope.”
She smiles mischievously. Her lips part, forming a soft o before she breathes in a hasty breath that I think is just to rile me up.
It works.
“Bells …” I say, unable to see straight. I want her so bad I can taste her.
I tell myself that it’s because it’s been a while since I had sex. I wasn’t fucking Willa and had to play that part publicly. That dashes your availability.
But I’m available now …
“Here’s the thing, though,” she says. “Just saying you don’t want something doesn’t mean you don’t. What you have to do is clarify what it is you want.”
“Your point?”
“I can’t just say I don’t want you,” she says, laying a fingertip on my sternum and ignoring my request to expedite the process. “The desire is still there.”
“Bellamy,” I growl.
I’m trying to have patience and let her finish, but I don’t give a shit how she got here. I just want her to admit she wants me, and then I want to figure out how to get rid of this kid.
She sighs. “But when I’m clear about what I want …” Her lips twist into an amused grin. “It diminishes the desire. It’s freedom.”
I pull away from her to get a better view. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Her eyes fill with fire again. “You might be right when you point out that I’m attracted to you. But when I’m clear about the kind of guy I want to give my time to—it isn’t you.”
She starts to walk away, but I swing her back to face me.
“What just happened here?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”
I eye her curiously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“What are you talking about?”
The more I think about it, the more I know it’s true.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask her.
“I have a couple of them.”
I glare at her. She shrugs.
“Something has changed with you, and I wanna know what it is.”
“Why? You haven’t cared before.”
I make a face. “What’s that supposed to mean? I always fucking care.”
It’s Bellamy who closes the distance between us this time. It’s Bellamy who pins me with her gaze this round.
“We can get along for the sake of Bree, but don’t lie to me, Coy. Cut the shit. I don’t need you to care. I don’t need you to tell me the things I want to hear so I can survive, okay? Maybe that’s how other women work but not me. I’m going to be just fine without it.”
I hold my hands up. None of this makes sense.
“Right now, I have a little girl who wants to learn how to play the piano,” she says. “You volunteered to help her. So let’s be amicable for that and stop pretending we have unfinished business. Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“You know what I think will help?”
“What’s that?”
“We need to fight or fuck. Get it out of our system,” I say over Bellamy’s protest.
When I look toward the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Bree. So I lean forward and place my lips near Bellamy’s ear. I’m surprised she doesn’t pull back.
My heart pounds in my chest as I breathe in the scent of her perfume.
“Do you need to be licked, Miss Davenport?” I whisper.
“I got licked last night, Mr. Mason. But thank you for the offer.”
A bolt of jealousy sweeps through me, and I clench my hands at my sides. “Then I guess we fight.”
“What—”
I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder. She squeals as I lock an arm over the back of her thighs to hold her in place.
“Put me down, Coy!”
“What are you doing?” Bree says as she runs toward us.
“Now. I mean it,” Bellamy shrieks.
“We’re going to go upstairs and play the piano,” I tell her, ignoring Bellamy’s demands. “Is there anything you’d like to learn?”
Bree picks up her mitt and workbook. “Something new. My teacher has me learning old stuff but said we could pick something different for the recital. Do you know anything new?”
“Coy Mason, so help me, God …” Bellamy warns.
I tighten my grip on her. “Settle down up there, will ya?” I wink at Bree. “Yes. I know lots of things. Let’s head up to the piano, and we’ll pick something.”
Bree bounces up and down before racing to the stairs. She makes it to the top well before I do.
“Go down the hall and through the door on your right,” I tell her. “I’ll be right there. Get settled at the piano and get your book out,” I say, in hopes that it keeps her busy for a moment.
As I reach the top of the stairs, Bree disappears into the library.
“Coy …” Bellamy groans. “Let me down.”
I stop at the landing and do as instructed, letting her body slink its way down the front of mine. Her eyes are wild as my gaze scoops them up and holds them in place.
She starts to speak, but I place a finger on her lips to quiet her.
“Now, I’m done fucking around with you,” I tell her. “You wanna fuck? Tell me when. You wanna fight? Please. Let’s. Tell me why you’re pissed. But I won’t do this guessing game with you anymore. Got it?”
“Who made you—”
I drop my lips to hers and capture her words with my mouth. She hesitates, sucking in a quick breath before her lips match the intensity of mine. Her hands wrap around my neck and drape over my shoulders. She leans into the kiss that neither of us was expecting.
Music begins to play from the library, so I know Bree is occupied.
I palm the back of her head with my hand and work my mouth against hers. I part her lips slowly, deliciously, with my tongue and kiss her for all it’s worth.
Fire pushes through my veins as my entire body reacts to the proximity of her.
Her lips are soft, her mouth as sweet as I can remember. Her perfume fills my senses. Her body sags against mine, her breasts pushing against the walls of my chest.
Holy fuck.
It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.
I grip her face with my hands. She moans a little against my tongue as I savor the moment—taking my time as quickly as I can. It’s a rush, a push and pull, a hurry but go slow because this might never happen again.
Kissing her is a scratch to an itch that’s been plaguing me. That fucks me up. It feels better to kiss her, to hold her in my arms, than it does to screw someone else.
I don’t know what that means, but I know it has to end.
Finally, as the notes to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” finish, so do I. I pull back and look into a wide set of gorgeous blue eyes.
I grin. “I made me king, if that’s what you were going to ask.”
She stands in front of me and struggles to catch her breath. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are swollen. And I commit that image to memory.
Then with a casual wink tossed her way, I leave her standing on the top of the stairs.
Let her think about that.