“This is not a good idea, Lauren,” she insists.
“And why not?” Lauren asks her. “He’s a musical genius. And I vaguely remember him in all the papers in high school.” She looks at me again. “I just aged myself, didn’t I?”
This isn’t about you, Lauren.
“You don’t look a day older than me,” I tell her, turning up the charm.
She smiles widely.
Her husband better thank me tonight.
“Can we talk about this in private?” Bellamy asks her. “I have reservations about this that I think are warranted.”
Lauren looks from Bellamy to me and then back at Bellamy again. “Well, sure, I suppose. But I don’t see the problem.”
Me either.
“And I know my husband is going to be … astounded by Coy’s offer,” Lauren says. “I mean, he’s Kelvin McCoy. I just think this is an excellent opportunity, Bellamy.”
“It sounds like you guys need to work out the details,” I say, grinning. “But tomorrow at eleven works for me. Can’t wait to see you, Bree.”
“I can’t wait to see you, Coy.” Bree squeals. “I’ll bring my mitt. Oh, and my piano workbook. Just in case we have time for both.”
Oh, joy.
“That sounds great,” I say, hoping that it came out sounding better than it did in my head.
“It was nice to meet you, Coy. And in lieu of Bellamy telling me you sacrifice goats or something, Bree will see you tomorrow. Sound good?” Lauren asks.
“Sounds super.”
“Great. We’ll talk soon,” Lauren says as she heads back to her car with Bree at her side.
Bellamy waits a moment and lets them get some distance away before leaning toward me. “Can’t you take a hint?”
I grin. “Yup.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because you like it, and you know it.”
She narrows her eyes. “I want you to know that I hate you.”
I lean forward too. “I can tell.”
“Ugh,” she says and marches off.
“Hey, Bells!” I call out.
She looks over her shoulder.
“Wear shorts,” I tell her.
She hides her hand behind her back and flips me off. Then, for my benefit, I’m sure, she shakes her ass with more force than necessary as she strides across the yard.
Even though there is a parade of beautiful women in my life, being around Bells moves something different inside me. It must just be the familiarity, I guess. But still, it’s always there when we’re together.
And it’s something I can’t shake.
Four
Bellamy
“Lauren, wait up,” I say as I approach her car.
She makes sure Bree is buckled in the back seat and then closes the door. Her face is riddled with suspicion as she turns around and faces me.
“I’m sorry for all that,” I tell her.
“I’m not. Coy is wonderful.”
I bite back a snort and try to cover my frustration with a smile.
This is typical behavior. Women go crazy for Coy and lose their heads. I’ve seen it a thousand times over the years.
“Look,” I tell her as gently as I can. “I’ve known Coy my whole life. We were best friends growing up, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Lauren flashes me what I call her Parent Smile. I don’t get it often, but I know I need to back off when I do. It’s the I’m-the-parent-not-you-so-please-kindly-remember-that sort of thing.
And she’s right. She is Bree’s parent, and she ultimately knows what’s best for her child. I’m not saying I disagree with that. I couldn’t parent a porcupine. But this thing with Coy? I am an expert on it, and it’s my duty, my obligation, to press the issue.
“Bellamy, I adore you. You know that,” she says, placating me. “But I don’t understand. Why isn’t this the best opportunity for my child?”
I stumble for words.
All of the reasons I loathe Coy Mason form too long of a list to explain to Lauren in the five minutes she’s going to give me to explain. Maybe less. They are also inherently personal. And while Lauren has breached the employer-employee line with me many times—specifically the time she told me she got a butt plug stuck, which I didn’t know was possible—I’m not ready to hang my dirty laundry out for her to see.
Even if it is cleaner than her sheets.
Besides, I see the look in her eye. She’s downright charmed by Coy. Anything I say will come across as bitter or childish, and it’s neither of those things.
Well, it’s not childish. Yet it very well might be bitter.
“He’s just arrogant. And his reputation is horrendous,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for going the high route. “Exposing your sweet Bree to that kind of behavior is not a good idea. Heck, Lauren, he answered the door today shirtless.”
Her eyelashes flutter.
I roll my eyes and then mentally kick myself for it.
“I understand your position. I do. I’ve read the magazines,” Lauren says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But my husband has the same kind of reputation in certain circles, and Bree lives with the man.”