Page 164 of Carrick
She elbowed me in the ribs.
Worth it.
“Seriously?” Sully asked, leaning back on his elbows and eyeing me like I’d just defiled his grandmother’s kitchen table. “Movie night used to be sacred, man. Sacred.”
I shrugged, fighting a smile. “We were quiet.”
Maddy snorted. “Bellamy was vibrating.”
“She vibrates when she’s cold,” I said innocently.
“Sure,” Deacon muttered. “And I’m a ballerina.”
Bellamy, still buried under the blanket, peeked one eye out. “I hate all of you.”
“You started it,” Jax chimed in, utterly unbothered. “Technically, you reached for him first.”
“How do you even know that?” she demanded.
“I have sensors calibrated to pressure differentials on the furniture.”
There was a long pause. Then Sully said, “You’re a menace.”
“I’m efficient.”
Bellamy groaned again and shoved the blanket over her head entirely. I leaned over, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you blush.”
She peeked one eye out again and glared. “I was almost there, Carrick.”
“I know,” I murmured with a grin. “That was the fun part.”
The group collectively groaned.
“Oh my God,” Maddy muttered, tossing a throw pillow at us. Sully caught it mid-air and chucked it at me instead. I didn’t dodge.
Bellamy sighed and muttered, “I’m never watching a movie with you people again.”
“You say that, dushenka,” Niko said, “but you’ll be back. You’re just like the rest of us—trauma bonded and snack dependent.”
Laughter rolled through the room, and the tension finally cracked wide open into something that felt a lot like home. Bellamy sat up, the blanket still around her shoulders, and narrowed her eyes at me. “You owe me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
She tilted her head. “For edging me in front of a live studio audience.”
Sully choked on his whiskey. “Edging?! Oh, Jesus. I’m out.”
“I am so glad I wasn’t sitting on that end of the couch,” Maddy added, already gathering her things. “I’ll never trust throw pillows again.”
Jax, still calm as ever, glanced down at his tablet. “Carrick, you should probably get her off before she starts setting things on fire with her brain.”
“She doesn’t need my help for that,” I said, standing and offering Bellamy my hand.
She took it. And the heat in her eyes told me the night was far from over.
We didn’t speak as we left the room. She was two steps ahead of me, the hem of that throw blanket trailing behind her like a royal damn cape. No shame. No apology. Just raw, defiant sex appeal with every sway of her hips—as if each stolen touch I’d given her during the movie had charged her like a wire, and now she was walking fire straight through my house like she owned it. And hell, maybe she did.
I followed. Not just because I wanted to. Because I had to. The second the door to my room clicked shut behind us, sheturned. Not shy. Not hesitating. No soft blush or fluttering lashes.
