Page 22

Rad

Is it wrong to wake up early in hopes of spending time with Tealey?

So much has spun on its head since Tealey moved in with me.

When I get home, no matter the hour, she’s waiting for me on the couch with popcorn or some other snack that hits the hunger spot so we can watch an episode of Ted Lasso together.

She could binge through the first season, but I love that she waits each night to watch one episode with me.

We text each other throughout the day just to touch base.

When I manage to get home before dinner and have time to give her a heads-up, she has ingredients spread across the island, and we cook together.

From spaghetti Bolognese to her family’s take on shepherd’s pie, everything tastes better when we’re doing it together. The food is delicious as well.

If we’re too tired, we go out or order in. It’s never a big affair. It’s the two of us spending time together. Just how I like it. Beats how I used to work all hours or how I spent my free time preparing for the next day. I’m now driven to get as much done as possible at the office.

We still go to our weekly dinners or brunch with the others. I probably spend too much time hoping to catch her eye from across the table. When I do, she smiles and winks at me.

It doesn’t matter that we’re surrounded by others; she makes me feel like I’m the only one who matters. I’ve come to realize she’s the best part of my day.

Opening the cabinet this fine Saturday morning, I grin like an idiot. Tealey Bell occupies more than my thoughts. She’s managed to move into my place and claim space of her own. My life prior is now full of empty memories.

“Good morning.”

“Fuck.” I slam the cabinet door shut, startled. I take a breath, and say, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I didn’t sneak,” she says, grinning. “I walked right in. No sneaking involved.” Moving to the fridge, she laughs.

“Guess we’re even. What were you doing staring into the cabinet anyway?

If the mugs bother you that much, I can pack them back up and keep them in my room.

” She turns her back as she reaches for the creamer—the creamer that also showed up with the mugs.

“No.”

Straightening, she scrunches her nose. “All right. Settle down. I’ll leave the mugs.” It’s incredible that she just got me to convince her to leave her cups. Then I spy the sly grin that creases her cheeks.

“Well played.”

She shrugs. “What can I say?”

“Got Rhubarb?” I read the front of her T-shirt.

Glancing down, she runs her hand over her chest. My jaw slacks. Oblivious, she says, “It’s an underrated vegetable if you ask me.”

I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Did I miss the rhubarb bashing?”

“No,” she replies on an upbeat. “Just showing my support.” Handing me a mug, she asks, “Coffee?”

Taking it, I spin it so I can read what she’s given me. “Let’s bone?”

Let’s. Bone.

“Uh, mm, er . . .” I readjust, not even subtly, because damn, is Tealey flirting with me? “Um.”

“It’s funny,” she says. “He’s a skeleton.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Touching my arm, she goes on about where she found this “gem” and how it cracks her up.

But my mind has jumped at the opportunity that the mug provided and is in the process of undressing her.

She looks from the cup to me and then gasps.

“Oh, God. Let’s bone. Did you think I was asking? Oh, my God. So embarrassing.”

“No, it’s okay. I know you were only joking. It’s funny. Ha. Ha. Ha.” Nothing sounds real about my nervous laughter.

She stops to stare at me, placing one of her hands on her hips. “I wasn’t flirting. I know you’re thinking I was, but trust me, Welly, I’m usually more clever than ‘let’s bone.’ God, I hope so.”

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have to use a line to get a guy to bed. “I didn’t know women used lines?”

“I’m sure they use them on you all the time. What gets your attention?”

You. Fuck, that was close. I run my hand through my hair, glad I’ve retained some self-control. “I’d have to think about it, but my place or yours usually works.”

Her mouth drops open. “For anyone?” Her arms flail. “All they have to do is approach you and ask if you want to have sex, and it’s an automatic yes from you?”

Detecting a note of disgust, I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “No,” I reply flatly. “I don’t have sex with everyone who asks, insinuates, or flat-out hits on me.”

“Asking your place or mine is straight up hitting on you.”

“Tealey, I hate this fucking term, but I’m not the manwhore you think I am. Fuck, I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“I hate that term, too. Doesn’t make you a whore because you like sex whether you’re a man or a woman.” I can respect her principles, but she’s traveling down the wrong path in this conversation. Then she asks, “How long has it been?”

“Okay, slow your roll. That’s not what I was?—”

“Last week? Last night? Last month?” A twinkle dances in her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I’m better off not know?—”

“More than a month ago.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows raising. Why’d I say anything? I don’t normally need approval regarding my sex life, but for some reason, I want hers. “I—it’s been longer for me.”

The two of us stand there with no embarrassment to hide, so we both nod and turn back to the task in front of us. She pours creamer into her coffee, and I’m quickly reminded of how she teased me about my love of mustard. I ask, “Do you even like coffee?”

“What do you mean? I love coffee.” She takes a sip.

“You added a shooter to that cup of cream.”

“What can I say? I also love creamer.” After blowing on the top of the liquid, she takes several small sips with her eyes on me. She has a stubborn streak, and I guess creamer is the war she’s choosing to challenge me on.

“How can it be hot with that much cold creamer in it?”

She spins and nudges her heel into my shin. “Stop teasing.” She’s adorable.

“But teasing you is so much fun.” My phone buzzes, so I dig it out of my pocket. I have the move scheduled, and noticing the time, I say, “There’s a chance we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.”

With coffee in hand, she says, “Hint taken. I’ll finish getting ready.”

I smile. “Meet you at the elevator in five.”

She dances her way back to the bedroom like a ballerina, not spilling a drop of her drink. “I’ll be quick.”

Tealey Bell has a way of brightening any gray day. Still entertained by this morning’s coffee talk, I return to wait by the elevator with a smile on my face and use the wait to scroll through emails on my phone to pass the time.

“I’m here. I’m here,” she says, closing the bedroom door behind her. “You can stop tapping your foot now.”

I didn’t realize I was tapping my foot. Bad habit. My patience these days is razor-thin—not with her but with everything else.

Looking sprite and ready to take on the world, she asks, “Are you ready for the big move?”

“Are you, is the question. It’s the last time you’ll be there.”

She looks toward the windows on the other side of the apartment. When she turns back to me, she says, “I have to be, don’t I?”

“It’s hard, I know. If you want to talk about it?—”

“I’m fine,” she replies, not sounding convincing. “Do you have a travel mug?”

“Yeah, let me get that.”

I dip down in the kitchen and grab a double-walled lidded mug from a drawer. Handing it to her, I say, “I mean that, Tealey. I’m here for you.”

She smiles. It’s softer around the edges, but I’ll take it. “I know. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Giving me a once-over, she says, “That’s a nice shirt. You sure you want to wear white? The possibility of it getting dirty is fairly high, so if you’re an odds man, you might want to change.”

“An odds man?” I start laughing. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .” Sounds a lot like famous last words.