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Tealey

“Who’s Jean-Luc?” The elevator door hasn’t even closed before the words tumble from his mouth.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Who is Jean-Luc?” I sit up from the couch, resting my forearms on the back of it, waiting for a kiss. It’s the usual drill—closed eyes, pursed lips, and a wish that your prince charming will hurry the heck up.

“You tell me.” The kiss is quick, too quick, and it felt more obligatory than coated with sweetness like his regular kisses.

I let it slide because I like this guessing game.

I’m also two glasses of wine in for the night, thanks to Lowell and my crappy day.

S oooo. . . I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

“After the day I had, this is fun. Like a mystery. Give me a hint. Nothing major. Just something to send me in the right direction.”

“What are you talking about, Tealey?”

My humor is clearly lost on him tonight. That won’t keep me from trying to earn his smile. A chuckle is a bonus on top.

I ball up my hands and anchor them on my waist, mimicking him, and then lower my voice. “What are you talking about, Rad?” That was nothing like he sounds, but I deserve an A for effort.

He huffs, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him do that. Something’s troubling him, and I hope it’s not me. “I’m not playing a game,” he says. “Why are you bringing a date to Cade and Cammie’s wedding?”

Shifting my gaze from his left eye to his right eye before sinking back on the couch to take him all in, I’m still left wondering what he’s talking about. Pointing at my chest, I ask, “Me? I don’t have a date. Am I supposed to? And how does that work with our relationship?”

“It doesn’t. That’s my point. It’s you and me,” he says, holding a finger up from each hand. I’m assuming these are critical to the point he’s trying to make. Pushing them together, he adds, “There is no room for anyone else. I didn’t make that clear before, but I’m stating it now.”

“For the record?” I’m just messing with him because now this is entertaining, and I still have no clue who Jean-Luc is. Whoever he is, he’s wound up Rad something terrible.

“Yes. For the record.”

Getting up, I move around the couch, and I tap my fingers against his chest. I flatten my palms and stretch on my tiptoes to kiss underneath his chin.

It’s stubbly, but I can smell his cologne, which causes my knees to weaken without fail, and tonight is no exception.

“By the way, hello. It’s good to see you.

” I bat my eyelashes and stroke the side of his face with my thumb.

“Just in case you didn’t notice the girl on the couch waiting for you to come home for the past two hours, I missed you.

Our greetings are one of my favorite parts of the day, so maybe we can make sure to cover that before diving into the deep end. ”

While his hands rub my back, I see his shoulders begin to drop as they release the day’s tension.

Yes, his body knows he’s home and safe with me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me closer and bending down to kiss me again.

This time, he lingers a while before I’m released.

“I can’t believe I jumped ahead and missed that. ”

“We got there in the end. Speaking of jumping, it sounds like you might be jumping to conclusions as well.” I poke him in the chest, and then ask, “Do you want to fill me in on this Jean-Luc business?”

“Didn’t you know? Jean-Luc is your date to the wedding.”

I wave him on, narrowing my eyes as if I’ll figure this out by homing in on him. “Still lost.”

“Marlow—”

“Ah, I see.” I nod my head, already knowing it’s going to be a mess if she’s involved. I love her, but I could use a night off from the excitement. I ask, “Do I even want to know what comes next?”

“Only fair since I had to hear that Jean-Luc is your date to our best friends’ wedding.” His expression twists. “None of this sounds familiar?”

I walk into the kitchen, stopping in front of the island.

I rub the marble counter for luck, hoping we get to make the most of it again sometime soon.

It’s been a week since I was bent over this very structure, screaming his name in ecstasy.

Of course, I can’t complain. We make love every day like newlyweds.

Newly dating doesn’t have the same ring to it. “I think I need a drink for this.”

“Make that two.”

After the conversation with Lowell left me defeated, and now I’m accused of dating a Frenchman I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, I bend to open the wine fridge and pull out a new bottle since I finished off the last one.

Holding it up, he shakes his head, answering without me having to ask the question.

I take a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and then grab two glasses, thinking I might need something stronger for this conversation, too.

Rad hangs up his keys and then slips into our bedroom. When I have the two glasses poured, mine over rocks, his neat, I take a sip.

“Is it that bad?” he asks. Discarding his suit in the room, I don’t mind the replacement he’s chosen. Who knew sweatpants could be so sexy? I grin, appreciating the way the sleeves of the black T-shirt cling to his biceps. It may be a plain cotton shirt, but he sure does know how to wear it.

“Terrible,” I say, trying to keep the fire from consuming my throat.

I take another gulp this time to prepare for the unknown direction of this conversation.

“I have to hand it to you, Welly. For someone who was told his girlfriend is taking another guy on a date to a wedding, you’re fairly calm.

Whoever taught you to control your emotions in law school did a stellar job. ”

He tilts the glass back and empties the liquid, swallowing it down. Okay, maybe he’s not so calm. But I appreciate the initial effort.

He says, “They don’t teach patience or any other techniques for controlling your temper. I guess you just lucked out with me.”

“I sure did.” Using my legs, I surround him and encourage him closer with my feet rubbing his great ass until he’s in grasp’s reach. I tug him closer by the front of the shirt, pulling him between my legs so I can wrap my arms around his neck.

He tilts his head like he’s not falling for my antics. Little does he know, he already has. Just like I’ve fallen for him. I tilt my head to match him, a solid guesstimate at thirty-seven degrees to the right. I smile, and then he mimics me by smiling right back. “What are you doing, Tealey?”

“Lovin’ up my man.” I slide my hand underneath his T-shirt, and his muscles dance under my fingertips.

“Your hands are cold.” He rubs my hips, the heat of his hands felt through my compression leggings.

I’m reminded of the cocktail beside me and pick it up to rattle the ice. “The drink is cold. Hence, cold hands.” His eyes never leave mine when I tip it back.

Waiting until I swallow, he licks his lips and then asks, “I take it Jean-Luc is Marlow’s idea?”

“Yes, Counselor.” My trick doesn’t work. Just using the term usually gets me thrown over his shoulder and taken to bed.

His brows pull together instead. “And why, exactly, did you agree to this date?”

“Since we’re speaking in exacts, I never did.”

I don’t think he’s in the mood to play my word games. “We could cut to the chase and get to the good part if you stop making me guess.”

“We could . . .” I shrug, feeling the whiskey in my veins. “But what’s the fun in that?”

“Trust me,” he starts, using his bossy voice. Fortunately, there’s a playfulness to his eyes, or I’d be worried. “There’s more fun once I figure out why my girlfriend is cheating on me.”

Throwing my hands up, I jerk my head back. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. That escalated quickly.”

“Imagine how I felt when she dropped that tidbit on me at work today,” he says, exasperated.

“I can imagine it was pretty traumatizing. Why didn’t you just call me? This could have been settled hours ago.”

“I did but was sent straight to voicemail.”

I push him away and hop off the counter to retrieve my phone. “You did? That’s odd. What time? My phone died around?—”

“Five. Five thirty.”

“Oh,” I say, the wind knocked from my sails. I return to the kitchen. “That was the same time. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re not dating Jean-Luc, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m not dating Jean-Luc. I’ve not even met him.” Throwing my arms up, I say, “I didn’t even know his name before my boyfriend told me.”

But I am feeling sorry, sorry for bringing more problems into our little bubble of bliss. Little, if you define a large apartment with a rooftop deck as little.

What happened with Lowell will ruin everything Rad and I have been building together. I’m finally settled, and it feels like home.

Feeling unsteady is an understatement compared to when I left for work this morning. So much has changed, but I’m not sure my transfer to Poughkeepsie needs to be discussed before it’s a thing.

With the wedding next week, what I want most is for us to be just how we have been. Once I mention a transfer or moving to Poughkeepsie, I’m not sure we’ll be able to get back to where we are now with things left unsettled.

Information. Rad and I both work better and think clearer when we have the full story. I have time to get that this week before presenting the predicament so we can work together to find the solution.

Seeing the trust in Rad’s eyes has me lifting on my toes again and kissing him. The stronger feelings blooming inside have made me more sentimental lately. I’m just unsure when to share them. When is the right time to say I love you?

I spin in his arms, keeping him wrapped around me. With my phone still in my hand, I ask, “Would you like me to call Marlow and settle this other man issue?”

“Today was enough for both of us.”

His tone—exhausted with a clip to it—has me looking over my shoulder. Then I turn back altogether. “Everything okay?”

“It’s quite a story. Want to order dinner first?”

Two hours later, I’ve heard everything, and we even had time to celebrate what the partners said. I don’t like the pretend stuff with Marlow and hearing how it extends to the wedding, but at least he’s not hiding any details.

And, truth be told, I feel like an equal.

The more time I spend with Rad, the more it’s clear how wrong Steve was for me.

Any boyfriend before Rad really. And I love this part of each day.

Sitting down and chatting about our days.

I never felt lonely living alone, but this is so much better.

“So what does that mean for us telling friends and family?”

He goes into the kitchen with this takeout container and throws it away in the recycling. “It means you tell me.”

Thinking long and hard about this, I find there’s still so much going on. “Do we tell our friends at the reception?” I want to dance with you and kiss you. Weddings are so romantic, but . . . Bob will be there. How does that work for us?”

Though I feel I should see the debate that always wars in his eyes when we bring up this topic, nothing but calm lies in them tonight. “I’ll end it before then.”

“I hate that you’re in this spot and would never want to jeopardize your dreams.” I move into his strong arms once again and close my eyes.

I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or wrong, but I guess I’m agreeing to this craziness.

“We can play it by ear and aim for the reception. If you and Marlow aren’t settled by then, we wait a few more days. ”

“You’re okay with that?” Bending his head down, he looks into my eyes. “Are you sure?”

Smiling, I reply, “What’s another two weeks in the scheme of things?”

~ Twelve Days Later ~

Jackson loads my suitcase into the back of the SUV and then comes to stand right next to me . . . and Rad , leaving no room or privacy to say or do what we really want. He asks, “Ready to roll? The Hamptons await.”

Rad stares at me like he might miss something if his gaze deviates, so I turn to Jackson. “I’ll be right there.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jackson says, “I can wait.”

“Wait in the car, St. James,” Rad snaps. Rad’s tone strikes harshly, surprising both Jackson and me.

Jackson side-eyes him. “Can’t say I’m upset you’re not riding with us, Wellington.

Glad you’re staying behind in Manhattan for the night.

Wouldn’t want to be stuck with you and that mood you’re wearing like a chip on your shoulder for the next few hours.

” He returns to the vehicle, opening the back door before passing Marlow tucked in the passenger’s seat.

I look at Rad and reach to touch his chest. “It’s okay, Rad. He doesn’t know why you’re upset, and it’s not his fault anyway. So don’t take it out on him.” I lower my hand, remembering that we’re still a secret. No PDA allowed.

“It’s not normal not to be able to say goodbye to my girlfriend.”

I love hearing him call me his girlfriend.

We’re not in situations that warrant introductions, but when he calls me his girlfriend, even in private, I realize how far he’s come.

Once a proud eternal bachelor turned loyal boyfriend, I don’t take a day with him for granted.

“I wish you didn’t have court tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry. I’m packed and will leave as soon as I get home.”

We’re supposed to be two friends saying a simple goodbye, but like him, I feel the weight of what we really are. Hiding it means that I don’t get to hug him or touch his chest when we’re talking. It means no kissing, and all that adds up to is missing him before I’ve even left.

Marlow rolls down her window and pokes her head out. “Kiss goodbye already, and let’s get on the road.” Her laughter trails across the sidewalk.

I roll my eyes at her teasing, and sigh. “They’re quite the pair.”

Finally, Rad smiles. I’m glad to see his bad mood lifting. “ They don’t know how spot-on they are when it comes to us. That’s what makes it funny.” Running his hands through his hair, he says, “I can’t wait for this to be over, though, so we can just be ourselves.”

“Me too.” I force my feet to take a step back because it’s so hard to leave him. If I don’t start now, I’ll never leave.

I reach my hand out once more, knowing full well that it will touch the air. But I’ll take that air if it touched him.

Rad glances at the SUV, and then his hand reaches for me, our fingertips catching just before I turn and walk away. I climb into the back seat and shut the door before we say something we can’t take back—like three-word phrases—or reveal more to the others than we can share.

Just as the vehicle pulls away from the curb, I take one last look because I won’t get to see him again until the wedding, and I want to memorize everything about him. Rolling down my window, I sit forward and shove my arm out to wave. “See you at the altar.”