Page 9 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

“No, I do. Of course I do.” I plucked my shirt away from my body. “Is it warm in here?”

“Wait, you admit you have romantic feelings?” Fern demanded. “For fuck’s sake, Teagan. Monica called me over here to stage an intervention?—”

“Mischief and Margaritas,” Monica corrected.

“Well, we got the mischief part down,” Fern said pointedly. “But meanwhile you’re all ‘Oh, yeah, sure, of course I love him. Like it’s no big deal.’”

I shrugged. “It’s not new. I’ve loved him from the first minute.

Or, okay, maybe the second,” I allowed. “You were there, Fern. On the phone, remember? You were the one who told me not to jump into things. That I had been wrong before. That I would ruin everything if I started putting all kinds of expectations on John…”

“Because you didn’t know him then!” Fern lifted a hand and let it fall. “Because you had literally met seconds before. Because you claimed you’d fallen for him and you hadn’t even asked his name .”

I opened my mouth, then clacked it shut. That was true.

“I wanted you to wait a couple of weeks .” Fern shook her head. “But nooo, you had to go to extremes and wait a whole year and decide to keep a secret for the first time in your life?”

“I wasn’t keeping a secret. It’s just… he became my best friend,” I said quietly. “I’m not just in love with him in a romantic way, like I want to kiss the hell out of him and rub my face against his chest?— ”

“Seriously, Teagan, I do not need to know this shit,” Fern sighed.

“I do.” Monica clasped her chin under her hands.

“—I love him. Like, I just want to be in the same room with him. And to know that he’s well and happy. But I suck at romance,” I said softly. “I’ve been on twenty-three dates this year, and all of them were crappy. I didn’t want to fuck up my friendship with John trying for more.”

“But now John’s hurt, thinking you threw him over for Other-John,” Fern said softly.

“Because I think your John has feelings for you, too,” Monica said just as softly.

“Oh. Wow. That’s…” Despite all the fantasies I’d had about John, that was one dream I’d never dreamed. It would have been too soul-crushing to wake up from it.

I swallowed hard and set down my empty glass on the floor beside the couch. I stood up and, strangely, felt a little wobbly. “John still should have talked to me and not assumed.”

Fern nodded. Both of her. I blinked to clear my vision.

“So I’m gonna kish… I mean, kick , his ass.”

“You should,” Monica agreed happily. “Go find him and do that.”

I frowned. “But I don’t know where he is.”

Fern rolled his eyes. “Your John is a creature of habit. You know exactly where he’ll be.”

There was a commotion at the door, and then Mrs. Graziella from downstairs bustled in, carrying a delicious-smelling lasagna and looking put out.

“Good Lord. Sorry I’m late, girls. Dante wouldn’t let me leave until he’d shown me a car video on the YouTubes.

” She sighed as she put her casserole dish on the kitchen counter.

“But I’m here! So let’s figure out a plan to help…

Teagan!” she exclaimed, noticing me for the first time.

“You’re late, Mrs. G.,” Monica said. “We’ve already gotten through the mischief, and Teagan’s drunk most of the margaritas, and now we’re at the point where Teagan is ready to confess his undying love to John. Tonight.”

“Wait.” I paused, and the room swayed, so I steadied myself with a hand on Fern’s head. “I am?”

“You are,” Fern confirmed, slapping my hand away. “You’re heading to BarZ.”

“Because your John is your John ,” Monica said firmly. “And he needs to know that you don’t want any others.”

“Oh.” When she put it like that, it suddenly made so much sense. “Yes, he hecking does! It is right and just! I should write him a poem. Or, like, an original song!”

“Maybe not a song, sweetie.” Monica wrinkled her nose.

Fern grimaced. “Definitely not a song.”

“Oooh, my granddaughter Nicki works at BarZ!” Mrs. Graziella exclaimed. “Hang on half a sec.”

Mrs. Graziella removed an enormous phone from her bra and tapped on it with bejeweled fingernails. “Nicki is working tonight, and she confirms John is at the bar.”

“Ha! It’s a sign,” Monica crowed.

Mrs. Graziella pursed her lips. “She also says John’s flirting with a cute guy who’s been buying him gin and tonics.” She looked up at me. “She thinks he’s from out of town.”

“The fuck you say!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly. I pulled at my hair band, releasing it from its topknot.

“Easy, killer,” Fern began. “We don’t know for sure?—”

“How dare he be flirting with some imported interloper on the night when I am to sing the song of my undying love to him!” I yelled. “This is outrageous. I am marching down there?—”

I took a wobbly step away from the couch, and Mrs. Graziella grabbed my elbow to steady me. “Or maybe you’ll catch a taxi,” she suggested.

“—and I am taking what is mine. John is mine . ”

“Sweet Jesus.” Fern sighed and rolled her eyes. “Maybe don’t lead with that line, m’kay?”

Monica grabbed my shoulders and drew me into an impulsive hug. “Don’t listen to a word she says,” she whispered. “You should definitely lead with that.”

It took me a little longer than I would have liked to get to the bar, since Fern had pointed out that I was wearing boxer shorts and fuzzy socks, and this attire might be frowned upon, even at a casual spot like our local hangout.

By the time they’d sent me on my way in a pair of tight jeans and my favorite blue crop top, I was already sober again.

Well, okay, more like sober-ish.

Way too sober for original love songs, that was for damn sure. Which meant I was gonna have to wing it.

I scanned the bar area when I first got inside and found the place was packed . But John’s height and bulk made it pretty hard for him to hide, and he definitely wasn’t there.

“Nicki,” I called, lifting a hand in greeting to the small, dark-haired woman behind the bar.

She gave me a small return smile, then tilted her chin toward the dance floor with an unhappy look.

I turned my head and sure enough, John— my John—was part of the throng of people packing the small space. Under the flashing strobe lights, his dark hair shone, and he moved with a kind of unself-conscious grace he usually only had when he’d been drinking.

The guy he was with… ugh . He was cute. He was tall—well, taller than me—and younger than either of us, with a smile I could tell from a distance was playful and sweet.

His hair was golden brown and incredibly messy, like he—or maybe my John —had been running his fingers through it. They looked… really good together .

My throat went dry, and as I stood on the edge of the dance floor and watched them moving together in perfect rhythm, I had a moment of overwhelming self-doubt.

Maybe this guy was good for John. Maybe Mr. Cute-and-Playful was less of a drama queen than me, less inclined to turn to John when he was just trying to enjoy his Tuesday tacos and present him with annoying conundrums like, “Okay, pick one, Johnny, world peace or a cure for cancer…” Less likely to cry while watching Netflix or attach sentimental value to his sofa.

And, heck, John had never shown any romantic interest in me. Maybe Monica had been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t here because he’d misunderstood my intentions with Other-John. Maybe he’d come out to meet this guy and had stood me up on purpose.

He certainly didn’t seem to be thinking of me at the moment.

As I hesitated, a man came up and stood beside me. Like me, he didn’t seem eager to join the throng.

He gazed down at me and said abruptly, “That bearded guy. You know him?”

I nodded miserably. “That’s my best friend, John.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, and I noticed that he was watching, too. Specifically, he was watching the man in John’s arms.

“You know that guy? The one with the…” I made a tornado-like motion at the front of my head.

The man nodded slowly.

“Is he your best friend?” I asked hopefully.

He snorted in surprise. “Goodman? Fuck no. He’s my…” He paused for a second and gave the Goodman person a look that was a little impatient and a whole lot longing . “Something.”

I nodded. “They seem happy,” I volunteered a moment later. It came out sounding like an accusation .

“Goodman seems drunk off his ass,” the man replied. He glanced down at me again. “I’m Knox, by the way.”

“Teagan.” I pushed my hair back indecisively. “Well…”

“Teagan, I have an idea,” the man said suddenly. “Would you like to dance?”

Anything seemed better than standing there overthinking, so I let him lead me out on the floor. But when we got close to where John and… Goodman, or whatever his name was… were dancing, and I saw just exactly how fucking close they were dancing, I kind of lost my mind. I stalked right up to them.

“You must be John’s roommate, Teagan!” the Goodman person said, all gross cheerfulness and smiles.

Overly enthusiastic people were so annoying.

“Yeah,” I said witheringly, trying to peer over his shoulder at my best friend, who’d plastered himself to this stranger’s back. “John, are you?—?”

“Teagan! Hey! Didn’t see you there!” John straightened up and leaned against the guy’s side affectionately. “This is Gay.”

Gay?

“Gage,” the Goodman person corrected.

“Are you sure?” John asked.

“Entirely,” the guy corrected, beaming up at him.

“Gage,” John agreed, giving him a fond look. He dragged the man up against his side. “He’s my new boyfriend.”

My stomach cramped like a giant had clenched it in his enormous fist and squeezed tightly.

To the best of my knowledge, John hadn’t dated anyone since last December, and they’d never gotten serious enough for him to invite the guy over to our place.

The man had been history by Christmas, and John had spent New Year’s Eve with me .

So to hear him call this other guy his boyfriend was… horrifying.

“He’s what?” I repeated softly.