Head Over Feels

by Scott, S. L.

  His lips twist as he uses his dog to point at mine. “Not judging, but why do you eat your dog plain?”

  “Condiments have a time and place—”

  “Seems like a hot dog would be the right place to pack on some mustard or ketchup. Relish. Onions. Get crazy with the sauerkraut. Look around. It’s the right time to live on the edge and smother that meat.”

  Bursting out laughing, I cover my mouth, but it’s too late. All manners are gone as I lean back, holding my stomach. “Oh my God.” I choke down what I’m chewing and then start coughing. Shoving a napkin over my mouth, I’m still in hysterics, trying to catch my breath. “There will be no,” I try to speak, waving my finger, “meat smothering tonight.”

  “Oh fuck,” he mutters, dropping his head in shame. A chuckle shakes his shoulders, and then he starts laughing too. “This never leaves the two of us.”

  “No way. The girls will get a kick out of it.”

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, he peeks over it at me. “Kill me now then. If they know, Jackson and Cade know.”

  Unguarded and a bit bashful, I’m seeing a new side of Rad, one that’s more carefree and closer to how he was in college. The last of the giggles peter out, and I take a sip of my soda. Still hunched over with my elbows on the table, I rest my chin in my hand, unable to stop smiling. “This is fun.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad we came out, even if I did have to endure your mocking.”

  “Nothing you can’t handle, Counselor.” Looking around the low-key restaurant, I sit up. “I didn’t take you for the hot dog–shop type, so I have a feeling living together might be eye-opening.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “I haven’t lived with anyone since Cammie before she and Cade moved in together. If living with you means late-night hot dog runs, I’m all in.” I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face even if I tried. It feels good to laugh again, to forget about the usual daily stresses, and to be starting down a new path.

  Holding his cup, he taps it to mine on the table. “Here’s to new traditions.” We both sip, his already gone, the ice screeching in protest. When I take a bite, Rad inhales his hot dog in three bites. Such a guy. “This eases the pain of working late.”

  The early spring night is cool enough to keep warm in my sweatshirt, but I still shiver, not from the weather but from an excitement that wriggles up my spine. “I feel rebellious being out this late. I’m usually curled up in bed reading or asleep with the TV on by this hour.”

  With Steve, I would have been listening to a lecture about how irresponsible I was being on a work night. I don’t miss those lectures about everything. I don’t miss him.

  We may not be on a date, but sitting here with Rad has been the highlight of my week. I think I judged him all wrong. He’s still dressed for work sans jacket and tie, but he fits in with the casual vibe of the restaurant as though he belongs. I say, “I always thought you were more uptight.”

  Amusement widens his eyes. “Most people do.”

  “I’ve seen you relaxed at the beach, and we’ve been to hundreds of parties together over the years. You’re one of my friends, someone who easily makes my top six.”

  He chuckles. “I’ve earned that sixth spot.”

  Reaching over, I cover his wrist with my hand. “I’m only teasing.”

  “It’s probably true, though, and that’s okay, Tealey. I’m willing to work my way to the top.” There is nothing innocent or bashful about that smirk. I’m dead. Gone to heaven . . . or maybe this is hell. Considering one of my “friends,” my sixth closest to be exact, just told me he’s working his way to the top of my list and then killed me dead with a smile that could land me in his bed . . . Yeah, Rad Wellington knows exactly what he’s doing using that loaded weapon on unsuspecting victims like myself.

  “I, uh, um, oh my . . .” He leaves me stumbling over basic English, so I use a napkin to wipe the drool from my chin and then shove the hot dog in my mouth because nothing I say right now will make any sense anyway.

  “Since we’re on the subject of friends, I’ve been thinking about the unique opportunity we’ve been given.”

  I take a quick sip of soda. “Oh, yeah?”

  “To strengthen our relationship. Not that it’s weak or anything, but—”

  “It’s okay. I know what you meant. What’s the opportunity?”

  “We have a chance to really get to know each other. We’re both single and work way too much. The little free time we have will probably be when we see each other at home.”

  “I’m following.” As I finish my hot dog, I think about all the ways this opportunity could go, filling in blanks that aren’t even on the table. Pulling my head out of the gutter, I say, “We could spend some of that time together.”

  “Take tonight. There’s no pressure or dress code. No expectation or—”

  “Demands. We get to be ourselves.”

  He nods, looking at me like he believes in me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone look at me like that and even longer since someone felt that way. Other than my mom, of course. “That’s just what I was thinking. You’re easy—”

  “Slow your roll with that rumor, Counselor.”

  Chuckling, he says, “Easy to be with.”

  I laugh, the corners of my mouth lifting as I tilt my chin down. “Not much better.”

  Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he says, “I’m blowing it.”

  “No, you’re not.” I reach over and take his hand. The heat between us causes me to note our connection before I set it on the table. “You’re doing just fine.” The thumping in my chest is loud enough for the entire city to hear as I try to swallow the nerves that have crept in.

  When I look at him, he seems to be having the same struggle. His soulful brown eyes lift to meet mine, and then his hand reaches over. Taking my hand in his, he says, “This is the start of . . .” He gulps. “Of a great friendship.” Snapping his cup up, he stands. “More soda?”

  Shaking my head, I’m left bewildered by what just happened. The sentiment is still spinning in my head and chest. Was he suggesting more than friendship there? That’s impossible. This is Rad I’m talking about. Mr. I don’t do relationships. No, I’m reading the situation all wrong, interjecting a fantasy of mine where it doesn’t belong.

  Rad Wellington is off-limits—if not for our friendship, then because of our living arrangement. With so much going on in my life—from my living situation to my job and relying on his offer to stay with him—I can’t screw this up by confusing his kindness for flirting.

  Scooping up the trash, he tosses it in the bin, and then says, “Guess we should—”

  “Yep.” I stand, and we walk toward the exit. “Call it a night.”

  “I was going to say have a nightcap, but you’re probably right since we both work tomorrow.”

  He holds the door open for me. Mentally kicking myself for the wrong assumption, I don’t stop or look back because then I’ll look and sound desperate, making it awkward. “Probably for the best,” I say, though I don’t believe a word of it.

  The conversation on the way back is kept in safer territory, like the weather and the neighborhood.

  I find myself walking a little slower when I step off the elevator into the apartment, not ready for the night to end. It’s late. We work. I know all the reasons it makes sense to go to bed, including how much longer it will take me to get to work tomorrow, but that doesn’t loosen the knot in my stomach.

  I’m being silly. It’s midnight. Go to bed, Tealey. Stopping at the edge of the living room, he looks back at me. Thumbing over my shoulder, I say, “Guess I’m heading to bed.”

  Rocking back, he nods. “I’m going to work a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Like a dead man’s walk, I move into the bedroom and close the door, leaning against the back of it. Closing my eyes, I try to tame the thoughts running rampant through my mind. Everything from what it will
be like to see him first thing in the morning to throwing him on the couch right now crosses my brain.

  Even with those thoughts competing with my rational side, I still have no regrets about moving in with him. Things will calm. Although we’ve known each other forever, this is new to us. Things will settle as we get used to being around each other.

  A rap on the door has me jumping halfway across the room. Straightening my hair before I remember it’s in a knot on top of my head, I call, “Yes?” and swing open the door.

  Rad’s holding a mug; One of my mugs, to be specific. “Do you know where this came from?” He walks away and stands where the kitchen meets the hall. When I follow him, he shifts to the side to reveal the open cabinet in the kitchen full of my other mugs. “Or those?”

  “I . . .” Is he mad? Curious if the mug fairy visited while we were away? Or fine? His temperament is too even to read into. “I do know where those came from.” I reply, whispering, “They’re mine.”

  Twisting the mug in his hand, he furrows his brow. “Kiss my . . .”

  “Ass. Kiss my ass. Get it?” I point at the donkey on the mug.

  “I get it.” Nothing. I don’t even receive a sly grin like he usually gives to lowbrow humor. Glancing at me, he asks, “But why do you have it?” No cute smile or chuckle follows.

  That mug is one of my favorites, too. I sigh, feeling like I might be in trouble. Did I make myself too at home too soon? I simply claimed an empty cabinet. And since I had him carry my preciouses over here and told him to handle them with care, I thought he understood the gravity of my love for mugs. I assumed wrong. “Sometimes, I let my cups speak for me. Speaking of squash—”

  “We weren’t speaking of squash.”

  Snapping my fingers, I say, “Keep up, Welly. I’m continuing our conversation. Quidditch. Squash. Remember the text?”

  I can see when the memory returns by the small smile I receive. “Right.” He sets the mug back in the cabinet and peruses the selection before glancing at me. “Squash.”

  “Huh?”

  “You said, speaking of squash. The floor is yours.”

  I hop onto the counter, and ask, “What do you get when you drop a pumpkin?”

  I’m finally rewarded when he can’t hide his smile. “Squash.”

  “I’ve riddled it around my head for days, trying to come up with something about squash.”

  Giving in to the grin, he chuckles. “You did gourd. Bah dun dun.”

  Rad rubs the back of his neck, a tic of his, while looking back at the cabinet. “Back to the mugs . . .”

  “Cammie didn’t think you’d mind since you only had four mugs in that large, lonely cabinet, but if you don’t like them—”

  “You can leave them. I don’t mind. I just wasn’t expecting to find them . . . or so many.”

  My pride shines as I admire the colorful cups. “It’s quite the collection, a thing of beauty.”

  “It sure is.” His voice is quiet, so I look at him. He looks away, grabbing a bottle of water on his way out of the kitchen. “Well, good night,” he says, walking into his room. The door closes behind him, leaving me in the kitchen alone.

  “Well, alrighty then. Good night to you too.” I close the cabinet, unsure how to feel about that interaction.

  I return to my room and shut the door quietly, forcing my thoughts to focus on getting ready for bed instead of what just happened with Rad. As soon as I crawl under the covers and turn out the light, I hear soft footsteps on the other side of the room approaching the door.

  But then I hear them distancing into silence again.

  My curiosity is getting the better of me and tempting me to open the door and ask if he needs me. But I shouldn’t. He would have knocked. So there is absolutely no reason to walk back out there. None whatsoever.

  Not even to check to make sure everything’s okay. We’re fine. It just got a little awkward at the end. The man has a million things on his mind, and I know for a fact that I’m not one of them.

  Maybe not for a fact. But I have my suspicions.

  15

  Rad

  This is the biggest mistake I’ve made in years.

  Why’d I ask her to move in with me? Why the fuck did I choose to torture myself like this?

  Friends? With Tealey? I scoff. Yeah, not possible.

  I could barely sleep a wink knowing Tealey was only down the hall from me. I could sense her in the apartment . . . so could my dick. I haven’t had to take a cold shower over a woman in a long time, until now.

  Even pumping iron at three o’clock in the morning didn’t work out my frustrations. I added a five-mile run to help burn off the adrenaline. My mind finally cleared in the quiet early morning hours. I took another shower, hot this time, to lull my mind and muscles into getting some sleep.

  Using the light of the early morning, I meander into the kitchen after little sleep. I start the coffee machine, so it begins heating the water, and then go to my cabinet for a mug. Opening it up, I grin. With the new distractions in my apartment, I’d forgotten about the mug collection.

  The ass mug seems to fit my behavior best regarding how I ended our night, so I grab that one and set it on the coffee stand. When it’s filled, I take the steaming cup with me and sit on the ledge of one of the windows.

  Even at this hour, the city is dotted with lights, and when I crack a window to get fresh air, I hear a melody that only someone who loves Manhattan would love—the honk of horns, the sound of laughter escaping an open window nearby, and the vibrant hum of the streets coming to life.

  The wood floor creaks, and I look over my shoulder to see Tealey, dressed in pajamas covered in images of cats, tiptoeing out of her room. She’s quirky, much more than I ever thought before. I smile from the sight of her, though, and from her choice of sleepwear. “You live here,” I say. “You don’t have to sneak around.”

  Her spine stiffens, and her shoulders shake with laughter when she finds me in the darkness. Holding up a glass, she says, “I needed water.”

  “Help yourself.”

  She moves into the kitchen and starts filling her glass. “Can’t sleep?”

  “Not well,” I reply.

  “Me either.” Crossing the room, she sits down on the sill facing me, her eyes dipping down over my body. I didn’t think to put a shirt on, not used to having company. I guess I’m lucky I pulled on a pair of sweatpants.

  She leans against the brick column dividing the windows and gazes through the glass. Sticking her hand near the opening, she rolls her gaze back to me. “Spring is my favorite. When the bitter cold of winter is behind us, but the heat of summer has not yet set in.”

  Her bare knee is bumped against the thick cotton of my pants, and despite learning to share a space with someone again, I can’t stop thinking about how much I like having a connection with her—the laughs, smiles, and little touches we’ve shared.

  Jesus Christ, Wellington.

  It’s been all of ten hours since she moved in. Get your head straight. Make small talk, for fuck’s sake. “I tried to be quiet.”

  “You didn’t wake me.” Closing her eyes, she inhales. “That coffee smells so good.” I like seeing her at this time of day. There’s no tension in her shoulders, and her eyes are wide, taking in the world. It’s as if her body knows it can wake up with the day.

  She straightens and starts padding across the floor. “I think I need a cup.”

  I stand with my back to her and look out the window. If I don’t, I’ll stare at her in ways that I worked out in the middle of the night . . . or so I thought. I have no perspective at this hour.

  “Nice ass,” she says.

  I whip back, thinking I heard wrong. “My ass?”

  There’s not much light still, but enough to see her cover her stomach as silent laughter takes hold of her. “Oh my God, Rad.” Bursting out in laughter, she continues, “I meant the mug, but said—” She grips onto the edge of the counter as if she needs the support, bending ove
r in a fit of giggles. “I did say . . . I said ass. I said it and yep . . .”

  Laughing, I glance at the mug, forgetting I’d chosen this one. But hearing her and seeing her on the verge of tears causes me to laugh, too.

  With her body still shaking in laughter, she plants a hand on her face and runs it into her hair. “I’m delirious.”

  “I think you’re quite entertaining at any hour, but this might be my favorite.” A few more chuckles run through me before fading.

  “Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t be allowed to people before coffee.” She opens the cabinet and stands staring at the mugs with a big smile on her face. I’m still stuck on the fact that she just told me I have a nice ass. The longer she stares into that cabinet, the more I start to believe that my ass might be too much of a distraction for her. Let the woman have her coffee without fucking with her.

  Or shift and let her enjoy it.

  I face the windows, sipping my coffee, and when she opens the fridge, I watch her in the reflection. She pulls out the creamer but still doesn’t pick a mug. I’m sure the chaos of the cabinet stumps her as it did me. Mugs aren’t something I want to think about before having my first cup. Or ever. I don’t tell her that, but I appreciate the uncomplications of a simple white coffee cup.

  The cabinet closes, and she says, “I might try to rest for another hour.”

  Although she’s not asking me, I turn back and nod. “Searching for the perfect mug to use can be exhausting.”

  She returns the creamer to the fridge. “That’s funny, Welly, or it’s early.”

  “Guess we’ll never know.” Smirking, I shrug.

  “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” She gives me a wink, and then wordlessly, she slips back down the hall and closes her door.

  Turning back to the outside, I look up, scanning the sky for stars to enjoy the last moments before dawn breaks.

  Tealey Bell is distracting in ways that don’t truly bother me. I just can’t seem to figure out why. Cade’s diagnosis comes to mind, but that was us messing around.