by Scott, S. L.
Love is the furthest thing on my mind and love with Tealey . . . “Don’t be ridiculous, Wellington.” I run my hand through my hair, refusing to let that idea sink in. My personal life is sidelined for my career. I have no time to indulge in attraction when I have a full load of cases. Making partner. That needs to be my sole focus.
At this rate, I should either try for more sleep or just go to work early. I choose the latter since I’m caffeinated. Since my body’s already been scrubbed clean twice in the past four hours, I get dressed.
Before I leave, though, I wash up the mug, returning it to the cabinet, and then stand in the kitchen debating if I should leave a good-morning-I’m-off-to-work note or text for Tealey. We’re roommates, not dating. So I’m out the door before Tealey leaves her room.
On the car ride to work, I let my regular driver deal with the traffic while I check emails to get a preview of the day ahead, starting with my schedule. I have court this morning and then meetings all afternoon. That means another late night of research to prepare for next week’s court hearings. My work is literally never fucking done.
That didn’t bother me at one time, but over the past couple of weeks, I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm for the job.
Cade wasn’t wrong. I have missed a lot of my friends’ lives simply because I have a job that requires an unreasonable number of hours. And maybe because, for the first time, there’s someone at home I’d rather see or enjoy a meal with instead of eating stale protein bars in the break room.
* * *
Running off adrenaline and caffeine, and after having two cases settle in my clients’ favor, I sit with Ashleigh at a café down the street from the office. Though there’s no time built into the day to take off, I needed a breather.
After sipping an espresso, she sets the cup down, the china clanking together. “Want to talk about it?”
My gaze flicks to her. “Talk about what?”
“What’s on your mind? You’ve been staring at that intersection for five light changes like you’re going to be tested on traffic patterns.” She nods her head to the right. “You haven’t even noticed that a cat is sitting in a stroller at the next table.”
I glance at the stroller. Sure enough, there’s a tabby contentedly sitting inside. Our eyes meet, and it meows. “Only in New York.”
“Yep, only in New York.” She turns her attention to her laptop and runs through a list of files that need to be verified before entering evidence, talking through each one with me. She’s right. I’ve been staring off into space until she says, “Mr. Marché’s initial offered wasn’t accepted, as we expected. In addition to sparing their reputations, his soon-to-be ex-wife has sent a list of demands to keep the settlement locked.”
“And?”
“I’ve sent you the list.” She turns her monitor to face me.
I lean down and scan the list. “Some are reasonable.” I glance at Ashleigh. “She wants to release a statement, but doesn’t want to allow his side? We’ll be pushing back on some. When am I scheduled to meet with Bob again?”
She types, and then replies, “Two weeks. I wouldn’t normally suggest this, but Marlow has also requested a business lunch that day. Would you like me to make a reservation for the three of you? Two birds. One stone?”
“Confirm with Bob first, but I think it makes sense. If he’s open to discussions in front of Marlow, make a reservation at Highland on 5th.” There’s no other reason to meet with Marlow. Our agreement has gone rather well so far. Without Bob, we’ve had no reason to put on a show.
She types, but then her fingers still. “You’re working too much, Rad. I can tell you’re burned out.”
“You are, too.”
“No, I leave well before you do. Sometimes, I actually leave on time. Other nights, you practically push me out the door. When you do, it gives me time with my boyfriend. We go out, to the movies, to a Broadway show, or stay in, but I have downtime. You left the office after ten and were back there before seven. That kind of schedule isn’t sustainable.” She looks at me thoughtfully. “I know you want to make partner, but does it have to come at the expense of everything else?”
I finish my espresso, keeping my eyes fixed on the plain white cup . . . plain, like my life. Thinking of the cabinet at home, what once represented me and my orderly life, now represents the color and humor Tealey’s brought to it.
Ashleigh’s not saying anything I don’t already know. Reaching beyond the job description to voice her concerns, she has me seeing the situation in a new light. I shift in the chair, and say, “I want to make partner. It will come at the expense of my personal life. I’m willing to sacrifice that in the short term. But even if I chose not to, we need to reevaluate our case load.” I sit forward. “The last thing I want to do is burn you out in the process. I can’t go it alone.”
Her smile is tight, but she nods. “I’m here if you are.”
The server sets the check on the table. She’s quick to slot it in the credit card machine, and hand it back. We’re left alone. When I sign the receipt, I set the pen down, and say, “Everything will work out just how it’s supposed to.”
She pulls her purse onto her shoulder, her smile still barely deviating from a straight line. “I hope that one day you find a reason to leave work behind, to even skip out of work early, a reason to make you smile again, and most importantly, that you get everything you’ve ever wanted, and it brings you the happiness you deserve.”
Her words hit me with a dose of reality, though I play it off by tucking the chair under the table. She sees through the façade I thought I was so masterful at projecting, but there’s no judgment. Ashleigh knows I’m going to pursue my goals to the fullest, and I appreciate her support.
Greatness comes from personal sacrifice. My father lives by that motto, even today. He gave up my mom and two other wives. He gave up me. That’s his legacy, though he’d claim otherwise.
He’s alone now.
But is that what I want? Is that how I want to end up in life? Working hard only to have no one to share it with? Fuck, am I having a quarter-life crisis? No. This is my life. It’s normal to be doing this, and often alone. Isn’t it?
“You’ve isolated yourself in a lot of ways since graduation . . . I get that you’re busy and want to make partner to break some record at the firm, but are you happy?” Cade’s words ring in my ears.
Happiness will come later. Now . . . now is about winning cases and moving up the ladder.
Greatness comes from personal sacrifice. Live with it, Wellington. This is your life.
16
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.
17
Rad
“It’s eight fucking thirty in the morning. Does everyone have to drive like bastards?” Horns are blaring, and I’ve been cut off twice. If I get so much as a scratch on my car, I’ll lose my cool.
“How exactly do bastards drive?” Tealey grips the seat with fear.
“You’re witnessing it.” She briefly glances my way with pursed lips. “The other drivers, not me.” With raised eyebrows, she sips from her travel mug, totally judging me. “Fine. I’m one of them.”
“I know you’re excited to move my stuff into storage today, but we’re not in a hurry, Rad.”
“Sarcasm noted, and traffic sucks,” I complain, rolling my palms on the steering wheel. “Is everyone in this city heading to Brooklyn for the weekend?”
“You insisted on driving when we could have taken the subway.”
I throw a look her way. “Yeah. No. Not my idea of a good time.”
“There’s a great farmers' market on Saturday mornings. Maybe people are in a hurry to get their fresh veggies.”
“Like rhubarb.” Hitting another red light, I look her way.
In the quiet, I take the time to digest the underlying current running between us. This feels natural, almost to the point of normal, which is a quick turnabout to how we used to be in each other’s company. I glance over at her, liking the way she looks in my car and enjoying having her in my life. “You’re right.”
“About the pies?”
I chuckle. “About racing to Brooklyn. It’s not so bad driving a little slower.”
Poking me in the arm, she says, “And the company’s good.”
I angle my head toward her, leaning a little closer. “And the company is definitely good.”
When we arrive at Tealey’s apartment, Jackson and Cade are loading the futon into the back of the truck. I park in a delivery zone. Tealey and I get out and walk closer.
“Nice of you to join us,” Cade says, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Tealey starts. “Rad insisted on driving.”
“He never was one for the subway,” Jackson adds, stepping onto the metal ramp and walking backward into the truck.
Apparently, I need to add my two cents into this conversation. “Why take the subway when I can have the love of my life drive me?”
“You let Tealey drive?” My jaw hangs open. Wow. I fire Cade a look of warning to tread lightly. I didn’t expect to be put in the hot seat by my best friend.
“No, I drove—”
“Good morning.” Cammie breaks the ice that had frozen me to the spot. My gaze darts to Tealey, who appears genuinely interested in my answer, then to Jackson, who’s chuckling. Cammie asks, “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I reply curtly, stalking toward the truck to kick Cade’s ass.
She claps her hands twice. “Then let’s get it done, team. We have lots to do. Hop to it. Cade, I need you upstairs after you load the futon.” Turning to Tealey, she adds, “I have a few questions about the boxes in the corner by the bed.”
