Head Over Feels

by Scott, S. L.

  I dare to look Tealey’s way again, unsure of what she thinks about Cade spouting shit into the universe like it’s a fact. But her gaze is now trained on the building, and she replies, “On my way.”

  They head to the apartment, and I detour to the truck to walk off my aggravation. “You’re an ass, Cade, you know that?”

  “It was a joke,” he replies, lifting one side of the futon. “She knows that. You know that. Hell, we all know that. No one thinks you and Tealey would ever hook up.” He laughs. “The odds of that are the same as you letting her drive your car.”

  “I …” Wait. What? They all know that Tealey and I would never hook up? Why would they think that? Why is it so outrageous to consider that she and I might be a match?

  Something about that rubs me the wrong way and adds to my irritation.

  “Guess I must be ignorant when it comes to my own fucking sex life,” I tell Cade.

  He quirks a brow. “I didn’t say shit about your sex life. I assume you have that handled.” He groans as he moves the end of the futon around to get a better grip. “I will say that after our little chat the other day and your admission about feelings . . .” He grins. “I’m wondering if you didn’t trip into love. The question is with who?”

  “Whom.”

  “Whatever,” he replies, setting the futon down.

  Jackson carries on by dragging the large piece of furniture to the back of the truck. I don’t think he’s heard a thing Cade and I were talking about, and I’d like to keep it that way. Lowering my voice, I give him my in-court glare, the one that levels my opponents into oblivion. It’s my legal superpower. “I’m not interested in revisiting the conversation from the other day.”

  Jackson comes toward me and jumps off the truck. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I snap.

  “Yet you’re defensive about it.” Jackson pats my shoulder when he passes in front of me. “That’s called being grumpy. Come on, grumps. There’s not much to move. I want to get it done in time to watch the game this afternoon.”

  We get to work, which gets me off the hook from more awkward, ill-timed conversations and happily distracts me from overthinking it.

  After a few trips up and down the stairs, I wipe the beading sweat from my forehead when I walk into the studio apartment again. Cammie instructs me to carry the nightstand. When I pick it up, Tealey is entering the room. She wipes her own brow, then busies herself with a bag.

  The piece of furniture is heavier than it looks. Are the drawers lined with stone? When I reach the second floor, my grip slips on one side, so I set the nightstand down to rearrange. I wrestle with it again until I get a hold of it and start forward, my view blocked while going down the stairs. “Am I the love of your life, Rad?”

  “Shit.” My grip slips, and the nightstand tilts forward. I grapple to hold it, but the drawer shoots like a rocket, crashing to the floor, and the contents fly everywhere.

  Tealey gasps and drops to her knees, scrambling to grab stuff before I have time to set the nightstand down. When I do, I say, “I’m sorry. You startled me.” And then drop to my knees to help.

  “Don’t look, Rad.” Her voice pitches as she shoves whatever is buzzing behind her back. “Or listen. Close your ears!” she commands.

  “I can help.”

  “No!” she shouts, panic filling her features, her hands shielding very little from what I can see on the floor. “Look away. Please.”

  I turn my back to her, but not before I catch sight of little foil wrappers. Lots of them. Buttons are clicked, the buzzing stops, and the sound of crinkling is heard as she gathers the packets that scrape against the floor.

  Although I have no right to have any say in her life, I didn’t need the in-my-face reminder of her . . . I clear my throat . . . activities with other men. Sure, she had . . . has every right to a sexual social life, but I prefer to block out that aspect and never think of her with another man again. “Don’t worry—”

  “Worried? Try mortified.”

  Though I probably shouldn’t disobey her request, I do. Reaching down, I start picking up the packets that skid next to me, giving her credit where it’s due to help temper her reddening cheeks. “You’re being responsible.” Tossing the packets in the drawer, I add, “And taking care of yourself.”

  The humor’s lost on her, judging by how red her face is and her scowl. “We will never speak of this.”

  “It’s perfectly fine.”

  A hand is clamped over my mouth. “Never, Rad!”

  “Got it,” I mumble from behind her fingers.

  When she lowers her hand, I hear a heavy swallow before she sets her eyes on me again. “I was kidding with you when I asked if you loved me. I knew you were talking about your car.”

  I hand her the last packet, which she takes while squeezing her eyes. “Ugh. I’m never going to live this down, am I?” She tosses it into the drawer and then gets up, shoving the drawer back into the nightstand.

  As if I’ve said something, I’m shot another look. But then she softens, and a smile leads to laughter. “Just to clear up any assumptions you might be having, Cammie gave me a box of one hundred condoms as a gift a few years ago.”

  Considering the number of condoms we just picked up, I can only assume she hasn’t used many. And I’m not upset. I grin. “They expire, you know?”

  She sighs. “It was supposed to be a gag gift. That’s all. I actually forgot about them. I never use that drawer.” She pauses, panic striking her eyes. “Almost never.”

  She clears her throat, flustered and searching for an out, but then lays into me again, “With all that I had going on at work, with the move, and searching for a new place, I forgot to clear out this drawer. Happy?”

  “Um—” I’m not quite sure how to answer that. “I’m not sure my happi—”

  “I didn’t even think about it until I saw you carrying the nightstand.” Why is she so upset? She’s spinning over something she doesn’t even need to worry about.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation, Tealey.” I stand back up with the nightstand wrapped in my arms. “I’m going to take this to the truck.”

  “Can we pretend this never happened?”

  “Your secrets are safe with me.”

  “Which secrets?” She smirks.

  “Right. That never happened.” She gives me a little wink. I’m a bit slow this morning, but I finally caught on. “Also, never look in my nightstand.” I give her a wink right back.

  “Ooh, do tell. What do you keep in your nightstand, Welly?”

  “Nothing that innocent eyes like yours should ever see.” I start down the stairs again, chuckling.

  “Gah, I’m so intrigued now. Why do you tease me so?” She trails me, giggling.

  “Because it’s fun.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I don’t have to turn back to know she rolled her eyes. And she won’t see the big grin I’m wearing the rest of the way down the staircase. I can’t even explain why I’m in such a good mood, other than she just makes me happy.

  When I hand the nightstand to Cade, who’s standing in the back of the truck, he says, “About time, man. At this rate, it’s going to take all morning.”

  “There’s not much left.” He turns to pack the nightstand against the mattress. I rest against the bumper, and ask, “Did you guys know she has a mug collection?”

  Jackson starts cackling. “Everyone knows that.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Cade hops down, tapping my forehead as he passes. “Because you haven’t been paying attention.”

  I swat him away. Although he might be right, I can’t give him the satisfaction. As a matter of fact, when I give it some thought, I know he’s right. When she’s in a relationship, my attraction to her is dead on arrival with nowhere to go. It was easier to keep a wall, even a poorly built one, between us than seeing her with another guy.

  Tealey Bell is off-limits because she has always been on my mind . . . not bec
ause she is. It’s been a good tool to protect my thoughts from straying her way, though one I’ve failed miserably at lately.

  All I can deduce is that is why my mind has been all over the place with her, why I suddenly feel the need to see her face, wonder what she’s wearing, and figure out why she has so many damn coffee cups.

  When she was dating someone else, it was easy to admire her but not pine when I’d see her at dinner with the group or joke across a table at brunch.

  Pine?

  No, that’s not what I do.

  I don’t pine.

  “. . . shirt.” I’m about to bat Cade away again but realize it’s Tealey tapping me on the shoulder. “Your shirt,” she says, rubbing my arm.

  I glance between my sleeve and her eyes that are fixed on my bicep. With her teeth tugging on her bottom lip, I lose my train of thought. “Huh?”

  She lowers her hand to my stomach. “And here. That’s two spots.” My body tenses under her touch, curious where she’s heading next.

  “Two spots?” I repeat like an idiot who’s being rubbed by a beautiful woman . . . oh, right. I take her hand, stopping her because we’re entering dangerous territory with my mind going dumb and my body reacting on its own.

  She looks up, and I might be mistaken, but seeing a gleam in her eye, I’m wondering if she already knows. “You’ve got something black on your shirt. Looks like grease.” She carries on, oblivious to how she has my entire being responding to her touch. Holding her hand up in front of her face, she analyzes her fingers before turning them toward me. “Yeah, definitely grease.”

  The connection felt when she ran her nails across my palm to take the key amplifies under the pressure of her touch today. We don’t usually touch, but I’m wishing we did because every time we do, I feel it throughout my entire body. “Grease?” I ask.

  She pokes the two spots again. “Don’t worry. I might be able to bleach it.”

  Cammie calls her back to the entrance of the building, and she goes running. As much as I like having her hands on me, the view when she walks away is so damn good.

  I catch Mr. Meisler watching me, and he waves me over. “Hey, how’re you doing, kid?” he asks when I approach. He sips his coffee, eyeing me.

  “Pretty good, sir. Yourself?”

  “Not too bad.”

  With a cigarette tucked between his two fingers, he points at the truck. “I saw what was happening, and it seemed you were blowing it.”

  Glancing at the truck, I turn back, confused. “Blowing what?”

  “Your chance with Tealey. She had her hands all over you, and you stood there like a doofus.”

  I shake my head, chuckling under my breath. “No, you’ve read the scene all wrong.”

  “Have I?” He takes a drag, then shakes his head as well. “I don’t think so. What I saw with my own two eyes was a young woman looking for a reason to give you attention. And you blew it.”

  Tealey and Cammie walk to the truck, deep in conversation with their arms full of coat hangers. Tealey stops. “Hi, Mr. Meisler.”

  “How’re ya doin’, sweetheart?”

  “Great.” She walks out of earshot.

  He says, “You get one shot, two if you’re lucky. She got rid of the jerk. Step up to the plate and take a swing.”

  I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this, but I cross my arms, feeling smug, and play along. “I’ll hit a homer.”

  “And be her hometown hero. I’m telling you that little lady is giving you the same look Mrs. Meisler gave me when she was still Miss Garcia. I, as the kids say, put a ring on it. Forty-one years later, we’re retiring to Jersey,” he says as though he’s won the lottery.

  I look over my shoulder, and Tealey’s tee lifts, exposing her waist and the top of her workout pants. I indulge, appreciating the way the fabric hugs her body.

  It’s been a few months since I’ve been with anyone. Schedule conflicts and late nights are putting a strain on my dating life. Damn, she’s sexy. If I keep staring, I’ll need another cold shower.

  Am I developing feelings or just staying the course with an attraction?

  Fuck these mixed-up emotions.

  Tealey’s hot. Simple as fucking that. It’s out there. Now I can deal with it and move on. Feelings are complicated, but I can control attraction. I’ve seen the destruction of too many relationships that should have never started in the first place to fall into that trap. Hell, I make my living off it.

  All I have to do is remind myself not to pursue Tealey Bell.

  Easy.

  Or is it?

  Seeing all the boxes loaded and her apartment snug in the back of the rental truck, it dawns on me. Tealey and I are more than just an attraction. I’ve had my feelings packed up like her apartment for so long that I denied owning them.

  But now I realize these emotions won’t stay boxed for long. Not when the mere sight of her has me running to catch up. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She smiles and then rests her head on my shoulder. When I step up to the plate and wrap my arm around her waist to hold her closer, I know I’m screwed.

  18

  Tealey

  If buying homewares with Rad is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

  Leaning against the counter, I set my biscotti next to a whole slew of items the saleslady appears to have talked Rad into buying. The moment we walked into the store for me to check out their selection of mugs, she smelled a sucker.

  Riffling through the items, I hold up a garlic press, and ask, “Do you need another one of these?”

  He comes around a display table with a blue oven mitt on his hand and a matching apron hanging around his neck. “I already own one?”

  “Yes.” I move it to the side. “In the drawer behind the lemon squeezer.”

  “I have a lemon squeezer?”

  Since he doesn’t even know he has one, maybe he’ll let me take it with me when I move. That is, if the realtor ever calls me back.

  The crinkle of his brow is so cute. “You do.” I’ve only lived with him a few weeks, but I’ve done a thorough investigation of his supplies and utensils.

  He slides the squeezer across the counter next to the garlic press. “Guess I don’t need two.” Picking up my tin, he asks, “Biscotti, that’s all?”

  “Your kitchen is stocked, and I don’t need to buy anything before I move.” Plucking the mitt off his hand, I then reach up. “Duck.” He dips his head, and I remove the apron. “You don’t need these. That’s just spending money to spend money.”

  “The marinara stained your shirt last week, so I was actually buying them for you.” My heart gets stuck in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I look down at the set, somehow managing to swallow the sweetness down, and ask, “For me?”

  Thumbing over his shoulder, he grins. “If you’d prefer another color . . .”

  “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” I hug them to my chest. “And you picked it, which makes it even better.”

  “The blue is pretty. It reminds me of your eyes.”

  “Miss?” Holding my tin, the saleslady smiles. “Sixteen dollars and twenty-seven cents.”

  But how am I supposed to function like Rad didn’t just drop that compliment on me like it’s nothing? To me, it’s everything.

  “Miss?” I look up when the older woman tugs my attention back to her again. “Would you like this gift wrapped?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I reply, taking a breath that feels needed at the moment and lift on my toes. I point at the bottom paper on the dowel. “Pink, please.”

  The more time Rad and I spend together, the more our comfort level grows. Less than a month ago, he felt like a stranger in many ways as he did a friend in others. Now, we’re shopping together like a married couple.

  Angling toward me, he leans against the counter. “Who are the biscotti for?”

  “Your mom. I don’t want to arrive empty-handed, and she loves coffee like I do. Voilà—biscot
ti.”

  “She’s looking forward to seeing you.” He turns to the saleslady, and says, “I’ll add it to my total.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Rad. She’s hosting all of us for the weekend. I can buy her a gift.”

  “It’s all good, Bell. No worries.”

  While he faces the counter, I lean against him, looking across a sea of pricey kitchen items. He pats my hip, and I pat his. Not only has our comfort level grown but also our friendship. I feel safe with Rad in unexpected ways, like now. We’re a team and in this together, whatever this is. It’s ours and ours alone.

  I sort of love that we’re living this secret life away from the others.

  When the items are wrapped and tucked in the bag, I peek around him and get a glimpse of the total before his black card is charged. My eyes practically bug out of my head. He’s spending hundreds on things he doesn’t even know if he needs.

  How can he spend all that money without so much as a second thought?

  Taking the bag by the handles, he lowers it to his side as we walk toward the door.

  Maybe it’s the way his hand just barely braces to my back when he opens the door with the other, or how he makes me feel special every time he looks at me. But then I ask, “Why did you buy all that stuff?” He grins sheepishly.

  “I’ve enjoyed cooking with you. Figured we could use a few more gadgets to play with.” I’m not sure I’m buying his response.

  I think he just likes spending time with me. As if Rad couldn’t get sweeter. . . he does.

  If I’m being honest, he’s dreamy, too.

  The street is in the shade of the building as we walk to the restaurant for our weekly meetup with the gang. Rad glances at me. I say, “Thank you for buying the biscotti.”

  “My pleasure.”

  After thinking about how good it’s been to build on our relationship, I didn’t think his pleasure was going to be what stuck with me, but now I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering how he likes to be pleased. And who’s pleasing him?

  Is he meeting someone during the day for a lunchtime rendezvous? Or sneaking out after I go to bed for a midnight quickie?