Head Over Feels

by Scott, S. L.

  “That’s disgusting,” Marlow says right before downing hers.

  Settling into the chairs, we sit around the fire, Rad plopping down next to me. The heat of the flames licks the air as we revel in tales of the past. Drinks are poured. And refilled. And topped off again. Laughs are shared and, in the case of Rad and me, too many glances and brushes of our hands when we reach to warm them by the fire are exchanged to be written off as accidental.

  Heat builds between us. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making me think he’s watching me with an intensity that’s usually reserved for work, or if it’s really happening.

  Before I can make sense of it, Cade picks up a squealing Cammie and heads for the water.

  Jackson pulls off his shirt and peers down at Marlow. “I’m going in. Wanna come?”

  “God no,” she replies, waving him away. “It’s freezing.”

  “Then why’d you wear your suit?”

  “Because I look damn good in it.”

  He laughs. “It will look better wet.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t, Jackson.” But she starts laughing, kicking up sand with her feet. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He shrugs.

  Pointing at his face, she says, “Like that.”

  “How about a five-second head start?”

  “What? No.” She glances at me. “Save me, Tealey.”

  “Don’t look at me. This is between the two of you.”

  She pleads, “Rad?”

  “Nope,” he says, hands in surrender. “But if I were you, I’d start running.”

  “Damn you, Jackson!” Pushing out of the chair, she takes a sharp right and laughs as she starts running down the beach.

  The night is quiet, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire and the laughter of our friends in the water. I tug my sweater around me and watch Rad pour another shot of bourbon. There’s something written in his features that I can’t quite name.

  Damn champagne.

  He sits back in his chair, sipping the amber liquid.

  “Are you having fun?” I ask him.

  “It’s only slightly disappointing.”

  “Why is that?”

  A slow, sinful smirk crosses his handsome face. “I was hoping to see you in that body floss.”

  I burst out laughing. “Yeah. Right.”

  “I was.”

  “You’re so flirty.” I laugh, but my cheeks heat anyway. “Must be the bourbon.”

  “Maybe it’s the company.” He nods toward the ocean. “We could freeze our asses off in the ocean.”

  The flames cast shadows over his face, making his jaw look more angled and his cheekbones higher. Even his lips look more kissable.

  “We could go freeze, or you could keep me warm,” I say before I realize that I’m even saying it.

  Wasting no time, he moves his chair even closer to mine, and his arm comes around me as if he’d been waiting for the invitation. “You’re flirting now. Must be the champagne.”

  “Probably.”

  We exchange a smile that simultaneously fills me with warmth and sends a shiver down my spine.

  Rad trails his fingertip along the back of my neck, dragging it slowly down my shoulder. He watches me with a satisfied smile on his face.

  “I really was hoping to see you in that swimsuit, Bells.”

  Emboldened by both the look in his eye and the alcohol, I smirk back at him. “And I was hoping to see you shirtless. Guess we both lose.”

  The fire crackles in front of us. It’s as if it spurs Rad to life, and he leans forward. My breath hitches in my throat.

  His lips part, but before he can say—or do—anything, Cammie runs from the water.

  “I need a hot shower.” She grabs a towel from a chair and keeps running to the house with Cade close behind her.

  “Night,” he says.

  I look at Rad again, the moment we had now lost.

  “I think I’ll head back, too,” I say, climbing to my feet and ignoring the way my stomach clenches. It demands a release to the tension we just built.

  If only . . .

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, giving him the best smile I can manage under the circumstances and turn toward the house.

  “Bells.”

  I pretend I don’t hear him and keep walking.

  I don’t know what just almost happened between us, but I’m sure it’s fueled by the alcohol.

  Just keep walking.

  I don’t want to embarrass myself and lose both a place to live and my best friend all in one night.

  20

  Tealey

  A gentle knock on the door has me sitting up in bed. “Yes?”

  “You still up?” Rad whispers from the other side of the door.

  Not sure what he’s doing here, I push off the bed and answer it, leaning my cheek against the painted wood. “Hi.”

  He smiles. “Hi. The day got away from me before I could talk to you.”

  “About anything specifically?” My stomach flutters with the butterflies I brought in from the beach.

  His gaze drops to our feet. Everything slows when his eyes meet mine again, and he says, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  I lick my lips and swallow as my spine straightens, not wanting to be slouching during such a confession. Gripping the door, I ask, “You have?”

  “I have, and I was thinking . . . wondering . . . Well, I haven’t exactly used words to show you what I’m thinking. And I want to change that. I’ve held back in fear of you saying no. But I’ve been thinking about us and the possibility of more. More of us.” He looks down briefly, and if I didn’t know Rad as well as I do, I’d think he was nervous. But then he looks back up with no hesitation. “I want to know if you’ve been thinking about me . . . about us . . . like that as well?”

  Do I confess my sin? Tell him how I’ve started to fantasize about him? What turns him on and hoping that damn towel would drop? And that with every touch, cuddle, and smile, I’ve felt more and more attracted to him?

  Or do I shut this conversation down and bury my feelings in the sand tomorrow when I go to the beach?

  His eyes search mine in earnest, so I say, “I . . .” I take a quick breath and exhale. “I have thought about you. A lot, in fact.” I didn’t know I could shock Rad, but I managed it.

  “Really?”

  I’ll blame the alcohol tonight for my slippery tongue and deal with the repercussions in the morning. “Terribly naughty thoughts.”

  “Even better.” He cups my face and kisses me.

  His lips against mine.

  Mine against his.

  Rad is kissing me. His mouth is embracing mine, and I’m wasting time thinking about the fact that he’s doing it instead of participating. Just when I lean in for more pressure, he pulls away too soon. “Did I screw up by telling you?”

  “You didn’t screw up.” I tug him inside the bedroom, and this time, I kiss him. I just do it, moving on instinct, following my heart . . . and my desire.

  21

  Rad

  For everything I’ve done right in the world, kissing Tealey Bell tops the list.

  Soft lips mold to mine.

  A hand that rubs gently over the roughness of my cheek.

  The way her body lifts on her toes, increasing the pressure and deepening the kiss, makes me think she was telling the truth when she said she’d had thoughts about me.

  She drops back down, our lips parting, and we look at each other. Neither of us rushes to apologize or call those kisses an accident. No. We both plead guilty to the offense of wanting it with each other.

  Her chest rises and falls as she looks at me to say something or make the next move. I tilt my head, resting my forehead against hers as our jagged breathing evens.

  Closing her eyes, she whispers, “No take backs.”

  I chuckle between us, angling back far enough to take her in. When her eyes open
, I reply, “Never.”

  Her gaze shifts away, and I hate that anything but a smile resides on her face.

  Don’t read too much into it, Wellington. Keep perspective. It may not have been more than a kiss to her.

  I cup her cheek and run my thumb over her soft skin. “What are you thinking?”

  Her body language reveals her walls are down, a comfort even now that we’ve strayed outside the lines of our friendship. Taking my hand and holding it between hers, she keeps her eyes trained on the bond between us. “Have you thought about kissing me before, or is this the bourbon talking?” Glancing up briefly, she adds, “I’ve had a lot of wine, and I’m not sure how much you’ve drunk.”

  I weigh my options, knowing so much depends on how I answer. I could hide behind the alcohol, but I don’t want to. Tilting her chin until I can see the blues of her pretty eyes again, I go with the truth. “I think about you all the time, Tealey.”

  “Why haven’t you been on any dates lately?” she asks, gripping the front of my shirt.

  “Lately?” I scratch the back of my neck. “Hm.” Why haven’t I? I could list so many things, like how she talks with her hands when she’s excited to how I work through lunch so I can rush home to be with her before the golden hour disappears. That she uses my lemon squeezer and then asks me to use my strength to get the last drop from the fruit squeezed into her water. How she touched me after the move, and I can still feel the ghost of her fingers grazing across my skin. But what made me forget about being with anyone else was when I realized that Mr. Meisler was right.

  Sometimes, I catch Tealey looking at me like I’m that sugar cookie she stole earlier, and she just wants to take a bite. So fucking hot.

  Not to mention when the light hits her eyes and—call me a narcissist, but I like to think they sparkle just for me. And those lips, fuck, I’ve dreamed about kissing those pink lips. As a matter of fact, I want to kiss them again.

  I shift again, hoping she can’t see or feel what she does to me. Or maybe she needs to so she understands exactly why I’m not returning any of the texts or calls I’m receiving from other women.

  Nothing like going with the truth . . . “You want to know why I haven’t been on any dates lately?” She nods, her body still as I rest my hand over her heart. It’s fast and steady, matching mine. “Because in so many ways, I’m already dating you. We’ve been pretending we’re not, but I think you feel this connection as much as I do.”

  “Friends can spend time together and not be dating.”

  “That’s not the case when it comes to you and me. Not anymore.” Fuck. What the hell am I doing? Running my hand through my hair, the thought of ruining everything we’ve become has me on edge. “I didn’t come to the Hamptons thinking this would happen or that I’d be telling you any of this.”

  She says, “But we’re here and . . .” Reaching for my hand, she holds it between both of hers. “I’ve been happier spending time with you than I have been in years. I thought I was wrong for feeling this way, to think about kissing you and the possibility of what could happen after that, like I shouldn’t be enjoying our time together so much. I already told myself I can blame the wine tomorrow. Tonight, though, I’m glad I can finally tell you how I’m feeling inside.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I feel if we kiss again, we might not be able to be just friends.”

  I look at her. Really look at this beautiful woman. Her hair lies in thin cables of soft waves against her small shoulders. Her lips are plush like the softest cotton and have a slight swell since they left mine. Even the thin sweater she’s wearing can’t hide the gentle slope of her breasts. But it’s the way she looks at me, seeing me as the man I want to be, the one who could deserve someone like her, that gives me the most hope. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends since the day we met, Tealey.”

  The revelation shimmers in her eyes as she pieces my confession together. “You haven’t been dating because of me?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, keeping my voice low but my honesty loud and clear. “That was for me.”

  She reaches up, sliding her hands into my hair, and pulls me closer. “Kiss me again, Rad.”

  Our eyes close, and our lips come together. My worries are lost as our lips meet like this was their destiny. Maybe it’s because this feels too good to be bad, but I deepen the kiss, and our tongues embrace.

  My body feels like a live wire, every part of me alive and reactive. The tiniest moan escapes her, and I swallow the sound as her arms tighten around my neck, holding me even closer.

  But we need to breathe, so our lips slowly part and our eyes open. I keep my forehead against hers and then whisper, “Wow,” feeling every part of the word and left speechless to form sentences.

  “Wow,” she says with a sweet giggle as she pulls back enough to see my eyes. “What do you think?”

  I can’t play it cool. I grin like a kid locked in a candy shop. Unsupervised. Her nails scrape lightly along my scalp, and a smile slowly spreads across her mouth. “I think I’m going to need more.”

  “Kissing?”

  “All of you.” We fall back together on the bed and kiss until we’re breathless again. We kiss until the innocence of mewls becomes moans of pleasure, and our bodies tangle together. We kiss because I never want to stop kissing this amazing woman.

  I’m not sure of the time or how long we’ve locked lips, but she falls to the side of me, lying in the spray light from the lamp we never bothered to turn off.

  I revel in this juxtaposition of the situation—the rush to do everything with her, to her, and the contentment of kissing her all night long. Emotions. Feelings. I admit to having them all, especially the hot and heavy ones I’m having right now.

  I’ve let the cat out of the bag, and there’s no turning back now.

  I’m not just sexually turned on, but it’s as if she’s flipped a switch inside me. I’m seeing her in a whole new way, yet the same woman I’ve always known is right here next to me, looking at me like she sees me the same way.

  Rolling closer, I kiss her head, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment, of her, of the way her lips take possession of mine and claim me as much as I want to claim hers.

  So delectably enticing, I don’t want this night to end. I press my hand to her cheek and run my thumb over her bottom lip. She looks wanton and wild, so incredibly sexy. Is this really happening?

  But I catch a glimpse of my watch and know time is our enemy. “It’s almost midnight . . .” I don’t want to go, but I need her to want me to stay.

  I slide my hand to the curve of her neck, feeling her racing pulse. She runs her fingers into my hair, and whispers, “Stay.”

  “We might get caught.” Why do I always have to be so fucking rational?

  “We can lock the door.”

  Works for me. I bounce out of bed, not needing to be told twice. Just as I touch the doorknob, it spins and opens. Sucking in a breath, I hold it, securing myself to the wall with my palms glued to the sheetrock and heels pressed to the baseboard. The door stops just before reaching the tips of my shoes.

  Tealey flies up onto her knees. “Marlow? What are you doing here?”

  “Saw your light still on and wanted to talk.” She starts closing the door. “Is that okay?”

  “Leave it open!” Tealey blurts and then cringes. “Sorry,” she whispers, “but we can leave it open unless you think it would be better closed.” She winces again, her gaze avoiding mine. Probably because she knows I’m silently shouting “what the fuck” in my head.

  “Sure.” Tealey gets off the bed and grabs Marlow’s hand. “Let’s look at my view first.” She drags her to the window and opens the blinds.

  Marlow says, “There’s nothing to see but the driveway and cars.”

  I rush into the bathroom, leaving the door open just enough to have a crack to spy on them through. I should have escaped, but I’m not ready for my night with Tealey to end, so I’m willing to
wait Marlow out.

  “I know. That’s my point,” Tealey replies enthusiastically. “There are no trash bags piled at the curb or broken bottles smashed in the street. Look, there’s no twenty-four-hour laundromat sign shining into my room or people lined up down the street to get into the after-hours club. There are only two cars and a front lawn.”

  Marlow turns to her. “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

  “Not much.”

  Sitting on the bed, Marlow says, “My dad is getting a divorce. Again.”

  I’m surprised she hasn’t told Tealey. And maybe I should feel bad for eavesdropping, but I’m stuck regardless.

  Tealey says, “I’m sorry. I know you’ve struggled with his patterns for a long time.”

  “My whole life.” She pulls a pillow to her chest, and I’ve never seen Marlow look more vulnerable than she is now. “I think he’s the reason I have no desire to settle down. What’s the point if we’re just being set up for a messy divorce?”

  “Not all marriages end in divorce, Marlow.”

  Yeah. That’s my girl. Keeping the faith.

  Wait a second. I stop myself from banging my head against the door. Barely. How can I support that side of the defense when my whole career is built on the opposite argument? More importantly, when did I become an optimist? All the kissing we did must have shorted my oxygen supply.

  Tealey says, “My parents have been married for almost thirty years.”

  “They’re the exception.” Marlow sighs, lying down. “But I have a feeling that I’m going to follow in my parents’ footsteps. “One day, my looks might fade, and then my husband will be looking for my replacement. I’m going to be old and alone—”

  “When you love someone, you see their beauty is deeper than the surface. My mom always told me it’s a blessing to age.”

  “Why?”

  I lean back against the shower, listening. Tealey pauses, and then says, “Because then you have lived a long life and can appreciate the beauty of your journey.” The silence stretches between them, and then Tealey sighs thoughtfully. When I peek out, she’s lying next to Marlow, and they’re both staring at the ceiling. “If someone falls in love with your soul, the outside doesn’t matter so much, does it?”