Head Over Feels

by Scott, S. L.

  We’re supposed to be two friends saying a simple goodbye, but like him, I feel the weight of what we really are. Hiding it means that I don’t get to hug him or touch his chest when we’re talking. It means no kissing, and all that adds up to is missing him before I’ve even left.

  Marlow rolls down her window and pokes her head out. “Kiss goodbye already, and let’s get on the road.” Her laughter trails across the sidewalk.

  I roll my eyes at her teasing, and sigh. “They’re quite the pair.”

  Finally, Rad smiles. I’m glad to see his bad mood lifting. “They don’t know how spot-on they are when it comes to us. That’s what makes it funny.” Running his hands through his hair, he says, “I can’t wait for this to be over, though, so we can just be ourselves.”

  “Me too.” I force my feet to take a step back because it’s so hard to leave him. If I don’t start now, I’ll never leave.

  I reach my hand out once more, knowing full well that it will touch the air. But I’ll take that air if it touched him.

  Rad glances at the SUV, and then his hand reaches for me, our fingertips catching just before I turn and walk away. I climb into the back seat and shut the door before we say something we can’t take back—like three-word phrases—or reveal more to the others than we can share.

  Just as the vehicle pulls away from the curb, I take one last look because I won’t get to see him again until the wedding, and I want to memorize everything about him. Rolling down my window, I sit forward and shove my arm out to wave. “See you at the altar.”

  34

  Rad

  See you at the altar . . .

  I scoff. Tealey didn’t mean it literally . . . or did she?

  Focus, Wellington. Get your work done so you can go to the Hamptons and see your girl.

  I’m not sure where the past two weeks went, but time is flying when I need it to stand still until I’m caught up.

  My phone vibrates across my desk. Mia: Landing in three hours. Meet at Lobby Bar at The Bowery Hotel. Drinks and my room upstairs. Would love to catch up with you. Up for it?

  Guilt gnaws at my stomach. I didn’t even send the text, and I feel I owe Tealey an apology.

  There have been a handful of messages from women I’ve spent time with, wondering if I was free, could meet for a drink, or skip the foreplay and fuck. It’s not something I thought needed to be discussed in detail with Tealey because I didn’t reciprocate the attention or even bother to respond. I haven’t had that desire.

  Why would I? I don’t need anyone else because I have Tealey.

  The guys can pontificate about my sex life, exaggerate the hookups I used to have, and live vicariously all they want, but that’s in the past. My future has me dashing up the stairs by two to get home every night even faster.

  Except tonight. I’m working late and hoping to cut out after court tomorrow. If I could just focus on the task at hand instead of getting caught up in the last words she said to me. See you at the altar . . .

  ~ Late Friday Night ~

  My tires crunch against the gravel driveway as I pull up to my mom’s house and park to the side, narrowly avoiding a black party event van parked where the lights don’t shine.

  My body aches after being stuck in five hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic. The summer season is here.

  I was too distracted by my hearing this afternoon to remember to plan accordingly.

  But I’m here now, so that’s what matters.

  At just half past eleven, it’s not so late that everyone will be in bed. They could be out by the firepit or having fun down by the beach, but I’m not interested in any of that. My goals are to say hello to my mom and then find Tealey, hoping to disappear with her for the rest of the night.

  I carry my bag toward the house and go inside. I’m surprised to find the lights lowered and the great room empty. No stragglers snacking in the kitchen or partiers pouring another drink. The deck looks to be clear of people like everywhere else.

  Good. I’m on a mission tonight. Maybe it’ll be easier to achieve than expected.

  I stand there, now unsure what to do. I set my bag down and cross the great room to see if my mom is awake. No light is shed from under the door, so I take my bag and head upstairs.

  Passing the room where Tealey usually sleeps, I’m tempted to knock. I don’t, not quite yet. I need to clean up after the long day, probably even take a shower. I enter my room, flip on the light switch, and shut the door.

  I leave my bag on the bed and start digging through it.

  “I thought you . . .” Tealey’s voice causes me to look up. “Could show me your movie collection.” There she is, standing in the doorway to my secret media room, dressed in nothing but a smile.

  “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” I start walking as if my feet have a mind of their own.

  Primping her hair playfully, she wiggles her hips. “A girl can dream.”

  Less than two months ago, she confessed the pain of dealing with insecurities caused by other men. Tonight, I reap the benefits for caring for her heart and watering the seeds of her beauty. I can’t take all the credit. I’ve watched her bloom on her own for years. But the woman before me tonight has me grateful that I was given the chance.

  What she doesn’t realize is she’s done the same for me—watering me with what I needed before I even realized I was in the middle of a drought.

  Suddenly, I’m hopeful that my breath isn’t bad because I take hold of her, walking her backward into the privacy of the room until the back of her knees hit the arm of the couch. “How long have you been waiting for me?

  “Everyone was exhausted after the rehearsal dinner, so we called it an early night. I was reading in the window seat of my room and had only got a chapter in when I saw your car.”

  “Same rock star hero? What was his name?”

  “Johnny Outlaw. And no, though I do love him and will reread again next year. It’s sort of a tradition, like Christmas for me to reread my favorite books. Currently though, I’m reading the first book in The Crow Brothers’ series, Jet Crow’s book. It’s called Spark.” I only hope I can put that same spark in her eyes that these rock stars do.

  I kiss her because I missed her so fucking much—her rambling about books and life, this body, and her smile, the smile that knocks me on my ass every time she beams it my way.

  I may have had a small, aka HUGE, crush on Tealey Bell, but now I realize that so much of it was superficial. It was about her beauty and how, out of all the students, we ran into each other that day. Never in a million years did I think I’d get to be the guy on the receiving end of hearing about her daily life, and it’s better than I could have ever imagined. Everything is better with her in my life.

  She’s still talking, not realizing the moment I was having. I see sharing a future with someone for the first time. She continues, “You might enjoy this one. He’s a lot like you. He’s charming and brooding—”

  “Brooding?” I’m not sure if I should be offended. “Charming, sure. But you think I’m brooding?”

  Caressing my cheek, she leans closer as a shiver runs through her. “I think you’re incredibly sexy when you get that intense look in your eyes, the one that tells me I better brace myself without you having to say a word.” She massages my shoulders, and I lean into her touch. “Oh, by the way, I volunteered to fill you in on how to walk down the aisle.”

  “One step at a time until I reach the front?” I deadpan.

  “You got it. I can check that off my list.”

  “Speaking of lists and checking things off, you do realize you’re still naked in front of me, right?”

  “I do,” she says and then bursts out laughing. “See? I’m in the theme of the weekend.”

  “You’re delirious is what you are.”

  She shrugs. “It’s been a long day. Que será.” Running a finger down my chest, she says, “But since I am naked, maybe you’d like to get naked with me.”

  “And the
n we could check out my movie collection?”

  “I think the kids call it streaming these days.” When her hand dips to my dick, it’s already ready for her and standing at attention. She rubs twice before taking hold of me. “I bet you know a thing or two about streaming, Counselor.”

  “I sure do.”

  As if she had to say anything more, I kiss her, and we “watch movies” for the next few hours . . .

  ~ The Wedding Day ~

  It’s a happy occasion, or it’s supposed to be.

  Not seeing Tealey since she snuck out of my room around five o’clock is getting to me. One of the best nights of my life should allow for the best morning to follow. I don’t get that, though, because we’re still a secret. The only comfort I found in that empty spot next to me was the fact that we’re going public at the reception. And then she’s mine all the time to do as I please.

  If I want to kiss her? I can.

  Holding her in my arms for no reason? Yep, I can do it.

  Tell her I love her? The floor is mine.

  Wait . . . Do I want to tell her I love her tonight?

  That might be taking it too far, even if I do feel that way about her. Baby steps, Wellington. Not everything has to be revealed at the same time. I think big gestures can wait until we’re back home in New York, and it’s just the two of us.

  It’s Cammie and Cade’s special day, after all. Their happiness is what matters. Not mine . . .

  Lorie Marché touches my arm, whispering close to my ear. “Emerald cut. Four carats minimum. Marlow’s dream is five, though. Platinum band with something special the two of you share engraved on the inside.” She thinks she’s being sneaky, gathering this information and sharing these little nuggets with me throughout the morning. I’m just glad I had an excuse to miss the rehearsal dinner.

  “Like a prison tattoo,” I say, unable to stop myself. “Something to mark us, like noting how we’re being sentenced to life with the I dos?” She blinks rapidly.

  Opening her mouth like a fish out of water, she holds her finger up and then lowers it again. Her eyes shift to Bob, and then she says, “More along the lines of a phrase you say to her regularly—”

  “Stop barging in?”

  She tightens her lips and then pops them. “A simple I love you should do the trick.”

  “Got it,” I reply.

  Unfortunately, Lorie is still clinging to my arm like we’re old friends, or lovers by how close she is to my ear. She has no boundaries, something I assume is a luxury you acquire when you hold power in Hollywood. They never hear no.

  Bob and Marlow are already at the edge of the lawn where the grass meets the sand when we catch up to them. Standing in a row, we stare ahead at the vast ocean.

  Marlow reaches for my hand, and though I like to fuck with her by shifting, I finally succumb to the inevitable. Our connection elicits the faintest gag sound, causing me to look at Marlow. Leaning over, she says, “It’s like holding hands with my brother.”

  “You don’t have a brother.”

  She shakes her head. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” I reply, looking down at our joined hands. “Exactly what you mean.”

  Lorie steps onto the sand like it’s her stage. “Although you don’t have the ring yet, you could still propose to our sweet Marlow.”

  Taken aback, I stare at Lorie with a different intensity than Tealey was talking about last night. Did she just tell me to propose because she wants me to?

  Coming closer again, and with her hands clasped together, her ten-carat diamond sparkles in the sunshine. She adds, “Just a bauble—”

  This needs to stop. It’s gone on too long. “I’ve got it under control, Lorie. You don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

  Bob pulls a set of keys from his pocket and dangles them in front of me, like that damn partnership carrot. “We thought keys to the apartment would be the best way to celebrate the engagement.” That’s all Marlow wanted, and it’s being offered on a silver platter. We did it. I glance at Marlow, who’s already looking at me.

  I’ve heard that you should never meet your idols. It’s always a disappointment. Same feeling.

  Marlow squeals in delight and takes the keys. Guess that phrase only applies to me.

  “Do they come with a deed?” Marlow asks, unashamed to dive right in and humor them in the name of owning a piece of Manhattan real estate. Maybe I should be more understanding. I own my building, so I can’t judge her for wanting her slice of the pie.

  We played by the rules set forth by her father, which is to win at all costs. So why does this victory feel like a dirty win? Like we didn’t play fair?

  He nods with a jolly grin. “They do indeed.”

  All eyes are aimed at me, but it’s Bob who comes to stand face-to-face. Keeping his voice lowered, he asks, “Would it be so bad to get engaged today, Rad? To make my girl happy?” He holds out his hand. “You’ve always been the most suitable for my Marlow. Let’s make it official so we can be here to celebrate the happy occasion.”

  Being forced to choose between my career and my personal life makes my blood boil. “Enough.”

  This has been taken too far.

  Holding hands for five minutes, playing a role on a conference call—that’s all different than what I’m now being expected to do. And there’s no mistaking that it’s expected, not being asked. The partnership is yours if you don’t fuck it up, rings in my ears as if Sable himself is right behind me.

  Don’t fuck it up.

  I got Bob’s business, even if he isn’t divorcing at this time.

  Don’t lose his business.

  If Marlow and I “get engaged,” how am I supposed to go public with Tealey?

  Don’t lose Tealey.

  We leave in the morning and return to our lives. The breakup with Marlow doesn’t even have to be a thing. It can be a call Marlow makes on her own at the end of next week.

  Marlow and I have more to gain than to lose with the odds stacked in our corner. Tealey will understand. Making partner means more income and Tealey being able to pursue her own dreams, as well as me setting us up to start our lives together, the real ones, not this pretense bullshit.

  Stepping into the sand in front of Marlow, I’m one step closer to making my dreams come true.

  35

  Rad

  After being dragged all over the property by Marlow and the Marchés, I’m happy to be locked away in a room with the boys before the wedding begins.

  I only caught a glimpse of Tealey from across the lawn this morning when she was helping my mom with the flower arrangements. Not enough to satisfy the craving twisting my gut. But she was stunning even with her hair in rollers and dressed in a robe over workout pants, maybe more so because of how naturally beautiful she is.

  A rap on the door sends Jackson to answer it. My mom pokes her head in. “Does anybody need anything?”

  Cade and Jackson are good, so she asks me, “Can you spare a minute?”

  Already dressed, I join her in the hallway outside my bedroom, which has been deemed the “groom’s room.” Her smile is genuine with a glassiness to her eyes. “You always look so handsome in a tuxedo.”

  Hugging her, I say, “You look beautiful, Mom.” She does. I’m not sure why she doesn’t date. She looks younger than her years, but she’s not old enough to be sitting on the sidelines for the rest of her life. She also doesn’t want to hear a lecture from me, so I let it go for today.

  “Thank you.” Hooking her arm with mine, she says, “Let’s take a quick walk.”

  I’m not sure what this is about, but something’s on her mind. Better to get it off now than let it fester.

  We move apart on the deck. I lean on the railing while she stands on the steps, keeping her eyes on the crew as they rush around with the finishing touches. She says, “It really turned out beautiful.”

  “It did. You and Cammie did an incredible job pulling this off so quickly.”

 
“It was my pleasure.” Turning toward me, she says, “Clear something up for me.”

  “All right.” Judging by how her expression contorts, I don’t know where this is going. It could be a financial question, a legal dispute, or she might want to talk about my future. I literally have no idea. My mom isn’t usually subtle.

  “What’s going on, Radcliffe?” she starts but then stops when two people carrying more chairs pass between us. As soon as they’re out of earshot, she continues, “I could have sworn you were showing interest in Tealey when you were last here, but now you’re dating Marlow? And from what it looks like, you’re quite chummy with the Marchés.” That just about sums up the lies I’ve been living.

  “What do you mean showing interest in Tealey?”

  Lowering her chin, she gives me that look, the one that stops me from daring to go there. There, meaning playing dumb. It’s something she hates, but I’m not above it.

  “The flirting, the ‘trip’ into town. Frank, an old friend of mine who works part-time security at Rusco’s had lots to talk about. I got more than a lobster roll when I stopped by on Tuesday, let me tell you. I got an earful.” Shit. I keep my mouth shut. It’s best to let her finish than fill in the rest of the story.

  She joins me at the railing, keeping her eyes trained on the waves in the distance. “The description based on hair or eye color could have been either Marlow or Tealey. But when he mentioned the yellow dress . . .” Her gaze hits me, but there’s no judgment in her eyes or hurt in her tone when she asks, “I didn’t realize you were so close.” She holds my hand. “Tealey’s wonderful. Don’t get me wrong, son. Marlow is charming, and there’s a je ne sais quoi air about her, but I didn’t see her . . . and you . . .” My mom’s attention turns to the commotion near the quartet.

  She’s going to be disappointed in me, but I won’t lie to her. “Marlow is a good friend, but there’s nothing more between us.”

  The crinkles around her eyes deepen when she smiles. Resting her hands on the railing again, she says, “I thought as much, but then what’s going on?”