Head Over Feels

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.

“They’re great in pies,” she replies offhandedly, turning her gaze out the side window.

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?”