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.