Teddy rolled her shoulders, like she’d said enough. “She told me before the game that we were going to win.” A small smile pulled at her mouth. “Said she’d known it all week.”
“Natalie has always had this like sixth sense,” Micah explained. “I want her to be my nanny. She’s awesome.”
“And taken,” Teddy jumped in, smiling.
“She adores you, Ted. I don’t stand a chance.”
Teddy snorted. “That’s because she’s known me since I was four months old.”
Bobby leaned back in his chair. “She’s basically your mom.”
Teddy tipped her head, thinking about it. “She’d never call herself that,” she said, a shadow briefly passing over her face. “But she kept things running when my dad was gone.”
My tongue burned with questions, ones I knew I couldn’t ask right now, especially not when Teddy was letting me see beyond the barrier of captain, rugby player, badass female that she carried all the time. Right now, she was relaxed, chatting to friends, riding that post-win high.
It was strange to realize I could watch her now without needing to provoke her the way I used to. Whatever that old dynamic had been, it no longer fit. That version of us had run its course, and whatever was forming now carried a sense of possibility instead of friction.
The drinks and food arrived, the table filling up again as conversation resumed, the waitress setting the fries between Teddy and me.
She reached for one without comment.
I followed a second later.
Nothing was said, and somehow that felt right.
25
Teddy
“I might need to throw up,” I admitted to Micah as she lounged on my sofa, eating the protein bars I’d made earlier. Our favorite ones with chocolate almonds, too. I’m sure she smelled them being cooked, and that’s why she was here. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that my diary was mysteriously updated with a visit to the girls’ school and she gets notifications. Either way, she managed to get a delayed start this morning, and I’m suspicious.
She was acting like today was normal, when it definitely didn’t feel normal.
“Relax, you’ll do great.”
See? So chill. I wish I had an ounce of that right now. Instead, I was some kind of caffeinated gremlin who had been awake past midnight.
Micah kicked her feet up on my coffee table, crumbs scattering like she owned the place. That would usually bother me, the crumbs, but I had bigger things to worry about. Namely, Connor O’Riley. How we had spent years together in college withoutfeeling anything but hatred toward each other to now being… well, nothing, but also not nothing.
“You’ve captained a professional team in front of thousands of people,” she said around a mouthful. “You can survive a room full of teenage girls.”
“That’s different,” I muttered, pacing from the kitchen to the window and back again. “Teenage girls can smell weakness. And nerves. And lies. They’ll dismantle me in under three minutes.”
She snorted. “They’re rugby girls, Ted. They’re going to ask about tackles and training and whether Connor O’Riley actually smells that good.”
I stopped short. “He does not smell—”
Micah’s grin was instant and merciless. “Oh, he absolutely does.”
She was right, and I hated it. I hated that I had a very specific memory that reminded me of just how good he smelled and tasted and… I pressed my palms to my face and dragged them down slowly, grounding myself the way I did before a match. Breathed in through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“I don’t understand why I feel like this,” I nearly groaned, and as soon as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself and Micah.
“It’s because Connor makes you go all…” She paused, then waved her arms around like a crazy person, as though that explained my mental state around him. And weirdly, it did. “…like you’ve forgotten how to justbe. I saw it all at Frank’s the other night.”
“That is not reassuring.” I let my hands fall, exhaling hard. “I don’t like that he does that.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re very committed to being composed and competent at all times.”
