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She looks up, and I might be mistaken, but seeing a gleam in her eye, I’m wondering if she already knows. “You’ve got something black on your shirt. Looks like grease.” She carries on, oblivious to how she has my entire being responding to her touch. Holding her hand up in front of her face, she analyzes her fingers before turning them toward me. “Yeah, definitely grease.”
The connection felt when she ran her nails across my palm to take the key amplifies under the pressure of her touch today. We don’t usually touch, but I’m wishing we did because every time we do, I feel it throughout my entire body. “Grease?” I ask.
She pokes the two spots again. “Don’t worry. I might be able to bleach it.”
Cammie calls her back to the entrance of the building, and she goes running. As much as I like having her hands on me, the view when she walks away is so damn good.
I catch Mr. Meisler watching me, and he waves me over. “Hey, how’re you doing, kid?” he asks when I approach. He sips his coffee, eyeing me.
“Pretty good, sir. Yourself?”
“Not too bad.”
With a cigarette tucked between his two fingers, he points at the truck. “I saw what was happening, and it seemed you were blowing it.”
Glancing at the truck, I turn back, confused. “Blowing what?”
“Your chance with Tealey. She had her hands all over you, and you stood there like a doofus.”
I shake my head, chuckling under my breath. “No, you’ve read the scene all wrong.”
“Have I?” He takes a drag, then shakes his head as well. “I don’t think so. What I saw with my own two eyes was a young woman looking for a reason to give you attention. And you blew it.”
Tealey and Cammie walk to the truck, deep in conversation with their arms full of coat hangers. Tealey stops. “Hi, Mr. Meisler.”
“How’re ya doin’, sweetheart?”
“Great.” She walks out of earshot.
He says, “You get one shot, two if you’re lucky. She got rid of the jerk. Step up to the plate and take a swing.”
I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this, but I cross my arms, feeling smug, and play along. “I’ll hit a homer.”
“And be her hometown hero. I’m telling you that little lady is giving you the same look Mrs. Meisler gave me when she was still Miss Garcia. I, as the kids say, put a ring on it. Forty-one years later, we’re retiring to Jersey,” he says as though he’s won the lottery.
I look over my shoulder, and Tealey’s tee lifts, exposing her waist and the top of her workout pants. I indulge, appreciating the way the fabric hugs her body.
It’s been a few months since I’ve been with anyone. Schedule conflicts and late nights are putting a strain on my dating life. Damn, she’s sexy. If I keep staring, I’ll need another cold shower.
Am I developing feelings or just staying the course with an attraction?
Fuck these mixed-up emotions.
Tealey’s hot. Simple as fucking that. It’s out there. Now I can deal with it and move on. Feelings are complicated, but I can control attraction. I’ve seen the destruction of too many relationships that should have never started in the first place to fall into that trap. Hell, I make my living off it.
All I have to do is remind myself not to pursue Tealey Bell.
Easy.
Or is it?
Seeing all the boxes loaded and her apartment snug in the back of the rental truck, it dawns on me. Tealey and I are more than just an attraction. I’ve had my feelings packed up like her apartment for so long that I denied owning them.
But now I realize these emotions won’t stay boxed for long. Not when the mere sight of her has me running to catch up. “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She smiles and then rests her head on my shoulder. When I step up to the plate and wrap my arm around her waist to hold her closer, I know I’m screwed.
18
Tealey
If buying homewares with Rad is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
Leaning against the counter, I set my biscotti next to a whole slew of items the saleslady appears to have talked Rad into buying. The moment we walked into the store for me to check out their selection of mugs, she smelled a sucker.
Riffling through the items, I hold up a garlic press, and ask, “Do you need another one of these?”
He comes around a display table with a blue oven mitt on his hand and a matching apron hanging around his neck. “I already own one?”
“Yes.” I move it to the side. “In the drawer behind the lemon squeezer.”
“I have a lemon squeezer?”
Since he doesn’t even know he has one, maybe he’ll let me take it with me when I move. That is, if the realtor ever calls me back.
