Page 110 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

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?”

---