Page 55 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“Nothing,” I snap.

“Yet you’re defensive about it.” Jackson pats my shoulder when he passes in front of me. “That’s called being grumpy. Come on, grumps. There’s not much to move. I want to get it done in time to watch the game this afternoon.”

We get to work, which gets me off the hook from more awkward, ill-timed conversations and happily distracts me from overthinking it.

After a few trips up and down the stairs, I wipe the beading sweat from my forehead when I walk into the studio apartment again. Cammie instructs me to carry the nightstand. When I pick it up, Tealey is entering the room. She wipes her own brow, then busies herself with a bag.

The piece of furniture is heavier than it looks. Are the drawers lined with stone? When I reach the second floor, my grip slips on one side, so I set the nightstand down to rearrange. I wrestle with it again until I get a hold of it and start forward, my view blocked while going down the stairs. “Am I the love of your life, Rad?”

“Shit.” My grip slips, and the nightstand tilts forward. I grapple to hold it, but the drawer shoots like a rocket, crashing to the floor, and the contents fly everywhere.

Tealey gasps and drops to her knees, scrambling to grab stuff before I have time to set the nightstand down. When I do, I say, “I’m sorry. You startled me.” And then drop to my knees to help.

“Don’t look, Rad.” Her voice pitches as she shoves whatever is buzzing behind her back. “Or listen. Close your ears!” she commands.

“I can help.”

“No!” she shouts, panic filling her features, her hands shielding very little from what I can see on the floor. “Look away. Please.”

I turn my back to her, but not before I catch sight of little foil wrappers.Lots of them.Buttons are clicked, the buzzing stops, and the sound of crinkling is heard as she gathers the packets that scrape against the floor.

Although I have no right to have any say in her life, I didn’t need the in-my-face reminder of her . . .I clear my throat. . . activities with other men. Sure, she had . . .hasevery right to a sexual social life, but I prefer to block out that aspect and never think of her with another man again. “Don’t worry?—”

“Worried? Try mortified.”

Though I probably shouldn’t disobey her request, I do. Reaching down, I start picking up the packets that skid next to me, giving her credit where it’s due to help temper her reddening cheeks. “You’re being responsible.” Tossing the packets in the drawer, I add, “And taking care of yourself.”

The humor’s lost on her, judging by how red her face is and her scowl. “We will never speak of this.”

“It’s perfectly fine.”

A hand is clamped over my mouth. “Never, Rad!”

“Got it,” I mumble from behind her fingers.

When she lowers her hand, I hear a heavy swallow before she sets her eyes on me again. “I was kidding with you when I asked if you loved me. I knew you were talking about your car.”

I hand her the last packet, which she takes while squeezing her eyes. “Ugh. I’m never going to live this down, am I?” She tosses it into the drawer and then gets up, shoving the drawer back into the nightstand.

As if I’ve said something, I’m shot another look. But then she softens, and a smile leads to laughter. “Just to clear up any assumptions you might be having, Cammie gave me a box of one hundred condoms as a gift a few years ago.”

Considering the number of condoms we just picked up, I can only assume she hasn’t used many. And I’m not upset. I grin. “They expire, you know?”

She sighs. “It was supposed to be a gag gift. That’s all. I actually forgot about them. I never use that drawer.” She pauses, panic striking her eyes. “Almost never.”

She clears her throat, flustered and searching for an out, but then lays into me again, “With all that I had going on at work, with the move, and searching for a new place, I forgot to clear out this drawer. Happy?”

“Um—” I’m not quite sure how to answer that. “I’m not sure my happi?—”

“I didn’t even think about it until I saw you carrying the nightstand.” Why is she so upset? She’s spinning over something she doesn’t even need to worry about.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Tealey.” I stand back up with the nightstand wrapped in my arms. “I’m going to take this to the truck.”

“Can we pretend this never happened?”

“Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Which secrets?” She smirks.

---