Page 13 of Holiday Love
“I forgot how funny you are,” he says, his fingers running over his cast in a back-and-forth motion.
I snort. “Literally no one has called me funny. Ever. I’m more awkward than funny.”
“Awkward funny. That’s exactly what I meant. It’s the most entertaining form of humor.” A sigh from him, like the walk to the car tired him out. Teddy slumps down until he’s practically laying down with his head braced against the side door of the car.
“What have you been up to since I last saw you?” I wince as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Why did I mention the last time I saw him? I’m trying not to bring it up.
Stunning. So gorgeous.
Teddy ignores the last part of my question. Much to my relief. “Nothing’s changed with me.” He grimaces at his words. “Bartending and going to classes at the community college. Although I took this semester off.” He glances down at his leg. “Not sure what I’m going to do now. Gwen had me file for short-term disability insurance since I can’t bartend like this.” His smile is gone like it never existed.
“What was your major again? Business?” I struggle to keep the conversation going.
“It was, but I changed it to communications semester before last.” His mouth turns down at the corners, and his gaze drifts out the window.
“Communications,” I chirp, trying to keep on being upbeat, which is hard given the depressed expression on his face. “What made you choose that major?”
“Honestly?” A half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know. My housemate liked it, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Which friend is that?”Gina?
“Anthony. He wants to go into broadcasting.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” I pause asking him questions to concentrate on the road. This section of the 405 has construction, and the traffic is heavy. By the time I merge with the lane next to me, I look back to see that Teddy has fallen asleep. His head lolls against the door handle, and one arm’s fallen off the edge of the seat to brush along the floor. I reach over and turn down the volume on the radio, then adjust the AC so it isn’t blowing directly at him. He doesn’t stir. I remind myself that he’sstill recovering from a major trauma. His body, and probably his mind, needs time to heal.
I spend the next thirty minutes in silence, navigating my way to his place. When I finally reach it, I double-check the address on my GPS. We’re in the heart of Venice Beach, an eclectic area just south of the wealthier and more pretentious Santa Monica where I live. Venice Beach is a mix of skater, hippie, and stoner culture. In front of his weathered blue house is the beach with a broad concrete walkway running along it. Street vendors sit there on faded blankets with handmade bead necklaces and woven baskets laid out before them. Women in long flowy skirts and gold hoop nose rings walk with long bearded men in tank tops, looking over the items. Even though the neighborhood looks shabby, this is still California oceanfront property so the one-story house with its sagging porch and towels drying over a chipped wooden railing probably is worth close to $4 million.
I pull into a narrow, cracked driveway behind four other cars. It’s so packed that my rear wheels stick out onto the sidewalk. The rest of the street is lined with cars on each side, ranging from rust-speckled Volkswagen vans to shiny BMWs.
“Hey, Teddy.” I turn to see he’s still asleep. “Teddy,” I repeat, leaning over my seatback. I reach out and can’t stop myself from smoothing away a lock of soft, slightly shaggy, brown hair that’s fallen in his eyes. I shake his shoulder.
He wakes with a start, flailing his arms. His eyes snap wide and panic-stricken. “Helen?”
“It’s all right,” I soothe, hoping to calm the wild look in his gaze. “We’re at your house.” I gesture out the window.
He follows the direction of my hand. “Oh. Okay.”
It takes both of us to pull him out of the car. Teddy leans against the passenger door as I fetch his crutches. He hops on one foot,positioning them under his arms. I sling his backpack over my shoulder. Together, we move toward his home.
We’re almost there when his right crutch hits a patch of loose sand and slides away, falling with a bang and a bounce on the sidewalk. Teddy lists to the side like theTitanicafter it hit the iceberg. I rush over to catch him, but he’s too heavy.
We fall down with a thump, the sand on the sidewalk scraping away a layer of skin on my elbow. Teddy’s landed on top of me, with his chest against mine, a certain…appendage…pressed between my legs. I’m on my back, braced on both elbows, the one side throbbing. Our faces are eye to eye. Our breath warms between us. If he wanted to, Teddy could kiss me without hardly moving. That’s how close we are. He doesn’t kiss me, of course. That would be crazy. Instead, he slithers away, down my body, but that only makes things worse because now his head is level with my crotch. He flops around, which only ends up with him touching me everywhere.
“Umm, I’m so sorry.” He turns his head sharply to the side, his cheeks red. “Did I hurt you?”
Internally panicking, I scramble backward, a reverse army crawl, until I’m out from beneath him. “Fine!” My voice is too high. “I’m fine.”
It takes some maneuvering, with me hauling on his right arm, to get him sitting on the ground with his broken leg stretched out before him. I hate to think of the sand that’s probably getting into his cast. That’s going to itch like hell later.
I stand above him and put my hands on my hips while he sits miserably on the ground. “I’m not sure how to stand you up. I might not be strong enough—” Voices float from the house, followed by raucous laughter.
“Perfect!” I smile, relieved to find a solution to our predicament. “Your roommates are home. I’ll go ask for help.”
I dash up the steep, rickety, wooden stairs, barely registering that Teddy’s calling out behind me. “Wait,” he says. “Don’t go in there.” But it’s too late. The front door stands wide open, and I’m already inside. I skid to a stop just past the threshold and take in the living room. It looks like a tornado hit. Couch cushions are on the floor. A table lamp, still turned on, is knocked over. Red solo cups litter every visible surface, most still filled with various liquids. Beer that’s gone flat and brightly colored cocktails. I can smell the vodka and tequila from where I stand. A large glass bong sits on an end table next to a red zippo lighter, which explains the lingering scent of weed that permeates the house.
My head snaps up when I hear the sound of laughter coming from farther inside. I move toward it, in a shocked daze. I went to a couple of frat parties when I was in college, but the wreckage I’m seeing here puts them to shame.
I don’t pay much attention to the trail of clothing that’s scattered on the floor like breadcrumbs, leading me deeper into the house. It’s not until I see the lacey black thong on the floor in front of a closed door that I freeze in place. The sounds of laughter and loud lovemaking come from the other side. Whoever is in there must be having a good time because a female voice is crying out, “Oh God. Oh God.OH GOD,” over and over, with the volume increasing each time.
