Page 65 of Holiday Love
He makes me so happy.
Teddy chuckles along with me, blushing in a way that’s impossibly adorable. He covers his eyes, sinks deeper into the pillow, and murmurs an embarrassed, “I’m like a thirteen-year-old. I can’t control myself around you.”
My chest puffs out with that. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this proud.
Turning an even deeper shade of red, he points to the bed like it’s a crime scene. “We need to clean this up before your parents see.”
“Don’t worry. The washer and dryer are down on this level. We can do it now.”
Teddy’s up and out of bed before I can fully process everything that just happened and when he won’t look at me, when he rushes into the bathroom without another word, I pretend it doesn’t matter. I lay on my back and watch the ceiling fan above me spin in a slow, lazy circle.
Just this once, I said. Now, I wonder who I was lying to? Him or me?
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Chapter twenty-seven
Teddy
We take turns in the bathroom, cleaning ourselves up and getting dressed, before working together to strip the bed. Without speaking, Helen tosses me a pillow and grabs her own. We pull off the pillowcases in unison, then tackle the sheets and comforter. If there were an Olympic category for synchronized sheet-changing, we’d take the gold.
I gather the linens into my arms, the pile stacked so high I can barely see over it, and follow her into the laundry room.
She rises on her toes, swaying as she searches through the cabinets above the washing machine. The motion pulls up her shirt, just enough to reveal a strip of bare skin, warm and smooth, and my fingers twitch with the urge to touch her there. To touch hereverywhere.
“Darn,” Helen says after a moment, still peering into the cabinet. “No detergent. My mom keeps extras upstairs.” She glances over her shoulder. “Hang tight, okay?”
I nod, still not looking her in the eye. I can’t believe we did that. Can’t believe she wanted to. I should’ve said no, but once I heard that pleading in her voice, how it dropped low and husky with desire, I was gone.
Making her feel good? That, at least, I know how to do.
Now that my mind is clearer, worry creeps in. This is last year all over again, but worse because now Ireallyknow her. I’ve watched her water her plants, murmuring to each one like it’s a dear friend. I’ve seen her tasseled bookmarks scattered across the couch, her ballet shoes waiting by the front door, her purple toothbrush beside the sink. I’ve memorized how she sounds when she laughs at something I said or reads medical articles out loud to herself without noticing.
She’s not just a memory anymore.
She’sHelen.
But I’ve read this story before. I know how it ends.
My stomach ties itself in knots as I sigh unhappily. My arms are getting tired, clutching this bundle of sweat-soaked, sex-scented linens. I nearly drop the whole thing when someone clears their throat with a loudahemdirectly behind me.
I whip around to find Helen’s dad standing there, in the doorway. He looks at me, then at the sheets I hold, his expression tightening.
“What’re you doing?”
“Wh-what?” I echo, panicking. My pulse thumps in my ears, so loud I can barely hear.
He takes a step into the room and repeats louder, like I’m deaf or maybe just dumb. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
I blink, pulse surging. “Oh. Uh…laundry?”
His eyebrows lift like he’s offended by my stupidity. “I can see that. I meantwhy?”
