Chapter XXII
XXII
Marin
We’re splitting a cigarette in the cold, one pilfered from a local insurance agent who tossed us a matchbox printed with his face. “Perfect execution.” Teddy laughs, examining the man’s likeness on the cardboard and lighting the Camel dangling from my mouth, inches from his.
Our conversation went better than I expected, which is to say, we’re not screaming or crying in the blustery parking lot.
But instead of feeling the relief of a resolution, I’m somehow even more on edge.
Teddy’s perpetual kindness sets my head spinning, and I try not to let my hope spin out of control.
The mere promise of the situation warms my body, inching me closer to where he leans on the building’s facade.
“Sloane’s calling,” he says, motioning for me to lean in to answer.
The screen’s bright between us, his hand shielding it from the snow, our red noses almost touching.
Drunk and blissed out at the roaring success of the opera flash mob at the rehearsal dinner, she’s taking our absence in stride.
“Are you kidding? How could I be mad? It’s so filmic.
” I roll my eyes, smiling. “I’m just thrilled you two haven’t jumped each other in a bar fight yet.
The fact that you’re standing close enough to take this call is good enough for me. ”
Our lack of distance hits both of us at the same time. Teddy’s hand has been casually resting on my shoulder, but now it darts into his pocket.
Sloane isn’t done. “You know you both did this to yourselves by taking the last possible flights. I’ve done enough damage control for you two over the years to know why. Go to bed. Leave as soon as the roads clear. I can’t wait to kiss you both.” We hang up, laughing, and head back into the bar.
Nursing a club soda from our seats, I watch Teddy across the room as he reenacts the black ice scene for a group of truck drivers who are just as surprised about our miraculous pickup salvation as we are.
He’s beautiful, more beautiful than all the times I tried to conjure him after he left.
The way he speaks reflects light onto the faces of everyone in conversation with him.
These men are glowing, the subject of his total attention.
When he turns to me, waving me over, I catch one of the truckers remarking, “I’m just saying, if she’s not yours, I’d like to take a swing if you know what I mean. ”
“I can’t shake this one, unfortunately for you. She’s like my shadow.” He playfully tugs me to him by my waist as I make my way to the jukebox, silently grateful to not have to fend off rounds of drinks from the increasingly male population at Envy’s.
This act he’s putting on is a joke. It’s a ruse.
But the simple idea of being his anything makes me blush.
Our eyes keep finding each other when they don’t need to, when I don’t mean for them to.
I turn away from the group to queue up “I Feel for You” and then “Borderline” and, because I owe it to him, “Hotel California.”
Back on my stool next to him, I barely listen to the conversation he’s found himself locked into about weight limits and traffic cameras.
His new friends have migrated to the bar with us.
Picking at the fried pickles we must have ordered at some point, I note an overwhelming sense of peace in his proximity.
Absentmindedly, if there is such a thing, he lets a hand rest on my thigh, moving his thumb slowly back and forth over the inseam of my jeans.
The friction sends a current between my legs.
I move my hand, which was propped on the edge of his stool to stabilize me, to reach for the belt loop in the back of his jeans.
How did I ever think straight when he was touching me? I wonder.
“We’re on the way to our best friends’ wedding,” he says, smiling at me, mischief in his eyes where there was hurt only a few hours ago.
“Maybe you’re next?” The group lifts their beers in our honor while Teddy presses his forehead against mine as our glasses clink.
“I should be so lucky,” he whispers, only loud enough for me to hear. I want all of this to be real, bankable, the kind of fortune you read about in epics. As heat spreads across my entire body, I accept that my promise of friendship hours ago was once again a lie.
When I hear the opening synthesizer of “I Feel for You,” I wait for Teddy’s reaction.
He turns to me and grabs my shoulders with the same urgency he brings to everything he’s excited about.
At this point, our stools are practically overlapping, and our legs haven’t stopped finding reasons to knock into each other.
“Did you know that Prince played all twenty-seven instruments used on his 1978 debut album For You ?” He kisses me on the cheek, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And for a moment, it is. The two of us, together, reminds me of everything I ruined.
“Brilliant.” I drape my arm over his shoulder, blinking my eyes furiously and pushing away all the things I want to profess, all the ways I swear I’ll do better.
Instead, I lean against him, giving into the warmth of his orbit and the unlikely way I respond to the worn-in and safe home I find there. He leans back.
Carter and Sloane send selfies with “Big kiss x” as the caption in a group chat that’s been dormant for years.
I send back a picture of Teddy dancing under a hot dog topping menu.
Quarters from God knows where keep appearing.
Leaning against the glass of the jukebox, Teddy tugs at the sleeve of my sweater, sending shivers across my arms.
“Pick something good.” He tilts his head against mine. “You’re my fake girlfriend, and I’ve elected myself as mayor of this bar.”
“I saw. Interesting technique.”
“You charmed your trucker on the side of the highway, and now I’ve charmed mine.” He steps closer, closing the neon glow from the jukebox between us. “But really. Pick something good. I make it a habit not to date women with bad taste.”
Instead of bringing up the time he told me about Caroline dragging him to a Tiesto rave, I put on Sheryl Crow and try to calm the butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residency in my stomach.
An hour later, we’re splitting a hot dog with “all the toppings,” which turns out to be a thing people say in movies and should never mean in real life. Relish and sweet pickles topple out as we hover over a plate splattered with mustard, ketchup, and mayo.
“Delicious,” Teddy says, swallowing and throwing his head back before lifting the latest addition to our bar-food sampler toward me. As I take a bite, I catch the tip of his finger in my mouth. A blush spreads across his cheeks, and my entire body warms.
“It’s time to play a game.” I clap my hands once. I’m clear-eyed, two giant glasses of water in my system and enough sleep deprivation to know exactly what I want. “The game we played on our road trip.”
“Let’s go back and forth and tell each other what we know to be true about the other person,” he recites back to me, both mocking and wistful.
“God, Mar. You scared me so much, and I thought you were so fucking cool.” Our smiles are inches away from each other, every instinct in my body instructing me to slide past pragmatism straight into pleasure.
“I’ll start,” I whisper, his hand on my thigh, my heart beating louder than I knew it could.