23. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Teddy
“Holy shit,” Ursula heaves an exhausted sigh.
“Hate to say I told you so,” I laugh, doing my best to be all bravado—even though I’m still reeling from Ursula’s unexpectedly dirty mind.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” she laughs, still panting slightly.
“Yeah, ok you got me.” On the other side of the wall, I struggle to catch my own breath—stuffing the wadded tissues I’ve used to clean up in the pocket of my sweatpants to hide any lingering evidence of our little romp from the cameras .
“Well, I have to admit—that was certainly a mark in favor of our compatibility.” I can hear her shifting, clearing her throat.
“The other guys are probably going to be a little jealous when I tell them tonight, but it’s not like they aren’t allowed to do this kind of shit with you on their dates,” I laugh, but my heart is racing, my stomach is turning worried somersaults, and my head is starting to feel light from all the adrenaline and dopamine flooding my system.
“Did…did they know you were going to do this today?” she squeaks sheepishly.
“I mean, Mav knows I had a surprise for you—but that’s about it.” I hunch forward, forcing myself to take deep, steady breaths.
“Well, I’m certainly less anxious about our island getaway now—if anything, I’m going to be sprinting toward that reveal now,” Ursula giggles giddily.
“Oh really? Was I really that much of an outlier?” I taunt, not sure if I’m ready for the answer.
“To be honest? I wasn’t sure how this was going to work without any of us seeing each other…I mean, it would be stupid to pretend like appearance has zero impact on attraction, right?” Ursula reasons.
“Yeah, right,” I agree—still hanging on the rest of her response.
“I was starting to get hung up on this idea of like—what if we actually see each other and it’s just—” She blows a raspberry through her lips—the rippling fart noise forcing a bubble of laughter up from my gut. “At least now, I think that I’ve proven to myself that the heat is there,” she explains matter-of-factly.
“Totally—that makes complete sense,” I laugh, relieved at her satisfaction—her certainty; but newly wobbly in my understanding of my own feelings on the matter.
If I’m honest with myself, I want Ursula to keep feeling stronger about me—about what might become ‘our pack.’ I’m nervous about how the other guys are gonna take it—is it going to be cool, or is this going to start drama? Why the hell didn’t I think about this more carefully before I charged on ahead.
I’ll tell you why, up until a few seconds ago—I was still looking at Ursula as a stepping stone. A means to an end. Now? Well…I’m not so sure.
“Thank you Teddy—this was quite the date,” she purrs happily, drawing a swell of pride and affection from deep in my chest.
“I can’t wait till we get to do this in person,” I rumble back, warmth pouring into my heart.
What the fuck is going on? I started this little exchange feeling like I was in control, like there was nothing to lose, nothing at stake on my side of the scale. Now? I’m finding myself examining the past few days—and my increasingly strengthening feelings cannot be ignored.
I haven’t gotten that wound up in…well I don’t know if any chick’s ever gotten me that hot and heavy before—and we weren’t even fucking touching—no cams no nothing.
Sure, I’ve had some passable dirty talk with other girls in the past—the typical ‘call me daddy,’ ‘who’s my dirty little slut?’—maybe a little ‘I want you to cum in my pussy’ or ‘I need your cock’ here and there. Nothing like the kind of filth that was coming out of Ursula’s imagination station.
Fuck, the bit about Ronan and Ash spit roasting her? Pounding her in the studio? Watching her go full femme fatale on Sandy while we circle like sharks—waiting for the fresh blood to hit the water before we descend and devour. If I keep thinking about it too much I’m going to be rock hard and ready for round two, so I mentally douse myself with cold water and prepare to make my exit.
“I’m going to tell the others and Kimmy that I’m ready to go forward with the reveal—I’m sure you’ll hear it from the other guys after I speak with them today…but I wanted to make sure I let you know,” she adds coquettishly as the two of us collect our things on opposite sides of the wall.
“I can’t wait…I can finally say ‘see you soon,’ I guess,” I laugh—even though my heart feels like it’s threatening to burst out of my chest like the goddamn Kool Aid man exploding through a wall.
‘Oh yeah’ indeed, big red buddy.
I, Theodore Jonathan Wong, am in deep fucking trouble.
I wouldn’t say that I was prolonging the inevitable with my extended beautification routine ahead of dinner…but I can’t really claim that I was doing my best to be there on time either.
The anxious roiling in my stomach makes me feel like I did too many crunches—my abdominals sore with the non-stop effort of several hours of on-edge-activation.
When I stride into Ursula’s lounge, all the lights are off or dimmed; the other guys are already seated at the long metal table outside on the patio—Mavren pulling something just out of my view off of the grill with shiny metal tongs.
A black t-shirt with a fuckboy-deep-V, my favorite Ferragamo stovepipe trousers, snakeskin loafers, black hair slicked back into a greaser-esque pompadour, and my lucky jade pendant in the shape of a rabbit; my zodiac. I’ve dressed in some of my ‘armor’—my luckiest and most powerful digs, kicks, and accessories to help me feel more myself, but there’s no fooling my monkey-brain. I’m practically sweating as I make my way out onto the patio and into the lion’s den.
“Ah, so our bronze prince returns!” Ronan spreads his hands wide, making a show of rejoicing at my arrival.
I make an overstated bow, folding crisply at the waist and sweeping one of my arms in a deep port-a-bras; as if accepting my applause curtain call.
“So I do—with sweet and sensuous news of our fair lady Ursula, no less.” I play along, happy to use humor as my bridge.
Lysander, who had already been watching me with those keen dark eyes of his, becomes focused like a laser; the others straightening in their seats—Mavren is doing his best to finish serving the massive platter of grilled meats and vegetables he just ferried from the grill to the dinner table.
“Oh do tell!” Ronan claps excitedly, continuing in a false British accent like some parody of Shakespearean banter, “What news of our lady?” He lifts a nearby bottle of Cabernet Franc and begins to pour me a glass as I take the open seat between him and Lysander.
“I decided to do a little chemistry testing with Miss Goldblum-Laskaris today,” I float the idea as vaguely as possible to get a temperature of the situation.
Ash, who has been silently gnawing on the edge of his thumbnail—perks up.
“What do you mean ‘chemistry testing’ ?” He gives me some bombastic side-eye and my heart rate ticks up.
“Well,” I take a healthy swig of the red wine Ronan has just poured me—my gaze falling hopefully to Lysander as I begin my explanation. “According to Ursula, one of her biggest concerns with not just me, but this whole process—was whether or not there was going to be compatibility between us.” I gesture to myself, then the rest of the group, Mavren taking a seat between Ronan and Ash.
“Uh huh…go on…” Ronan rolls his wrist, hand open in a gesture of encouragement.
My eyes catch on his arms—bare for the first time that I’ve seen; well ‘bare’ isn’t quite the right word. He’s not wearing shirtsleeves, unlike previous times—and I’m struggling to keep my eyes from lingering too long on the explosion of colorful floral tattoos crawling from behind the thick leather cuffs he’s used to accessorized his rumpled linen short sleeved shirt tonight.
“So, I decided we should talk it out—but y’know…dirty.” I raise my eyebrows, sitting back with my glass of wine.
“How dirty are we talkin’ here?” Mavren does his best to appear impassive as he begins serving everyone, like the de facto father at this bizzaro family dinner.
“Like—I may or may not have gifted her a little something to help the ‘conversation’ along.” I swirl the dark red in my glass, making a telltale buzzing sound with my tongue against my teeth.
Lysander’s eyes sparkle with something, and I can’t quite tell if it is anger, lust, or jealousy. His spine is so straight I’m worried he might shatter into a million brittle pieces—but he says nothing.
“Wait a minute, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Ash is leaning nearly halfway across the table now, his chilling blue eyes cutting through me with their icy intensity.
Alright—enough beating around the bush—er, maybe not the best phrase here, but like—yeah time to spill the beans—or flick the beans. Jesus fuck Teddy—OUT WITH IT.
“If you’re thinking there might have been some saucy banter—a little mutual masturbation? Then yeah Ash—I’m saying that.” I grin, playing as cavalier as I can.
“You made her cum on a date in the bubble!?” Lysander blurts out accusingly—his dark brows pinched together, his pretty boy pout trembling as if he might cry.
“Yeah, but—I mean, it’s not like we totally left you guys out!” I attempt to backpedal, surprised by how deep Lysander’s wounded expression cuts me.
This smooths the wrinkle between his brows slightly—his mouth flattened rather than frowning.
“Uh huh, how do you figure?” Mavren snorts, passing a plate of food around the table before loading up the next.
“As it just so happens, our lovely lady has quite the spicy imagination.” I take another swig of wine, hoping it will help loosen my tongue enough to repeat some of Ursula’s more piquante fantasies.
“Our girl’s a freak, eh?” Ronan arches one fiery red brow—the spray of brightly colored ranunculus and camelias ripple as his muscles dance beneath the inked skin—his hand opening and closing into a loose fist absently all the while.
“She was talking about getting spitroasted by you and Ash on the counter of your florist shop,” I say casually, allowing my words to land as I take another well-timed sip of my wine.
Ash, who had been taking a slug of his own glass of Cabernet Franc, nearly spat the mouthful of expensive red back into the glass—a chain of wet coughs escaping him once he’d actually managed to swallow it down.
Ronan only grinned his dazzling white, slightly gap-toothed grin.
“And if you don’t already have some security cams in your office Mav?” I continue, making my rounds. “We better put some in there—because apparently she’s dying to make a few home movies with three Xs for us with you in there.”
Mavren comes to a grinding halt—a strip steak dangling from his metal tongs as he waits for me to finish the thought.
“Said something about sucking your soul out after dinner service—letting us watch from the camera app.” I reply suggestively. “Our little exhibitionist.”
Mavren’s mouth works slightly, as if he’s going to say something—but he doesn’t actually manage to get any words out. He stands there—fully blue-screened for another twenty seconds before Ash gently drapes a hand over his forearm—reminding him of the dangling steak, the yet unfinished dinner plate.
I turn to steal a look at Lysander—his face a flattering shade of fuschia, his lips pursed together in a sour expression.
“Don’t worry dude, she basically saved the best for last.” I jostle him with my elbow—his blush deepening.
“I think she used the phrase: “I’m gonna take Lysander ‘round all the bases and through home plate while you all watch’.”
Surprise softens his features, a tiny sound between a groan and a moan escaping him before he can call it back.
“Me-yowza.” Ronan lets out a long ,low whistle.
“She said she was going to tell y’all and the ladies unit producer—she’s ready to commit to the reveal.”
I place my wine-glass on the table and recline—hands knit behind my head, pleased with my recounting of the day’s spoils.
Like an electric chain, everyone around the table begins bobbing their head with excited nods, voices filtering in with overlapping proclamations of ‘Me too!,’ ‘She told me the same,’ and similar.
As if on cue, Timmy emerges from the sliding glass door from the lounge to the patio, a manic grin on his face.
“Gentlemen!” He spreads his arms wide, walking toward our table with an expectant spring in his step. “I’m here to walk you through the specifics of the reveal tomorrow.” He beams, clapping his hands together like a supportive coach about to give us a pre-game pep-talk.
I feel like I’m brimming with warmth, with the pins and needles of expectation—when I notice Mav out of the corner of my eye—his gaze fixed on me with a somewhat detached curiosity. I can’t help but shiver under the chilly gaze, as if he’s silently accusing me of something—as if he knows the truth of my own conflicted motivations.
Before I can sink deeper into any feelings of guilt or remorse however, Lysander is shaking my shoulder, his eyes wide and bright as he asks, “So are we going to talk through our game plan for tomorrow or what?”
“Of course, Sandy, we can plan our outfits out—down to the socks if you want, lil’ bro,” I laugh, ruffling his dark curls with my massive palm—darting a glance at Mavren, already in hushed conference with Ash and Ronan, that dangerous and knowing glare no longer fixed on me.