Situationship

Twenty-three

Teagan

At the airport, I make it to the gate two hours before boarding time, like always, and find the closest bar. In my last moments of douche-free solitude this weekend, I try everything I can to boost my mood. Jeremy isn’t coming, everyone is late, and Ryan is being rather sus. I hate surprises, I abhor last-minute changes to my plans, and my drink isn’t strong enough to help me with either. A chat with my brother usually helps, but maybe not in this case.

“Please, Levi,” I beg him over the phone. “You know you don’t want to live with Mom and Dad anymore. Jeremy will be out by the end of next month. It’s the perfect time for you to move in.”

“Teags, no. Seriously.” The sound of clinking metal explains his grunt. He’s at the gym twenty minutes from my apartment, but yet he still doesn’t realize how much I was thinking about him when looking for places with Jeremy.

The location is within walking distance from campus, yes, but it is also close to a good portion of his home games, and I begged Jeremy for the unit on the ground floor closest to the accessible entrance. All that was to make sure Levi would be comfortable every time he visited, and to let him move in if the opportunity arose. In a way, I knew Jeremy wouldn’t be with me forever, but I expected more forewarning than this.

“Why would you want to live a few feet away from me when I spend half my time trying to get laid?” Levi asks. “Why would I want to live down the hall from you when you’re trying to get laid? Imagine that for a second.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Exactly. Stop asking me.”

My lips twist. I don’t necessarily want to live with my brothers, I just miss them. “I’m going to lose the apartment if I don’t find a roommate.”

“No, you’re not! Oh my god. You will do anything to keep from asking Mom and Dad for money.”

“Obviously.”

“They’re going to be fine with it.”

“Yeah, but what are they going to expect as nonmonetary repayment?”

He grunts again with his next movement. “Probably force you to get back with Lenny.”

“Bare minimum.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s rent, not a Bugatti.” He laughs at his own joke. “Do you want me to ask them for you?”

“Yeah, when you tell them you’re moving in.”

I can’t tell if his heavy sigh is because of me or his workout. “I’m not moving in with you.”

“Please?”

“You’re stupid. Love you, bye.” He ends the call, giving me my answer. So much for my mood booster. I gesture to the bartender, hoping to climb out of my feelings with the help of a second vodka tonic.

On my way to call Rowan, my phone rings instead. I hope it’s Levi calling to say he changed his mind, but to my disappointment, it’s the groom. “Hey.”

“Hey, I’m running late,” Ryan states the obvious.

“Yeah, I noticed. How are you going to be late for your own bachelor party?”

“I know! We’re going as fast as we can. It’s traffic.”

I can’t stand it when people use traffic in the city as an excuse. It’s New York. When is there not traffic? “Okay. See you whenever.”

“I’m sorry . I’ll be punctual the rest of the weekend, I promise,” he teases me, knowing I will be the one forcing everyone to be on time.

“Boy, bye.” I put my phone back in my pocket and sigh. Maybe I should use the weekend to get shit-faced and let the guys bail themselves out of jail this time.

“Teags!”

I turn to find Brett walking closer. Oh good. Pregaming with Brett. Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll explain to me how the patriarchy doesn’t exist. “Hey, babes.” I greet him.

“Where’s Jer?”

“He’s not coming. Something came up with Chet and he can’t make it.”

He smiles wide. “I’m the first one here?” The news means nothing to him.

“You are.”

“Badass!” How? How is that badass, Brett? He is not who I wanted to see first, second, or third today. I’m still miffed about my ruined celebration dinner, but that’s not much different from how I feel about him most days. He’s my best friend’s best friend, an inescapable cohort. I don’t have to like him—I don’t like him—but he’s family all the same.

He grabs the bartender’s attention and orders a whiskey. We’re both starting with the hard stuff, likely for the same reason. “What’s the plan for the weekend?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to do as I say.”

He thanks the bartender and takes a hefty swig of his drink. “God, I am so excited for this weekend.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I love being married, but I do miss being free with you guys sometimes. Weekends like this remind me of the old days, you know?”

“The old days? You mean when you used to be the one who got to get their dick wet on vacation?” He laughs, but I know I’m right. “You can still have fun, you’ll just have to be a good boy and keep it in your pants from now on. I’m sure Felicity will forgive you for everything else you do this weekend.”

“Everything she’ll find out about.” He winks at me and takes a sip.

Brett never should have gotten married. I would have sworn he didn’t know what the word monogamy meant before he got engaged—and I’m not completely sure he knows it now—but he jumped into his marriage with both feet like he was happily flinging himself into the ocean off the side of his yacht. Liss must have a black hole for a mouth and a boa constrictor for a snatch.

“Yo, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he starts his gossip. “Did you hear Heath’s been dating some chick? Can you believe that shit?”

One sentence sinks me back into my feelings. “I know, right?”

“You know about it?”

In some ways, I wish I didn’t. The relationship clause was in the contract for a reason, but I didn’t expect him to be the one to use it first. He puts his dick wherever someone lets him, but Heath doesn’t date . Not in the traditional sense. But he’s been “hanging out” with this girl for two weeks. I would let it bother me, but when he shows up and fucks me on every surface of his apartment, my stupid post-orgasm brain turns into complicitous mush.

I don’t care that Heath is trying to get it wherever he can. That’s basically his MO. What I care about is the fact that he chose to do it now, when I’m relying on him most. But therein lies the problem. He’s as unreliable as Ryan’s ability to plan for traffic.

The guys are like a playpen full of kittens, getting distracted by anything that moves. When they drink, they’re hive minded and moronic. If one of them jumps off a bridge, the rest hold hands and follow. Jeremy would usually be the soberest one, making him somewhat qualified to help me keep the guys in line, but those days are over, it seems. Brett has no off switch when he’s turned up, Ryan goes from brainiac to idiot the second alcohol touches his lips, and Ritchie is always , always on his bullshit.

How did we get to a place where Heath is the most reliable one? I’ll have to check hell for signs of frost.

I shrug and take a sip. “I don’t know any details, but I’m not surprised. When does he not have a roster of hotties ready to go?”

Brett laughs. “He says they’re not dating, but I’m not convinced. He’s been way too happy the last couple of months for him to not be into this girl.”

Months? Knowing that’s me and not his new squeeze, I’m not sure how to feel. I tap my teeth against the edge of my glass to save my manicure. With this stress, it’s just a matter of time before my cuticles will suffer.

“Sorry, do you not want to talk about it?” he asks.

“What? No, it’s fine.” I shamelessly stroke my ego. “You think he’s happy, though? He’s seemed kind of out of it lately, like something else is going on.”

“Nah. All I’ve gotten from him is a bunch of smiles and bragging about how often he’s getting laid. He probably just doesn’t want to tell you since—”

“Hey, fuckers.”

I turn to find Heath. Ritchie tags along behind him having what looks to be an angry conversation over the phone. Heath is in his expensive athleisure wear, looking like a tasty plate of monochrome deliciousness. His gray joggers fit just tight enough to show a tempting outline between his legs, and the matching color-block hoodie flatters his slender core and broad shoulders. I hate him so much right now but zamn .

“Look at you being on time,” I coo.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says, the slightest smirk on his lips. He nudges his head over his shoulder. “That will probably be happening all weekend.”

Brett looks concerned. “What’s his deal?”

“Girlfriend—fiancé?—drama again.” He pulls out the stool next to me and sits. His thigh lies against mine when he lounges back and manspreads. “Where’s the ineligible bachelor?” he asks.

“He’s late.”

Heath laughs. “Your punctual Ry Ry? No way.”

“He says he’s in traffic, but I think he’s lying. I don’t know how thrilled Mary was about this trip. She kept asking me to go with her and the bridesmaids instead of coming here with you guys.”

Brett laughs. “Doesn’t she know you love strippers more than wine?”

“Apparently not.”

Ritchie sits next to Brett, hunching over his phone with a scowl as his thumbs rapid fire what I assume is a novel-length text message that starts with I just think it’s funny that . . .

Brett and I exchange a look, then return our attention to our drinks. Beside me, Heath sighs. He stares down at his phone, too, his head hanging in a hand. It’s the same way he’s been since we started this mess. When we’re fucking, he’s fine, but leave him alone long enough and he’s all heavy sighs and irritated looks. Relatable, but it’s still odd to see his sunshine turn sulky so quickly.

“You okay?” I whisper.

He looks at me with tired eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Beneath the shield of the bar top, Heath’s hand slides between my legs and gives my inner thigh a squeeze. It leaves as quickly as it came. I stare into my glass, trying not to slap him.

“How’s your girl?” Brett teases Heath.

“My what?”

“Your girl. Your budding beau. Whatever you want to call her.”

Heath looks back down at his phone. “Shelley is cool, but she’s not my girl.”

Brett gasps. “She has a name?” He cracks a smile and takes a sip. I want to crawl into my glass and drown in booze so I can’t hear Brett’s voice anymore. “Does that mean you’re ready to admit she’s more than a serial hookup?”

Heath stares at him with a look of confusion until it seems to click. “Oh. No, definitely not.”

As expected, they seem back to normal. What it must be like to have a testosterone-dominated brain. Just punch each other until the disagreement is resolved, forgiven, and forgotten. Maybe I should try it sometime.

“Just wondering if I need to watch you this weekend. Make sure you’re on your best behavior.” Brett snickers. I consider picking a fight just so I can watch Heath beat his ass again.

“Why don’t you spend your energy making sure you’re on your best behavior, Brett?” I snip. “I’m not going to bail your ass out of jail or the doghouse this time.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I mock him.

“Hey!” Brett’s yell makes me jump. “You made it!”

Ryan walks up with his hands in the air. “Let’s get the fucking party started!”

Looks like someone else has been pregaming too. I glance around at the strangers sneering in our direction. Let the chaos begin .

~

The long flight was my last bit of quiet before what I expect to be a shit show of an evening. Once we make it to the hotel, I’m careful to let the guys check in before I do. Heath lingers behind us on his phone.

“We’re meeting down here at eight. Not eight thirty, not nine. Eight,” I warn them, knowing full well our dinner reservation is at nine. I’ll be lucky if I get them together before nine fifteen.

“Yes, ma’am.”

As I wait at the counter for the attendant, Heath waits for the guys to disappear into the elevator lobby before joining me. He leans his elbows on the counter, getting a bit too comfortable while being so close to me. I shoot him a look.

“Checking in as well?” The front desk assistant looks thrilled for a person who probably gets yelled at 50 percent of their day. Their smile is bright and genuine while their brown eyes shift between Heath and me, unsure whom to address.

“Yes. Reservation for Teagan Hargrove,” I answer.

A nod and some keyboard tapping happens. “All right. I have you two on the twelfth floor, city view, king room.”

The fuck? “Oh, no. We’re supposed to be booked for a doub—”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Heath cuts me off. I cast him a confused look that he doesn’t see.

“No, it’s not perfect.” Idiot. “Can you move us to a double, please?”

Watching our back and forth, the assistant’s smile gains an edge of humor, but they drop it. “I’m sorry, it looks like our doubles are all booked, but we can set you up in the king with a rollaway bed, if that works.”

“The king works for us. Thank you,” Heath answers.

“The rollaway will be better for you, I promise,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. The assistant tucks in their lips to keep from laughing at the bickering spectacle we’ve become. I hold in the rest of my snarky comments to keep from providing more entertainment.

After more typing, they say, “You are all set. We just need a card on file for incidentals.”

Heath hands one over without hesitation and I’m even more confused than before.

“Did you make up with your dad?” I ask just above a whisper.

“Hell no. But this baddie I know gave me a cool spreadsheet to balance my shit, so I have it covered.” He looks over and gives me a smile. I don’t know whether to feel proud or smack him for calling me a baddie.

“Here are your keys. Enjoy your stay!”

I walk with Heath to the elevators, still trying to figure out where his head is at. He seems eager to follow through with our little plan, but something else tempers his mood. The doors open and we step inside. He presses the button for our floor and leans back against the rail, looking at me expectantly.

“Is Kelly going to be cool with you sharing a bed with someone else?” I ask what he already knew was coming.

“Her name is Shelley. And it doesn’t matter.”

“What does that mean?”

“We haven’t had sex.”

“Okay. But you’re together.”

“We’re not together, and we’re not dating . We’ve hung out, like, twice,” he says. “We’re friends. I told her I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs and looks away from me as if to mask the real answer hiding in his expression. “Because I knew we were coming here?”

There it is.

I laugh at his expense. “You’re such a fuckboy.”

He smiles while his eyes trace me up and down. The doors open. “Come on,” he says. “We have a weekend of debauchery to enjoy.”