Starting With You

19. Feisty Teddy came out to play.

Teddy


ME: Don't be late to breakfast. I've got lots to talk about.

RYLIE: Ooooh, is the gossip true then?

ME: Gossip? You mean the Anderson siblings? What are they saying?

RYLIE: I heard it through the Finn grapevine that the oldest brother finally manned up.

ME: Maybe. Maybe not. I am not confirming nor denying.

RYLIE: I'll be there in 5.

As I sip my coffee in the corner booth at the Cozy Corner Café waiting for my friend to show up for our usual Monday pre-work breakfast, I can't seem to wash the smile off my face. In fact, it's been glued on since my date yesterday.

Jensen may think we need a do-over, but I happened to love the date. It was perfectly imperfect. It had nature. It had Scout. It had food, at least before the dog destroyed it. It had Jensen. And steamy kisses. I'm here for all of that, please, especially the steamy kisses.

If Jensen gets his way, all we'll have is kisses for the foreseeable future.

That thought has me both groaning and grinning. The last thing I want to do is take it slow after the years of waiting, but the thought that he cares enough to slow down and take our time is very endearing.

"No need for confirmation. That smile says it all." Rylie slides into the seat across from me in a flourish. She reaches across the table to snag some of the bacon off my plate. Apparently, her own meal of an egg white scramble and fresh fruit isn't as appealing.

I hide my mouth behind my coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. Spill. Start with the blonde bimbo at Roxy's and end with whatever this is..." She waves her fork in front of my face.

"The blonde bimbo? Wait, what exactly is the gossip going around?"

"Please, Teddy. Nothing is sacred. You know this. The way Finn tells it, there was some blonde hair pulling (you) and some yelling (you at Jensen) and some shoving (also you) and some passionate parking lot dry humping (you and Jensen). I'm guessing only about half of that is true. Please, please, please tell me the blonde hair pulling is true. Please, for the love of God, let that be true."

Loretta, the middle-aged waitress, waltzes over just then to refill our coffees, drawing out the task and then dawdling at a nearby table with her body turned slightly toward us. With some major side-eye directed at the nosey waitress, I hiss at my friend to lower her voice. "Rylie, shhhh. I don't need the whole town knowing my business."

"Too late. Word is there's a bet going on at Paperback Riders that you'll either be knocked up by Christmas or move across the country to get away from Jensen after he breaks your heart. I put a twenty down on the knocked up side, so can we make sure this happens?"

I slam my hand down on the table, rattling the dishes. "Shut. Up. You're kidding, right? The Paperback Riders are betting on us? Oh, man. I know I should be upset by this, but is it bad that it kind of excites me? Do you think they'll let me in their book club now? I've been dying to be invited for years. Do you think I should drop hints to Marg that I have a good book recommendation? Maybe she'll finally see me as a worthy book clubber." 

I realize I forgot to blink and make up for it by blinking rapidly.

"Whoa, crazy eyes. Settle down. You do realize it's a book club with a lot of old bitties who pick steamy, smutty romance novels, right? The rumor is whoever hosts the monthly meeting has to make themed snacks, as in cocks and vajayjays and whatever else those old, horny witches can come up with."