Theo raises an eyebrow. “Is it working?”
I roll my eyes, which are dry now. “It’s very telling that that’s your go-to strategy.”
“It’s very telling that it works on you.”
My laugh bursts out, and I push at him, but he holds on tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grins, curving over me and pressing his rough cheek against mine. I want to tell him thank you, but the truth is, he probably already knows. It’s buried in our bickering, in the small secrets we’re giving away.
And anyway, I’m ready to move on. Our conversation falls away, the mood shifting from barbed teasing into something warm I sink into. Theo’s body was made for mine like this; our rhythm is the same, everything lining up in a way that feels like comfort as much as it does lust.
Theo pushes me back, holding his arm out so I can turn under it. Then he grabs me and pulls me back home.
His smile is electrifying and beautiful. I’ve heard people talk about living in the moment, but right now I really understand it. I feel so viscerally here. And it’s not that the messiness of our lives doesn’t exist, it’s just that right now it doesn’t matter.
“I have a secret,” Theo murmurs, his midnight eyes fixed on me, full of starlight.
“Tell me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, okay?”
“Well, with that disclaimer . . .”
His grin is small, but it fades as quickly as it came. “You look so fucking beautiful right now.”
The floor falls out from under me. “Oh.” I swallow, desire mixing with something deeper. “I—”
Theo pulls me close again. “You don’t have to give me one back. That secret was on me. Just couldn’t keep it.”
I don’t know how to respond to that in a way that will keep us safe, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Something vibrates in Theo’s pocket.
His phone.
“Don’t ans—” I start, but his hand is already fishing into his pocket. I don’t need to look at the screen to know it’s his dad; Theo’s face says it all. His contentment bursts, a finger straight into the fragile, magical bubble we created.
“I’ll be right back.”
He’s walking away before I can open my mouth.
Paul walks over. For a beat, we look at the door Theo just disappeared through.
I collapse into my seat. “？‘Not a big deal,’ huh?”
Paul’s expression is torn. “It’s complicated, Noelle. Teddy tends to shut down when he’s struggling.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. He’s an icon among mysterious men.”
Paul sits across from me, taking a sip of beer before settling his gaze on me. “It’s hard for him.”
I raise an eyebrow, like go on.
He lets out a sigh. “It’s a symptom of the house Theo grew up in, unfortunately. And the house his dad grew up in, too. After Anne and I divorced, I traveled quite a bit, and I wasn’t around as much as I could have been. It hurt Sam deeply, and he overcorrected with Theo. He pushed himself into every part of Theo’s life from the time he was old enough to do so.”
I think of my own dad, who never missed a tennis match, celebrated my wins with enthusiasm and commiserated my losses with frozen yogurt from Woody’s and big, squishy hugs. Who’s always let me be exactly myself.
There are ways in which I’ve competed against Theo without knowing, and ways I’ve won without realizing.
“Teddy has always been keen to earn his father’s approval, because Sam holds back on praise,” Paul continues. “Theo’d reach a goal, and there’d be five more waiting for him.”
“Maybe him investing in Where To Next was a bad idea.”
Paul lets out a frustrated breath in agreement. “I warned Teddy, but he needed the money, and his dad wanted to help him. Deep down, Theo translated that help into pride for his accomplishment.”
“Are these all things he’s told you?”
“A bit of it, but most of it I know because I helped raise the kid.” He sighs, pushing away his beer glass. “Theo’s not an open book. It must frustrate you because you are.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. God knows I have my secrets. My parents texted on the family thread this morning asking how the trip was going, and I could barely get my fingers to type a response.
Paul, oblivious to my inner turmoil, goes on. “I’m telling you this because Theo shares things with you.”
I blink over at him, disbelieving. “Barely.”
“More than you think. You have a bond because of me and Kat, but you also have your own. I see it.”
The eager look on his face is why our kiss in Vegas has to be the first and last. There’s an intimacy being built between us, though it’s very much one step forward, two steps back, and Paul sees it. He’s tied some hope to it, like I can somehow contribute to Theo’s happiness. But I can’t. I can’t even contribute to my own.
Theo pushes the door open, pocketing his phone. Even with the glower on his face, he’s a light source. I lift toward him like a thirsty flower.
He walks right past us to the rickety bar with the equally rickety bartender behind it. I don’t hear what he tells the guy, but a minute later a shot glass is set in front of him.
Theo drinks the shot. It’s not a quick toss down his throat; it’s a slow pour, like he’s shoring himself up.
I can almost feel the burn in my throat, racing down my stomach, the acidic turn there from bad news and alcohol. I got drunk the day I was laid off, threw up in the bushes outside the apartment I had to move out of a month later.
I’m out of my seat before I can overthink it. Across the sticky floor before I can decide what I’m going to say. He helped me earlier when the grief got too heavy. Maybe I can do the same.
Theo gives me a sideways glance as I lean up against the bar, ultra casual, my eyes moving over the liquor bottle display. “You want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay, I expected that. I did see Radiohead on the jukebox if you’re in the market for a mood-enhancing soundtrack.” I pull two quarters out of my pocket, letting them rest on my palm. “On me.”
He stares down at the quarters. “I don’t need this.”
“What? Money for your favorite sad boy music?”
“A distraction.”
“I’m repaying the favor,” I say, making a loose fist and jingling the change. “Literally and figuratively. You saved my mood earlier, I’m here to save yours.”
He flags down the bartender and orders another shot. Finally, he looks at me, but barely. “My mood is unsavable, Shepard. Spare yourself and go hang out with my granddad.”
His rebuff stings. It twists my concern into something uncomfortable and hot. Paul said he shares things with me, but it’s not much. Sometimes he’ll throw me a crumb, but what do I really know about him beyond things I learned ten years ago?
He’s Theo Spencer, and any problem he has he can figure out on his own. I’m Noelle Shepard, who needs someone to come in and rescue her when she cries over a song that her grandma loved. The difference is clear.
He must see me shutting down as I realize that I’m not going to get anywhere with him tonight. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he looks down at the counter.