Crazy for Your Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #5)(5)

“Well, it wasn’t so bad,” she says. “And now we’re even. Right?”

“Right.” I’m ready to tell her we can make excuses and get out of here, but the young women who were leering at me earlier descend on our table.

The first extends a hand to Teagan, flipping her straight honey hair over one shoulder. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I wanted to meet the woman special enough to claim the heart of such an amazing guy.”

Teagan shakes the offered hand. “Nice to meet you.” She chases the words with a long pull from her martini that suggests otherwise.

“How do you two know each other?” Jennifer asks.

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I say, watching Teagan, who’s staring at her martini so intently that I’m pretty sure she’s preparing to write an ode in its honor. “It took me a long time to find the courage to tell her how I feel.”

Jennifer presses her palm to her chest, her jaw dropping. “Oh. My. God. That is so sweet.” She looks at her friend and squeals. “They were friends. And he’s been into her forever, and just recently found the courage to do something about it.”

Wow. I didn’t know I needed a translator.

“Oh my God. So sweet,” the second woman says.

“You are so lucky,” the girls tell Teagan in unison.

Teagan coughs on a gulp of martini, then nods as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “So lucky.”

“We’re disappointed, of course,” the first woman says. “We drove eight hours for a chance to bid on Carter.”

“Heartbroken, really.” The second one drags her gaze over me. I try not to squirm, but it’s an effort.

“But we love love, don’t we, Brit?”

“Totally,” Brit says. “Love is our favorite.”

“Right,” Teagan says. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Right?” Jennifer says.

I reach across the table for Teagan’s hand. I’m probably going to burn in hell for this, but it might be worth it to get that tortured we all know this is fake, would someone kill me now look off her face. “It turned out Teagan had been harboring feelings for me the whole time too.” Her gaze snaps up to meet mine. Good. At least she’s looking at something other than her drink. “I’ll never forget the day you showed me all those journals where you wrote me secret love notes.”

Teagan’s eyes narrow. Her jaw hardens, and the corner of her eye twitches. “Excuse me?”

Nodding, I turn to the girls. “She wrote one every day for a whole year. Some of them were a little . . . odd.” I turn back to her and tilt my head. “I never thought I’d meet a woman who’s actually turned on by watching me drink beer.”

Brit smiles. “I’d watch you drink beer.”

Teagan ignores her. “My love notes were nothing compared to your little collection from my trash.” She turns to the girls. “He saved old napkins and water bottles I drank from. Even little bits of my hair.”

The girls cover their mouths and take a few steps back.

I choke back a laugh, determined to keep a straight face. “You make it sound creepy.”

“We have to go,” Brit says. “But congrats to you two.”

“Yeah,” Jennifer says. “You’re a totally . . . special couple.” They walk away, and I can barely make out Brit telling her friend that they dodged a bullet. Teagan drains her drink as we watch them go.

“Little bits of your hair?” I ask. “Am I in love with you or planning to murder you and store your corpse in my freezer?”

“I’ve known guys with creepier tendencies,” she says. Standing, she holds out a hand to me and motions toward the crowded dance floor. “Come on. If we sit here, more women are going to want to talk. You dance, don’t you?”

“I think I have to if I want to save my reputation. I’m lucky those women aren’t local, or I’d never get another date.”

I don’t have much time to dwell on that thought. Teagan loops her hands behind my neck and rolls her hips to the song’s quick beat, and I can’t think of anything but her.

I’m stunned by the sudden press of her body into mine, and at first I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Sliding them behind her neck seems too junior high, but if they’re in her hair, I know I’ll be too tempted to tilt her face up so I can kiss her again. If I put them on her waist, they’re bound to roam south to cup the curves her little black dress shows off so well.

“You started this,” she whispers into my ear. “You’d better dance with me like it’s real, no matter how much you’re regretting it right now.”

I grunt in surprise. Regret is the furthest thing from my mind. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist to rest my hands at the small of her back.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” She looks up into my eyes, and I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. She turned so quiet and awkward over dinner. I thought it was because everyone was staring at us, but . . . maybe there was more to it.

Am I crazy to hope that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her? That she’s thought about it—fantasized about it—like I have?