Teddy Spenser Isn't Looking for Love - Kim Fielding Page 0,50
them to behave in ridiculous ways. The only question was how the neurons would react. Would he end up dancing on the tables in this nice restaurant or sobbing underneath them? Only time would tell.
“What’s your dream?” he asked, hoping to maintain a steady course as long as possible.
“Independence. I want to work someplace where I can do what I want—within parameters, of course—and not have people in suits bossing me around all day. I want to create something new and different, something that gets people’s attention. Not chunks of boring code that get buried in the middle of boring software that does boring things.”
All that good food felt heavy in Teddy’s stomach. “Reddyflora is your dream.”
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
Shit. And Teddy’s incompetence with Joyce’s tests was ruining that dream. And...it looked as if crying under the table was today’s call. He hid his face behind his napkin.
“You okay?” Romeo’s voice was rich with concern.
“My, uh, ankle hurts.”
There was no way Romeo believed that. Teddy hadn’t complained about the ankle all day, and right now he was sitting down, for chrissake. But all Romeo said was, “Of course. Let me just flag down the waiter.”
After they’d paid—thank you, Joyce—Teddy’s long-dormant theatrical skills came in useful as he limped dramatically out of the restaurant to their waiting Lyft. The hotel wasn’t far, so riding there was kind of silly, but he couldn’t very well suggest walking now. Not when he was grievously wounded.
The cool outdoor air did nothing to sober Teddy up. If anything, it made him dizzier, as if the light drizzle were made of booze that soaked into his skin. He tripped on the sidewalk outside the restaurant and would have landed on his face if Romeo hadn’t caught him. Romeo smelled now of the sea—or maybe that scent was Elliott Bay, a block distant.
“I don’t know if I trust the ocean,” Teddy told Romeo. “Too much salt. Too many tides. I like my water less...up and down. Like Lake Michigan.”
Smiling, Romeo helped Teddy into the back seat of the waiting Subaru. “Lake Michigan has tides. They’re just too small to notice.”
“Too small,” Teddy echoed sadly. That would suck. Here you were, a mighty body of water, but you didn’t get the cred that the oceans did. You were just a lake, albeit a great one. You didn’t get mermaids or kraken or even sharks. Just trout, and they weren’t very impressive except for dinner.
Romeo slid into the seat next to him and Teddy toppled against his shoulder. He was allowed to do that on account of being injured. “Poor Lake Michigan,” Teddy said.
“Okay.”
“My parents took us on a dinner cruise in the lake when I was four. I screamed ’cause I thought we were gonna sink. Dad had to carry me on board.”
“Did you stop screaming then?”
“After he bought me a Coke. I wasn’t usually allowed to drink pop. Made me hyper.”
Romeo wormed his arm around Teddy’s middle and gave a light squeeze. “I’ve never been on a boat.”
Teddy considered wiggling around to look at him but decided he was too comfortable. “Never?”
“Not so much as a canoe.”
“Are you afraid you’ll sink? Is it a phobia? They can do something about that. It’s called...” Teddy scrunched up his face as he tried to remember, but his brain mostly sputtered. “Desalinization? No, now we’re back at lakes and oceans again. Desolation? That’s me when this is all over. De...de...”
“Desensitization. And no, it’s not a phobia. It’s just something I’ve never done. I’d like to someday.” Romeo kissed the top of Teddy’s head, which made Teddy sniffle because it was so sweet and tender.
“Stupid ankle,” Teddy muttered, knowing even while inebriated that he was fooling nobody.
At the hotel, Romeo helped him out of the car and across the lobby. Inside the elevator, Teddy pressed all the buttons, earning a glare from a middle-aged man in a suit.
“Why’d you do that?” Romeo asked. He sounded amused instead of angry.
“What if someone on one of those floors wants to go up but forgets to—” Teddy mimed poking something and sort-of-accidentally almost poked the scowler instead.
“You don’t want them to be stuck,” said Romeo.
“Better stuck outside an elevator than in one, but both are bad. I carry my scooter up the stairs instead.” His poor scooter, abandoned in an apartment in Chicago. It would have enjoyed zooming down the hills of Seattle.
The middle-aged man got off before them, shooting one final angry look on his way out, and they had only two