“You totally judge,” I whine.
Cinder rotates me around, giving my bicep a squeeze. “Only when you keep doing the same thing over and over that ends up with you disappointed. I think this break from dating is good for you.”
“You deserve way better anyway,” Lysander adds from the peanut gallery. Even in his encouragement, Lysander doesn’t smile. I’ve never even seen him crack a small one. If he ever did, I’m sure the cool police would come and repossess his skinny jeans and beanie.
Cinder goes on. “I’m really proud of how you’ve kept to it the last couple weeks, focusing on yourself and the house instead. Especially with all the… opportunity.”
I follow Cinder’s gaze to the three guys who immediately wave at me.
Yeesh.
Then there is Ted. He steps up to the bar. He’s a hulking figure next to them. This is not his scene, so why is he still here?
I make my way over to him. “You don’t need to stay.”
“I have a written invitation that says I’m due a free drink,” he rumbles calmly.
I heave a heavy sigh though my heart kicks up in tempo. “What can I get you?”
“An ice tea, please.”
Oh great, he’s a teetotaler too. Is he here judging that I work in a bar?
My brain works overtime to point out every little thing that is wrong with him. I need it. I need to put some mental distance between us, after feeling the heat and hardness of his chest, the roughness of his hands, after being drilled into my unerring focus.
His Tedliness is staring at me again, with those stormy eyes. My gaze turns downward to the cache of clean glasses, my heart beating triple time. I refuse to get caught in his vortex. REFUSE.
Sliding his drink across the bar, I’m careful to make sure our fingers don’t meet before scurrying off to take more drink orders, intent to ignore him the rest of the night. I had invited him here, so this should feel like a victory. But that was before I broke into his house, before he accused me of sleeping with his brother…
“I can help you with them.”
What the hell does that even mean? Whatever he’s planning, I don’t like it. There are gears turning in his head. Big, stupid ones, but they are turning nonetheless.
My thoughts are interrupted by a particularly intoxicated member of my fan club who yells over the bar at me. “Goldie, everyone is always talking about who the hottest Lost Girl is, and before I would have said that hot redhead with no boobs, but now I don’t even know how I could have thought that.”
Heat floods my cheeks and forehead with uncomfortable prickles. It feels like someone ran a garden rake over my nerves.
Oh good, someone who thinks they can get me by not only comparing me to my friends but dissing them in the process. He laughs boisterously as someone else high-fives him.
Before I can bum rush him off my turf, Ted lays a hand on his shoulder and guides him out. He engages the guy in a conversation I can only catch a few words of, something about last night’s hockey game. My eyes flit to the guy’s hat with black and yellow logo of the team. The guy takes the bait, and Ted successfully redirects his attention away from me.
It’s not even five minutes when another patron becomes noticeably loud as he comments on how I have the best rack of anyone in the whole city. Nauseating sensations crawl across my body as the group leers at me.
Ted appears at his side, casually mentioning the new craft beer on tap and effectively steering the conversation away from me or my friend’s rack. Once again, he subtly defuses a potential problem, his calm demeanor and distracting tactics working their magic.
Though I’m constantly moments away from punching the next jackass right in the face, Ted keeps getting their eyes off me which lessens their fervor and crudeness.
As the evening progresses, I become more aware of his interventions, each one done with finesse and subtlety and on the whole, all of them start to chill out, their attention wandering away from me for once.
Even though I would never admit it out loud, there is something comforting about Ted’s presence and the way he's decided to keep his promise. And it makes me wonder just a little bit more about the complex man that is Tedly bear.
Why do I feel better with him nearby? Somehow, safer?
The longer he hangs around, it's as if some kind of intense pressure has broken. The many pressing eyes suddenly find other places to look. Some of the men wander off, ones who’ve been glued to my section of the bar for days.
What in the holy hell? It’s like Ted’s broken some strange spell.
Maybe he’s a repellent to them as he is to me.
