“Ah, don’t let me interrupt another delicious momento romántico.”
It’s Martinez. Of course—he’s buds with Fitz.
I roll my eyes. “But you’re so good at it, Marty Boy.”
He parks an elbow on the bar and looks at Teagan. “You weren’t really going to kiss a man who doesn’t have a ring, were you?” He waggles his fingers, displaying his championship ring from when the Yankees won the World Series a couple of years ago.
Damn good series.
And I burn with jealousy, since I don’t have a championship yet.
So I need another way in. “I get it. All those endless innings twiddling your thumbs on the bench have you confused. But let me clarify. We have cups—they’re bigger and better.”
“Ah, thank you,” he says, with a faux appreciative nod. Then, in an innocent tone, he asks, “And where’s yours?”
Teagan turns to me, hands on her hips, sass in her eyes. “Yeah, where is your Stanley Cup, North? Because this time next year, I want to be drinking champagne from it.”
I laugh and haul her in close. “Me too, King. Me too,” I say, and at this moment, we are friends. But we’re something more too, and it feels good to laugh like this, all of us together. I like it a lot.
“By the way, thank you for that cut fastball last night,” Teagan says to the closer, “striking out the side with the bases loaded. I hate Boston with a deep passion.”
Martinez brings his hand to his heart. “That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said. I, too, despise them to the depths of my soul. Beating them is my joy, as I was telling—” He cuts himself off, shifting gears suddenly. “Did you enjoy the wedding, Teagan?”
“It was wonderful—every second. And who were you telling about your disdain for the Red Sox?” she asks, something about where he stopped catching her curiosity.
With a light laugh, Martinez waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Just someone I was chatting with this morning.”
Her eyes light up. “Was it your mystery bidder? Did you ever find out who your phone bidder was?”
A hint of a smile flashes across his features, but he quickly erases it. “I’ll find out tomorrow. Until then, I need to go mingle. Have fun, tortolitos.” He winks, then adds a translation, “Lovebirds, that is.”
Teagan’s cheeks flush pink. It’s a good look on her.
Martinez leaves, heading to join the other guests, going to talk to Fitz’s sister. “Maybe one of Fitz’s sisters was the mystery bidder,” I suggest.
“He only has one single sister—Emma, the one who studies art.”
“Oh yeah. She’s a hoot. We used to mess with Fitz and pretend we were going to be a thing.”
Teagan’s eyes turn fiery. She breathes through her nostrils.
I try to rein in a grin. “Are you jealous?”
“A little.”
I laugh. “Holy fuck, that’s adorable. Jealousy looks good on you, Teagan.” She folds her arms, and I bump my shoulder against hers. “As I said, it looks good on you.”
She rolls her eyes, then picks up her glass, lifting it. “To friendships and good-looking jealousies, then.”
“To friendship, rituals, and wild unknowns.”
I clink my glass to hers, take another sip, then set the flute on the bar, gazing briefly at the New York City skyline visible through the windows of the Loeb Boathouse. Not a bad way to spend a night.
This isn’t the first wedding I’ve been to in the last two years. I attended Summer and Oliver’s a few months ago. But this is the first one where I’m not mulling over what-might-have-beens.
I’m only thinking about my life right now. About what might happen tonight. And tomorrow. And the next day.
I feel unburdened for the first time in a long while, and it’s a great feeling.
Teagan takes a sip, then puts her glass down next to mine. “So, how would you rate this wedding?”
I rub my palms together, ready to dive into the review. “Bring it on. What’s the scale? I need to know exactly how I’m grading it.”
She gazes at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. “On a scale of one to . . . better than a chocolate milkshake.”
I pretend to stumble backward. “Whoa. Those are fighting words, Teagan.”
She maintains a straight face. “I know. I’m asking you to make a very tough choice.”
I draw a deep breath, like I’m seriously considering this. And I am. I do love chocolate milkshakes fiercely, and that gives me an idea. “There’s only one way to find out.”
She arches a curious brow. “How good this wedding is?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically.
“Okay, enlighten me. How do we find out how good this wedding is?”
I roll my eyes like it’s so damn obvious. “We should get a milkshake after this.”
“Nope. My question. My rules. You have to judge before you get dessert.”
“Woman, you are a fierce competitor.”
She wiggles her brows. “I know. Now answer the question.”
