Second First Impressions(53)
“And an order of Frankenfries,” the bartender sets them down. “Teddy. What’s up, man.” (Of course Teddy knows everybody.) “When are you moving to Fairchild? I’ve got a friend I wanna send to you. He needs a touch-up on an old piece.”
Teddy rubs his hands together and says to the plate, “I should be taking bookings by Christmas. Maybe leave it to the New Year so I can get settled.”
“I’ll let him know. Bet you can’t tell, because he’s such a mess,” the bartender says to me with a grin, “but this guy is the best at what he does.” He rolls up his sleeve to show me a beautifully rendered old-style naval anchor.
“I know he is. And he’s not a mess.” Teddy’s eyes crinkle at my indignant defense. When the bartender leaves, I say, “You always turn up at the exact moment there’s food.”
Teddy rests his ankles against mine. “It’s uncanny how lucky I am. Look at you, doing your homework on a Friday night. Why did you look so sad?”
“I just found out I’m not as beautiful as a plate of Frankenfries.” I rub down from bare shoulder to my elbow and he watches the movement. “And I remembered you’re moving away.”
He steps over that and focuses on what he can give me: one hell of a compliment.
“You’re sublime,” he promises me and I get that pool-floating sensation. “You’ve got skin that keeps tattoo artists awake at night.” Through the steam rising off the food, he’s appraising me with a gleam in his eye.
“I guess a totally blank canvas must be appealing.” I feel myself get bolder. “If I ever decided to do something crazy and you finally design me the perfect thing— ”
“I couldn’t do it to you. It’d be like tattooing a peach.” Not paying attention to what he’s doing, he scoops up fries heaped with what is clearly boiling hot macaroni into his mouth. It’s a bad idea. Now he’s struggling, cupping his hands over his mouth, his eyes sparkling green and brown. He’s brought himself to tears.
I find him a tissue in my bag. “But you’ve tattooed other girls. You think it wouldn’t suit me?” He shakes his head, adamant. “I’d have to get it somewhere secret, so my parents wouldn’t find out.”
He swallows hard. “Somewhere secret.” He literally exhales a plume of steam.
“I haven’t even told you what I want.” I wait until his eyebrow moves. “I want the Heaven Sent logo.” Now he’s laughing and reaching back to the plate. “Teddy, if you could just control yourself …” I use my fork to pull a single french fry out of the stack and I blow on it.
He leans over and bites it off my fork, because of course he does.
“I forgot, we share everything.” I’m being sarcastic, but he just smiles, all satisfied.
“Now you’re starting to understand.” He has a nice big drink from my glass. Apparently, we even share straws.
“If I was out on a date, should I expect to get my own drink?”
He realizes what he’s done. “Sorry, I’ve just started inhaling everything like always. I think I have some cash …” He begins fishing around in his pockets.
I shake my head. “Keep saving that cash. You’re doing really well.” I try to pull out another fry but it’s overloaded and splats onto the table, narrowly missing my worksheet. “Meanwhile, this isn’t going well at all.”
“I had a dream last night that I paid Alistair for my share a week before the deadline. Do you think it’s a sign?”
I’ve heard enough about his dreams to know that things go weird pretty fast in them. “Then what happened?”
“I knew it was a dream because he gave me my key to the front door and it was the size of a surfboard. I woke myself up trying to fit it in my pocket and I’d gotten my boxers down around my knees.”
I laugh, even as thoughts of keys and locks distracts me. The relief of having some company has given way to nerves. I felt better about leaving Providence knowing that Teddy was staying behind. I know I don’t have to be there 24/7. I’m just more comfortable when I am.
“I’m not sure if my homework counts now. It specifically says I have to sit alone.”
He’s eaten probably a quarter of the plate with his fingers. “She’ll never know.” He’s got the blank sheet in front of him and he’s written my name at the top in elegant stylized script. “I’ll help. Tell me everything about you and I’ll write it down. Start from the beginning. Ruthie Maree Midona was born at … midnight. Or noon. Am I close?”
I begin to gather up my pens.
He sighs. “If you’re serious, I’ll go. I just missed you so much. I got home and your windows were dark. I followed your patrol route. I went up to your little lookout spot by the dumpsters, where you like to look at the city lights.”
I’m mildly disturbed. “Have you been stalking me?”
“Then I got your text. I remembered there’s this group of four sketchy dudes who hang out here drinking all afternoon, and I got into this panic that they’d found you sitting alone and were putting roofies in your Coke. That’s why I was so fast.” He picks up my glass and drinks from it.
“Lucky they didn’t roofie it, or we’d both be unconscious.”