Operation Meet Cute by K.M. Neuhold

Chapter 9

TEDDY

“Come in, come in,” Ezra says, pulling open his front door and waving me inside.

“I brought wine.” I hand over the expensive bottle I picked up on my way over to his apartment.

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” he scolds, even as he coos over the fancy label.

I wave off his comment. I would never show up for dinner without bringing something. My mother would have a heart attack. “It smells incredible in here.”

“I’m trying a new eggplant recipe,” Joey, Ezra’s husband, calls from the kitchen.

“That does not smell like eggplant,” I murmur to Ezra, careful to keep my voice low enough that I won’t earn a lecture about narrow-minded, carnivorous thinking from the chef. He’s not a vegetarian. He’s just of the strong opinion that our societal thinking is too meat-based.

“I know. My stomach has been growling for an hour,” he agrees, keeping his voice low as well as we share a smile. “Come in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll open this bottle, and we can sit and have a glass before dinner.”

“Sounds great.”

I’ve been to my friend and assistant’s apartment enough times in the past several years to make myself at home without much prompting. I take a seat on the oversized sofa in the living room and pick up the latest coffee-table book Ezra has laid out. I flip it open and grin when I realize it’s erotic male photographs. Rather artistic erotic male photographs, I must say. I tilt my head to get the full effect of one of the images, imagining what Harlow would say about the man’s flexibility.

“Isn’t that exquisite?” Ezra says, joining me and handing me a glass of wine.

“It is.”

“Joey and I actually met the photographer on that cruise we took last spring. He’s a lovely man, and his husband does the body paint and set design for the pieces.”

“Well, aren’t they a power couple?” I finish flipping through it and set the book back down.

“They are,” he agrees, taking a long sip from his glass, holding my gaze with a calculating look the entire time.

Ah, fuck. I knew I should’ve turned down the invitation tonight. He was way too eager when he asked me over this morning.

“You know,” he goes on when I fail to come up with a change of subject fast enough. I should have brought Low. He’s always good for a bizarre wrench in any conversation. It’s a gift, I swear. But not me, nope, I’m stuck in this conversation, knowing exactly where it’s about to go and yet unable to stop it. “It’s amazing what the right partner can do for your life.”

“You don’t say,” I reply flatly.

“And you’re quite a catch, Teddy. In fact, Joey and I were just at dinner with a friend who works in finance as well. He recently broke up with his boyfriend and is looking to date again. I’d be happy to give him your number if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” I say sarcastically.

Ezra catches onto my tone, or maybe it’s the scowl I barely manage to hide behind the rim of my wine glass.

He blows out a long breath and slumps back on the couch, looking rather defeated, which I take as a personal victory. “I just want to see you happy. You know how people say that the good ones are always taken? You’re one of the good ones, and you should be taken.”

Unsurprisingly, my mind conjures a mental slideshow of Harlow: laughing, singing, shaking his cute little ass in front of the stove while our dinner burns…writhing under my touch as I take him apart. I clear my throat and shift in my seat to hide the evidence of my errant train of thought.

I should be taken? I already am taken. I just haven’t gotten around to telling Harlow about it. I’m pretty sure relationships based entirely on one person’s detailed fantasies and a couple of steamy blowjobs are very in right now.

Ezra makes a face as if he’s reading my thoughts. Hell, he’s been my assistant so long that he might be. “Just don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I agree diplomatically.

“You know, I half expected you to show up with Captain Skinny Jeans tonight.”

I snort at the nickname and make a mental note to tell Low about it later. He’ll get a kick out of it. In fact, he might make himself a cape and stick an emblem on his chest the next time he knows he’ll be seeing Ezra.

“I did text him after work, actually, but he said he has a meeting with the director tonight after they wrap filming. I’m guessing he’s finally getting notes back on his script.”

“I hope they’re positive,” he says, sounding genuine. He may have a low opinion of my best friend, but he’s not a complete dick.

“Dinner is served, lovelies,” Joey calls from the dining room, and the two of us get up to join him.

I watch with a hint of jealousy as Ezra gives his husband a casual kiss on the lips before pulling out a chair for him and dishing him up a plate. He says that if Joey cooks then the least he can do is serve him. It’s sweet, and I have to admit he’s completely right about my single status. I don’t want to be thirty-five and secretly pining after my best friend. But Harlow isn’t ready to know the truth, maybe he never will be. So for now, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. But hey, at least now there are blowjobs in this place where I’m trapped. It could be worse.

The eggplant indeed does not taste like eggplant. I shovel the delicious meal into my mouth and spend the rest of dinner making conversation with Joey about the latest vegetarian cookbook he’s publishing and enjoying the loving spark in Ezra’s eyes as he brags about his husband getting a call from Rachael Ray.

“It’s no big deal,” Joey mumbles, hiding his blush behind his napkin. “It wasn’t even her. It was a production assistant.”

“Nonsense. You’re brilliant and handsome and Rachael Ray won’t be the last celebrity chef blowing up your phone.” He leans over and kisses his husband, and I smile at the display.

I don’t stay long after dinner is finished, eager to get home and hear what the director said to Low.

I’m imagining a dance party to celebrate the heaping praise followed by a late night of drinking and coming up with increasingly silly ideas for new movies he can write. Instead of going up to my own floor, I stop on Harlow’s. He doesn’t answer when I knock, and when I turn the handle, I find the door unlocked.

I mutter under my breath about his bad habit of leaving his place open. This is LA not Mayberry, for fuck’s sake. His apartment is dark and quiet, so I close the door again, using the key he gave me to lock it, and then I continue up the flight of stairs to the next floor.

When I step inside my own apartment, it seems empty as well, and I start to wonder just how late this meeting with Timothy is supposed to go. Then I hear a sniffle…

My heart plummets as I reach over to flick on the light switch. Sure enough, Harlow is on my couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, his face buried in his arms, crying, by the sounds of things.

Goddamn fucking Timothy the Twat.

I don’t bother to remove my shoes, immediately striding across the room to join him on the couch. I wrap my arms around him, and he scrambles onto my lap without further coaxing, pressing his face into the crook of my neck and sniffling again.

I cup his face with one hand, using the pad of my thumb to wipe away a few of the tears.

“What happened?” I have a few guesses, but if he tells me, it’ll be easier.

“He hated it,” he chokes out. “He said it was predictable and boring, and that I’ll be better off directing scripts by, and I quote, ‘more creative people.’”

“Aw, honey,” I say softly, tightening my arm around him.

“I suck. I have no talent and no creativity. I’m shallow and…fuck, I can’t even think of another word for not creative. That’s how bad of a writer I am. I don’t even know a synonym for being uncreative.”

“Dull?” I venture, which is the wrong move because he starts to cry harder. “No, Low, I’m sorry. I don’t mean you’re dull or that you aren’t creative. I was trying to help.”

HARLOW

I’d love to be embarrassed about crying all over Teddy, but I’m already full-up on negative emotions for one day. When I manage to get myself under control, I pull back from Teddy’s embrace, noticing how his arms tighten around me for a fraction of a second before he lets me go.

I slide off his lap and lean my back against the arm of the couch, stretching my feet out to touch his thigh so I’m not completely out of contact with him.

Eileen jumps up, and I stroke the soft fur on her head and take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

“I feel like I missed my timing or something. Why didn’t anyone tell me that rom coms are basically dead?”

“Rom coms aren’t dead,” he argues.

I scoff. “That’s not what Timothy said.” I shake my head, remembering all the mean things he said in such an even, condescending tone, like he was doing me some kind of favor. Maybe he was.

“Fuck Timothy,” Teddy says gruffly, and I chuckle.

“No thanks,” I joke, earning a laugh in return.

“The guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He puts a hand on my knee and squeezes it, the warm weight of his touch somehow managing to blanket my entire body with comfort.

“He won an Oscar,” I inform him.

“The Oscars are rigged,” Teddy counters without missing a beat, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m going to have to find a new career path,” I mutter. “I should burn all the shitty scripts I have and become a lawyer or something.”

“You don’t need a new career, and if you try to burn those scripts, I’m going to spank you.”

My breath catches, and in spite of the headache induced by my crying, my cock perks up. “You’re going to spank me?” I ask incredulously, catching a light blush creeping up his throat.

“No, I probably won’t. I just remember that porn you accidentally sent me a link for once and thought it might make you laugh.”

“Right, accidentally.” I nod sagely, and we both laugh.

“Seriously, though, Low, it’s one man’s opinion.”

I scoot closer to Teddy again, missing his comforting touch now that I’m all the way on the other side of the couch. “But what if he’s right? Just because I’m interested in—”

“Obsessed with,” he corrects with a smirk.

“Slightly enjoy,” I offer, trying not to smile when he quirks a skeptical eyebrow at me. I fix him with a look and try again. “Just because I watch a lot of rom coms and essentially base my life around them doesn’t mean they’re selling. Oh god, I’m going to have to write a stupid superhero movie or something where stuff explodes and hardly anyone kisses.” I groan miserably, and he squeezes my leg again.

“I don’t think he’s right,” he says, and I make a noise of protest. I’m really going to need him to play the hypothetical game with me if I’m going to work through my emotions on this one. “But if he is…what about trying to find a more unique premise or some kind of a twist on the genre?”

“Hmm,” I hum, considering the idea. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, Low. You’re the writer. I’m just a numbers guy.”

“Hmm,” I grunt again, reaching over and stroking my fingers through his beard because it’s even more soothing than petting the cat. “Did you know that those stupid movies got me through my parents’ divorce?”

Teddy moves his arm so it’s over the back of the couch and starts to drag his fingers gently through my hair. I lean into it, closing my eyes happily at the sensation. “I know,” he says. I’ve told him about my parents’ messy divorce a half dozen times. We found out my dad had another family in the next town over the whole time, my mom cried a lot…it sucked.

“Your dad was a dick,” he says sympathetically.

“Yup,” I agree. “Whenever I would start to get that ‘love is a lie’ teenage angst feeling, I would put on When Harry Met Sally or Pretty Woman or Some Kind of Wonderful, and I felt…I don’t know, hopeful or something. I felt like love could be cinematic and perfect, that it could be worth looking for.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on real life.”

“Maybe,” I agree with a sigh.

“Hey, how was dinner at Ezra’s?” I ask, ready to close the subject for now. I let my hand slip down to rest on Teddy’s chest, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

“Great. Joey cooked steak, and Ez wore a T-shirt with your face on it.”

I snicker. “Sounds like a fun night.”

“Meh. Would’ve been better if you could’ve made it.” There’s no teasing in his tone this time, just a sweet, earnest statement that makes my chest feel weirdly tight and tingly.

“Hey,” I say again, waiting for Teddy to turn his head to look at me. “Thanks for cheering me up.” Before he can say anything, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his mouth.

His lips part against mine, moving slowly. His hand stays right where it is on my thigh, and I bunch the front of his shirt in my fist but otherwise keep things PG. We don’t even use our tongues, and yet somehow, the kiss doesn’t feel like it’s lacking a single thing. It’s sweet and perfect…just like Teddy.

My heart forces its way into my throat, my skin going warm and clammy at the same time, and I pull away.

“I think I’m going to go get some sleep.” I swing my legs around and put them on the floor, the taste of Teddy’s lips still lingering on mine as I get to my feet. “Or, you know, sit up all night thinking about a fresh take on romantic comedies.”

“Low.” He catches my hand before I can walk away, and my heart gives another jolt like a bird trapped in a cage, desperately rattling the bars. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Teddy Bear,” I assure him. “And if I get the urge to burn anything, I’ll knock three times on the ceiling so you can come down and spank some sense into me.”

His eyes heat, but he laughs and nods. “Okay. Night, honey.”

That’s the second time he’s called me that tonight, and my stupid, possibly arrhythmic heart really seems to like it.

“Night.”