Operation Meet Cute by K.M. Neuhold
Chapter 2
TEDDY
Maybe I should be surprised to hear music coming from my apartment when I get home at the end of the day. I live alone after all, and the music that’s blaring loudly through the door isn’t the kind of thing I’d listen to if given the choice, not that Harlow’s ever asked. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the worst music. It’s not German techno or, god forbid, country. No, the music itself would be fine if I didn’t have such a bad association with it.
Of course, the door is unlocked. Again, not shocking after five years of knowing the man who’s currently no doubt dancing around my kitchen, burning dinner. Smoke and the scent of charred…something assaults me as soon as the door is open. It’s a smell I’ve come to associate with Harlow’s Cooking Montage playlist. Hence the reason I’m not overly fond of the music.
I set down my briefcase next to the door, loosening my tie and kicking off my shoes with a relieved groan before heading for the kitchen to find out what my best friend is burning tonight.
As predicted, he’s shaking his cute, perky ass and singing along with the music at the top of his lungs, my poor cat looking thoroughly harassed in his arms.
“Do you know that your apartment also comes with a kitchen?” I ask, leaning against the doorway and smirking affectionately when he kisses Eileen on the top of the head and then sets her down gently. She only has three legs, so she needs a little more care being dropped than most cats.
“But then it would be my apartment with a lingering smell of burnt fish,” he points out, shooting me a charming grin.
“Is that what that smell is? Damn, it’s never going to come out, is it?” I wrinkle my nose and edge around him to take a peek into the oven so I can find out if the food is the least bit salvageable.
“Unlikely,” he agrees. “I’d suggest you move, but you walk so quietly, and with my luck, the next person will probably wear high heels around the apartment, have a big dog, or vacuum at three in the morning.”
“Ah, so you want me to stay because I’m a good upstairs neighbor, not because you have any kind of emotional attachment to me?” I quirk an eyebrow at him and pull the charred remains of dinner out of the oven.
“Obviously. Although, if you did move, I’d get a shot at a new neighbor who justmight be my Mr. Right.” He taps his chin and considers the option.
A small pang of jealousy ping-pongs inside my chest, hidden behind the casual smile I’ve perfected over the past several years of listening to Harlow’s ongoing mission to meet the man of his dreams by any meet-cute necessary, as he likes to put it.
Apparently, the way the two of us met wasn’t quite cute enough for him. Story of my life.
It actually is a funny story though. I had just come home from work to find out that my boyfriend at the time, Greg, had given away the cat we had recently adopted from the shelter. He told me she’d run away, but a friend sent me a copy of the Craigslist ad he posted looking for a good home for her. I confronted him about it, and he told me that the commitment of owning a cat together was too much for him and that he needed some space. Dick.
Long story short, the very lengthy, loud argument ended with me tossing several handfuls of his belongings out the window, where they tumbled onto the balcony below. Once Greg was gone, I went downstairs to apologize for the whole thing and ended up being regaled with stories of much worse breakups than the one I’d just experienced. Which as anyone can tell you, is a solid foundation for a brand-new friendship.
The next day, Harlow helped me track down the guy who adopted Eileen so I could go ask for her back. That was the first time I learned all about his obsession with movie moments. He said that going to ask for my cat back was an excellent meet-cute. It wasn’t. The guy was kind of an asshole about the whole thing, but at least I got my baby back.
Eileen mrrrows, rubbing up against my leg to beg for the fish. “You don’t want this, sweetheart.”
“It’s probably fine if you scrape the top layer off a bit,” Harlow suggests, grabbing a fork and attempting to do just that. It only takes him a minute to accept that it’s burned to charcoal and there won’t be any salvaging it.
“Sushi?” I suggest.
“Fine, but only if we order from Sumo’s. Their delivery guys are the cutest,” he bargains.
“Clearly the most important factor.”
He sighs, following me into the living room and flopping onto the couch. “You’re right. Order from that other place, Saku…whatever.” He waves his hand. “The delivery guy is butt ugly, but the food is better.”
I pause in the middle of searching for Sumo’s website on my phone. “Are you feeling all right?” I check, eyeing him with concern. I’m half tempted to reach over and feel his forehead to see if he’s running a fever.
“Yeah, just had a shitty day.”
I go ahead and continue clicking to Sumo’s because, regardless of what he says, a cute delivery guy will definitely perk him up, and then pull his feet up into my lap. “Tell me about it.”
“Nothing major, just…you know, life.” He shrugs, patting his chest to tempt the cat to jump up on him. “I swapped drinksthis morning with a guy who turned out to be an ass and work kind of sucked. I’m starting to wonder why I spent a fortune going to school to be a director just to end up getting someone’s dry cleaning and picking up his lunch.”
I’m not going to touch the former with a ten foot pole. If I do, I’ll end up telling Harlow that he needs to start trying to meet people in more normal ways, or better yet, open his eyes and look five feet in front of his face if he’s so eager to find someone looking to date him. And the latter, well, that’s a topic we’ve all but exhausted. He knows I think he should take a leap—stop sucking up to established directors and start working on directing his own film.
So instead of giving my opinion on either, I start to rub his feet. God knows he refuses to wear sensible shoes, even though he’s on his feet all day long, running back and forth on set and doing errands for half the crew.
In spite of what he says, I know he does a hell of a lot more than run errands. He’s responsible for keeping things in order on set, managing every one of the cast and crew, setting up the filming schedule—the list goes on and on.
He moans when I press my thumb into the arch of his foot, the sound going straight to my cock. I shift so he can’t feel it and continue working on helping him relax.
“I did hear some good news though,” he goes on.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Marnie is engaged. I’m supposed to call her later so she can tell me all about it.”
“That’s great. When’s the wedding?”
“I don’t know yet. Hopefully not too soon. I need time to find a date.”
“I’ll go with you if you want,” I offer as casually as I can manage.
A smile lights up his face as I switch to his next foot. “You’re the best, Teddy Bear.” He reaches over and runs his fingers affectionately through my beard.
I look over at him, his eyes closed as he enjoys the foot massage. Every frustrating, impractical thing about him from his tight jeans to his over-styled hair have found a way to become my favorite things about him over the years. He’s ridiculous and endearing, a bit shallow but sexy as hell, unaware of his own absurdity and yet somehow in on the joke all at once. I can still remember the exact moment I fell in love with him four years ago, and I haven’t managed to shake his hooks out of me since.
Too bad he doesn’t see me as his leading man.
