Page 72 of Pucking Strong

“What did you know, Doctor O’Connor?”

He holds her gaze, unwavering in his answer. “I knew that Henrik was the only man for me.”

We make it through the rest of the interview without incident. Janine asks some carefully worded, Poppy-approved questions about my sister and Karolina. We share some of the lighter moments from our time in Sweden. Teddy mentions trying to order a coffee in Swedish, and I make a joke that he snores. Before I know it, the sound team is taking off our mics.

“Oh my goodness.” Poppy rushes forward. “Boys, that was fantastic. You both did so well. I seriously couldn’t have done it any better myself. You came off so natural and approachable. You were both a little nervous, which will play great. Oh, I could just kiss you!”

Teddy chuckles. “Easy there, Pop. We’re married men, remember?”

“Ugh, and that story about your first meeting? You sweeping him off his feet to save his life?Soromantic,” she cries with a slap to my arm. “The fans are just gonna swoon. And it all felt so real!”

We get untangled from the mic wires, but the photographer holds us back for more pictures. He poses us like we’re a couple on a cruise ship, with Teddy seated in a chair and me standing behind, one hand on his shoulder. Then they take a few pictures of us up against the windows. Teddy is in front. The photographer poses us with my arms around him.

“Just do it,” Teddy says, holding still while the photographer angles my face until I’m all but breathing down his neck. He snaps a few pictures of us like this. With each click, I fight the urge to look up and inspect which camera body and lens he’s using.

Once they free us, Teddy darts away. Swiping his backpack off a chair, he heads for the door.

Janine steps in just as I go to follow. “Oh, Henrik, I wondered if I could get just a few more pull quotes for the article—”

“No.” I step around her. “Please, excuse me.” Something’s wrong. I can feel it. I follow after Teddy. “Hey,” I call out just before he ducks into the stairwell. “Teddy, wait.”

He pauses, back turned, one hand holding open the stairwell door.

“Where are you going? We drove here together, remember?” He turns as I approach, and I stop in my tracks. There are tears in his eyes. “Teddy, what …” I reach for him, but he jerks away, backing into the stairwell.

“What the fuck was that?”

I’m reeling, trying to pinpoint what upset him. “Did someone say something to you? Or do something? Who was it? Tell me—”

“Youdid!”

I blink. “What?”

“You told those assholes about the sidewalk!”

“And that’s … bad?”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “We agreed that our first meeting story would be in the gym when you walked up with Sully. Remember,baby?”

“Teddy, I—but you heard Poppy. She said to tell the truth as much as we were able. That’s all I did.”

“The sidewalk story was private. It was ours. It—fuck—” He spins away, daring to flee.

I grab him before he can leap down the stairs. “Teddy, wait. Please, just tell me what I did wrong. Make me understand. I can’t apologize if I don’t know why I’m apologizing.”

“Sure you can. You just say, ‘Teddy, I’m sorry for being such an insensitive ass.’ And then you let me fucking go.”

But I don’t let him go. I band an arm around his chest, holding him to me as he tries to elbow me. Losing my patience, I curse in Swedish. “Du gör mig galen—just use your words, huh? Teddy, I’m sorry for being such an insensitive ass. There. Now tell mewhyI’m an ass, and I’ll apologize again.”

The fight leaves him on a groan. I feel the rise of his chest againstmy arm. “I just wanted the sidewalk to stay ours, okay? It was the only thing that—” He sinks into silence on a muttered curse.

I soften my hold on him. “Go on. It was the only thing that what?”

He pulls away enough to turn in my arms. I relax a little, letting my hand drift down to grip his forearm. He’s still in my hold, but we both know it’s a choice now. He could easily escape. Instead, he dares to hold my gaze. “Sometimes it feels like our moment on the sidewalk is the only thing between us that’s real.”

I search his face. “What do you mean?”

“I—” He blinks, then looks down, breaking our connection. “I don’t know what I mean.”

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