Page 14 of Love at Teamsgiving
But we’re so bad for each other that a long time ago, we’d convinced ourselves we could be good.
There’s nothing further from the truth.
And yet, seeing her now, dark eyes glimmering with secrets, makes me want to know what they are. What have I missed in the fourteen months since we called off our summer wedding?
Her full, puffy lips remind me of roses and make me want to kiss her again. Right here. Right now. But I know better, because behind that gaze is a hatred for me that she’s not afraid to share, using her thorny tongue that is always armed and ready to fire barbs my way.
I’m not traveling down this hedge maze again.
Giving my head a shake, I say, “Nope. Nah. I’m out.”
I start to turn around, to exit, when Shane, in a rather paternal tone, says, “Miguel.”
The exit is only a few paces away, but I go still as if it were Pop calling me out.
Shane says, “Dude, you can’t bail on being my best man.”
He’s right. That breaks the bro code.
Nodding apologetically, I say, “Ride or die, dude.” In a lower voice, I add, “Unless she kills me.”
As if confirming, Junie says, “The blood would be on your hands, Mr. and Mrs. Finch.”
I wince. “She’s just so prickly.”
Junie flashes a smug smile that makes me think that if “Mom and Dad” turn their backs, she’ll stick out her tongue at me.
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I say, “I’m happy to help, but I’ll do it solo.”
Shane guffaws. “All while transferring to the new team, training, and getting underway with the season?”
I tip my head to the side. He has a point. Mere minutes ago, when I accepted Shane’s request to be his best man, I generously and gregariously said I’d help with anything. When he double-checked to make sure, I assured him that I was hisbestman. No way would I let Jonas steal my thunder.
I just didn’t think, in a million years, it would involve this kind of help, er, hindrance. It never occurred to me that Erica would choose Junie as her maid of honor. Their friendship was on the edge of my awareness, but they must’ve grown closer in recent years since I moved out of Manhattan.
As if just finishing sharpening her sword, Junie says, “Prickly? What about you? Your ego needs one of thoseWide Loadsigns. You’re just so full of yourself, Miguel.”
I roll my eyes and then replace the expression with my smolder. “When you’re as good-looking and talented as me, it’s hard not to be awesome.”
She gestures wildly. “And he makes my point.”
If I cannot please the woman, I will do my best to tease her. Get under her skin. Because an annoyed Junie is better than no Junie at all.
Is it mature? No.
Effective? Yes.
“Guys, if you weren’t aware, I’m not Miguel’s biggest fan. Though I believe you knew that,” she grinds out.
I take it I’ve been the topic of more than one late-night heart-to-heart over a container of ice cream and a box of tissues.
“I have a list of women who aren’t my biggest fans. And an even longer list who’re waiting to meet me.” I know how that sounds, but when I’m around Junie, these things fly out of my mouth like she has a fishing rod and reel. I take the bait. It cannot be helped.
Turning to me, she says, “You know those personality tests where you identify yourself based on a bunch of letters that stand for character traits? Fun fact: Miguel took one and found out he’s a J-E-R-K.”
“How is that fun? You’re like a cyclone that takes the fun out of everything. I should announce to the Cobbiton townspeople to take shelter and brace for impact.”
All the tension between us stacks up like a toothpick tower, precarious and fragile. One strong gust of wind and it’s going down. I place my bets on her blowing first. But my secret hope—the one I only let myself think about when I’m in the cold plunge tub—is that from the wreckage, someday, someway, we’ll find our way to each other again.
