#wow it's almost like me posting the preview yesterday was a hint or something

[teasoundsgood]

(Artichoke) Hearts Chapter 1

banner by styleslegends

Read here or on 1DFF

You UV Blue me away

***

If I had to pinpoint the root of all my problems it would be the YogaWorks Brentwood prenatal yoga class of 1994.

Now, in their defense, Janet Cleveland, Laura Adams, and Heather Franklin (now Heather Baranoski) had no clue the havoc their actions would reek on my life at the time. They were all just hormonal pregnant woman who wanted to tree pose and breathe and whatever else you do in prenatal yoga class. But after meeting in class and bonding over vomiting on yoga mats and the whole having unborn children in their wombs thing, these four mothers became the best of friends and simultaneously caused all of my problems for the past 21 years and probably for the rest of my life.

John Quincy Adams was born at 7:41PM October 31, 1994

Grover Cleveland was born at 3:15AM November 2, 1994

And finally Franklin Delano Roosevelt was born at 10:52PM November 4, 1994 followed 9 minutes later by his twin sister Teddy Roosevelt. Me.

Why, you ask, did 3 severely pregnant women decide that naming all of their children after dead US presidents was a good idea? Well, that you’ll have to ask them because I have no clue. All I do know is that being the youngest—no matter if its only weeks, days, or mere minutes—of a group of boys who don’t understand that just because you’re all named after some dead guys doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time was a recipe for disaster.

And I’m a cook so I should know.

Not a professional cook though. College took up way too much time for that, but I did have a food blog that was doing pretty well. (Artichoke) Hearts was organized by season (fall, spring, summer, winter, and holidays), meal time (breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks), and type (meat, vegetarian, vegan—my mom wanted me to add a kosher section, but that would mean I would have to actually cook kosher). It wasn’t hugely popular—like say, I don’t know, an up-and-coming currently touring band with two #1 singles on iTunes—but BuzzFeed Food used a good number of my recipes and I had a solid following of moms who appreciated my organization, food photography skills, and my clever analogies in my pre-recipe articles.

Oh, the recipes were pretty good too.

Not that anyone in my family would know. They were all terrible besides Isabelle, but I’m not at all related to her so she didn’t count. Holly was getting pretty good at being my kitchen assistant, but she was eight and technically only related to Isabelle (and a sperm donor with an IQ of 167 and no family history of medical problems). But my father, brother, and mother were still learning how to boil pasta. How I was born into a family of non-cooks I would never know, but it was probably the reason I was so good at cooking.

At seven I was tired of take-out, frozen food, and PB&Js so I learned to make eggs and pasta.

At ten I was making snacks for my brother and the boys after school.

At twelve I was making dinner every night (except for Wednesdays and Saturdays when my brother and I stayed with mom and Isabelle), even though my dad insisted I didn’t have to.

At sixteen I catered the Dead Presidents’ Society Sixteenth Birthday Bash (JQ still says it was his birthday party because we threw it on Halloween and I’ve stopped arguing with him at this point).

And at eighteen (on February 9th at 10:08PM), under the influence of a little too much wine and the encouragement of Pia and Astrid—who were under the influence of a little too much wine and my fried mac-n-cheese balls—I started my blog.

It took awhile, but with consistent posting, a pretty and easily navigated layout, and solid recipes, soon enough (Artichoke) Hearts had become one of the most successful food blogs out there.

Which, as the youngest member of the Dead Presidents’ Society—and the only one who doesn’t play an instrument—gave me just a bit of leverage over those absolute eggheads.

“C’mon Ted, I’m starving,” FDR complained, the WiFi connection a little slow so his voice came through before his pout did.

“We’re starving,” I heard Grover call somewhere off screen.

“We’re starving,” FDR repeated. “C’mon sis, you can’t let us starve to death. You’d be the only Dead President remaining. You’d have to take over all of our jobs to keep the society alive.”

“You can’t play any instruments, it would be very difficult,” Grover added as he sat down on the couch next to my brother, both of them with well-practiced pouts on their faces. But I’d been a main recipient of those pouts from all three of them for the past 21 years so I was completely desensitized.

“I highly doubt that me catering your welcome home pre-show party in three weeks will help with your current starvation problem,” I told them.

“The human body can survive three weeks without food,” Grover pointed out.

“You make an excellent point. But you can still get literally anyone else to do it.” I hummed with a self-satisfied smile on my face. “Oh don’t give me that…” I scolded as the pouts deepened. “Based on Quinn’s most recent report, you boys haven’t done anything that would warrant me cooking for hours for you and your friends.”

Quinn was the Dead Presidents’ Society’s manager extraordinaire and, even though I wasn’t a member of the band, I was her favorite. It might’ve been because I was the first one she met or because I was the one who convinced the boys to pick her over the three other companies who wanted them, but it was probably because I was her secret weapon to get the boys to do whatever she wanted them to.

Or, more specifically, my food was.

“But you love cooking,” FDR whined.

“I cook for people not pigs,” I stated, getting confused frowns in response. I rolled my eyes and blew out a puff of air before continuing. “Your tour bus stinks, you haven’t done laundry for the past month and a half, and you haven’t been eating any of your vegetables,” I listed, recalling my chat with Quinn yesterday when she called to enlist my help in keeping the boys of The Dead Presidents’ Society alive.

“Not true,” FDR argued. “JQ and I had mashed potatoes with dinner last night.”

“Potatoes are nutritionally a starch not a vegetable,” I corrected him.

“Well…um…you’re a starch not a vegetable,” FDR said. It seemed that his time on the road really hadn’t taught him any new comebacks from when we were seven.

“Good one,” I deadpanned.

“How can I be clever when I’m starving to death?”

“If you’re really that desperate for food then go eat some carrots,” I told them both sternly. I might be the youngest of the group (and constantly reminded of it), but I’m really the only responsible one. “And an apple or two.”

“You’re no fun,” FDR pouted.

“Well how can I be when I have to take care of the three of you from LA?” I asked. “Speaking of, where’s the other one?”

I didn’t even know why I still asked about JQ on these Skype calls, it’s not like he’s been present for any of them. But I wasn’t able to completely stop caring about someone I’d known my entire life (unlike him), so I still had to ask.

“JQ’s working on a song down the hall—”

“No, Q was flirting with that bartender,” FDR corrected and I wasn’t surprised at all.

“Yeah, but you went to pee and he left her to go work on a song,” Grover told FDR then turned back to me. “He’s written like five just this week for the next album. I think we’re going to test a couple out at the welcome home show.”

“Another reason you should cater it,” FDR added.

“Not going to work,” I sang.

“You’re the wor—”

“Hey, can we meet early to work on a few new songs?” I knew it was JQ’s voice from the first word.

He might not’ve spoken to me in months, but I’d watched all of their interviews and listened to every song the band had released since last fall. Not to mention I’d heard his voice almost every day of my life growing up.

“Yeah we just have to finish up with Ted,” FDR replied. “Say hi to JQ, Teddy!”

“Hi to JQ, Teddy,” I mocked because actually saying hi to him like a normal adult was too much to ask.

“Hey Teddy,” he replied, but the camera was still facing FDR and Grover so I had no clue what JQ was doing. “I’m going to go tune my guitar.”

I guess he was leaving.

“I should tune mine too,” Grover added after the door clicked shut behind JQ and pushed himself up off the couch. He grinned broadly and waved at the camera. “Bye Teddy.”

“Bye Grover.” I waved back and watched as he disappeared off my screen.

I guess he was going too.

“I should get going anyway,” I said after I heard the door click shut on the other side. “Pia just got back and roped us all into helping her move in.”

“All six of you?” FDR asked.

“Rose isn’t back yet, but yeah pretty much. Pia’s got a lot of stuff you need more than one person to carry. Plus she bribed us with free Indian food.”

“How much do you want to bet the Kapoors just didn’t want to help Pia move in and the food was their idea?” FDR smirked.

“Oh one hundred percent,” I agreed and smiled at my brother. “Ajinder and Rajpreet Kapoor would never give out free food unless they got something out of it.”

“You on the other hand…” FDR trailed off and suddenly the pout was back.

“Look, if you all clean up your act for the last few weeks of tour and stop making Quinn think she’s wrangling pigs not managing a band, then yes,” I gave in and FDR’s pout was immediately replaced by a shit-eating grin. “But final word comes from Quinn!”

“Thanks Teds, we won’t let you down!”

“You better not, mister,” I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Talk to you later,” He replied. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

FDR hung up with a final cheesy grin and wave, leaving me alone for approximately 30 seconds until the familiar sound of a door opening and two collars jingling signaled two dogs and a dad (mine, to be specific) had come back from their walk.

“You just missed FDR,” I told my dad as he rounded the corner and knelt down to let the dogs off their leashes. Fairbanks was a perfect gentleman (obviously) and patiently let Dad take off his leash before trotting over and sitting in front of the couch, next to my feet. Cactus Jack was too busy swinging around a large stick he found because, even though my brother hadn’t been here for months, his dog still behaved exactly like him.

“Eh, I talked to him yesterday,” my dad shrugged after he finally got Jack’s collar off.

“Glad to know you really care about your only son,” I snorted and Fairbanks thought it was a weird sneeze so he jumped up on my lap and put his nose in my face to investigate. Despite how much I loved him, I didn’t really want to french kiss my dog so I pushed him back down pretty quickly.

“John Nance Garner pooped four times today so I’d much rather spend the night with my lovely daughter and her even lovelier dog who only pooped once,” he said as he sat down on the other side of the couch. I could tell dad and CJ weren’t on speaking terms by my dad’s use of his full name. When Dad used his kids’ (or his kids’ dogs’) full names, you knew he was annoyed.

As if to prove a point, Cactus Jack jumped up on my dad’s lap and proceeded to chew his stick from his new perch.

“While I’m honored I’m the favorite, I’ll need to take a raincheck on daddy-daughter time tonight. Pia is moving her stuff into her and Astrid’s apartment today so we���re all going over to help.”

“She promised you all food, didn’t she?” he asked.

“Free food. From Tandor,” I answered.

“Well I can’t argue with that. I’d ditch you for the night if the Kapoors bribed me with food,” Dad stood up—causing Cactus Jack to flop to the floor, but he was too busy with his stick to look upset for more than a few seconds—and kissed me on the top of the head from behind the couch. “Have fun with everyone. Do you need me to watch the pups tonight?”

“I mean, I can bring them with me if you want, but it would probably be easier. I think I might sleep over at Pia’s tonight.”

“You planning a wild party?”

“I’m not, but I’d be surprised if Reese wasn’t,” I answered honestly.

“Well then make sure to take a shot for me and the dogs then,” he said. “But only one. I’d rather not hear about my daughter getting shwasted and running through campus.”

“Dad, I thought you knew me better than that. You’d never hear about it.”

***

“Astrid, you know you’re the one who actually lives here. You could, oh I don’t know, help,” Dom huffed after he and Cole put the couch down in Pia and Astrid’s new living room.

“I carried a box in before you got here,” Astrid said through a mouthful of Chana Masala.

“Well I’ve carried a couch, a table, and two boxes and I haven’t even gotten any food yet,” Dom threw back with his hands on his hips. His face was getting red and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of carrying a couch in the L.A. heat.

“That’s not my fault,” Astrid shrugged and had another mouthful of food. Dominic’s face was getting redder and it definitely wasn’t because of the heat.

“Okay, why don’t we all take a break,” I interrupted the fight that was definitely about to happen and put down the box I’d carried up behind Cole and Dom.

“Reese is carrying up the last two chairs and there’s only two small boxes left that I can get later so let’s just call it a night,” Pia added in and put down her box next to the door before collapsing on the couch the boys just brought in. “Cole, bring me a tub of chicken korma, will you?”

“Yeah, want anything else?” Cole asked over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen where the Kapoors had put all of the food they brought us before quickly making their escape.

“Rice and naan would be appreciated. Did my parents bring samosas? If they did I’ll have one of those too,” Pia replied.

“Coming right up.”

We all (excluding Pia who was examining her nails because she decided it was a good idea to get a manicure the day before she moved in to her apartment) watched over the counter top separating the kitchen and the living room as Cole carefully loaded everything Pia asked for onto a plate and what he wanted as well.  As Cole came around the counter with two plates of food, Astrid and Dom made a whip sound at the same time, but—after the numerous times at least one of us has done this to Cole over the past few years—they barely earned a glance from him. Out of our group of seven, Cole is definitely the push-over, but when it comes to Pia that trait is definitely pushed to the extreme.

Cole put his and Pia’s food down on the coffee table Astrid brought when she moved in a couple days ago and I went to the kitchen to get my own food just as Reese came up with the last two chairs.

“Are we taking a break?” He asked and sat down in one of the chairs.

“Nope we’re done,”Astrid replied, not even looking up from her tub of food.

“Well it must be because of how much you helped, Astrid,” Reese commented sarcastically as he stood up again and made his way over to me in the kitchen. “What a team player.”

“Slow your roll, my little theater nerd,” Astrid looked up and squinted at him, following his path across the room with her fork. “Dom already tried to pull that shit and I can’t fit both of you up my ass.”

“Don’t have a lot of faith in yourself then, do you?” Reese joked.

“Hardy-har-har,” Astrid deadpanned. “I’ll have you know—”

“I don’t want to know this,” Cole piped in because he’s both the pushover and the sweet, innocent cherub of the group. He just wants to study rocks and pine over Pia from afar.

“I’ll have you know,” Astrid repeated without sparing Cole a glance. “I have it on good authority that I have an excellent ass—a direct quote from one Jason Graham: ‘that was the best anal I’ve ever had.’”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to know that either,” I commented and scrunched up my nose in disgust as I came back into the room with my food and joined Cole and Pia on the couch.

“Too bad neither of us like your genitals,” Dom said. “Right, Reese?”

“Correct, Dominic.”

“An ass is an ass is an ass is an ass,” Astrid said dramatically.

“You know, I love you Astrid, but I don’t actually want to hear about your ass while I’m eating dinner,” Cole said and Pia snorted in response.

“Only while you’re eating dinner?” She laughed. “Maybe you should live with her instead of me.”

“No, I’m fine with boys plus Rose,” he replied.

“Speaking of boys plus Rose,” Reese interrupted and glanced between Dom and Cole. “Rose gets back tomorrow and the semester starts the next day and her reign of fun-sucking will begin so we have to have a party tonight.’’

“I don’t think Rose would appreciate knowing you called her a fun-sucker,” I pointed out.

“Teddy,” Reese looked over at me with his hand to his chest. “You know I love our dearest, sweet Rose, but do you know how many parties we could’ve had last year if she didn’t have to study?”

“It’s true,” Dom piped in. “There were at least six parties that should’ve been.”

“At least,” Reese repeated for emphasis. “We have to have one to make up for all of the lost parties last year. We owe it to ourselves—”

“To the UCLA students,” Cole interrupted.

“Dare I say, the entire world,” Reese finished and I knew they had rehearsed this speech. Cole may be a geo major, but Reese was theater enough for the two of them.

“Stop being so dramatic, Reese,” Astrid rolled her eyes. “It’s just a party.”

“Just a party,” Reese gasped dramatically. “We bought a banner, Astrid. A banner.”

“It says ‘Happy Retirement’ on it,” Cole added.

“Okay that’s cute—dumb, but cute,” I said. “I’m in.”

“I don’t know why y’all are making such a big deal. It’s not like any of us wouldn’t go,” Pia said. “You literally could’ve just said we’re having a party tonight. None of us are going to argue with that.”

“Fine,” Reese huffed. “We’re having a party tonight and you’re all coming.”

“See? Simple.” Pia shrugged. “Now let’s finish this food quickly and get alcohol because I refuse to take room temperature shots.”

***

Pia and I were splitting a handle of UV Blue and I felt like we were back in freshman year—which was exactly what Reese had intended.

Reese had decided that, in honor of our last first party of the school year, we should all drink the alcohol that defined our freshman year. I thought it was adorable and reminiscent until Reese said mine was definitely UV Blue because I drank it the night that I sucked Reese’s freshman year roommate’s dick then vomited off of their 4th story balcony.

Then it wasn’t cute anymore.

But then I had six shots and we started talking about how that was when Reese and I became friends and how our whole group followed shortly after, which meant my dick sucking and vomiting story was a key moment in the making of our friend group. And then it was cute again.

“You know, I’m so glad we did this,” I said, mid-group hug in the middle of Rose’s empty room. Since she couldn’t be here tonight we decided it was only right to pregame in her room.

“You doubted me, Theodore Roosevelt, but I’m always right. Y’know, I should’ve been president instead of you,” Reese replied and I knew he was getting drunk because he was breaking out the dead president jokes.

“Reese, you would be a terrible president,” Dom said. “Actually, I’m pretty sure we’d all be terrible.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Reese stepped back from our group hug to go grab another shot.

“Maybe you should slow down, babe,” Astrid said as she took the shot glass from him. “You took one like two seconds ago, maybe wait like five minutes?”

“Yeah, Niall and two of his friends are coming and they should be here soon. You could take it when they get here as a welcome to our home shot,” Dom added in, looking up from his phone.

I’d met Niall a few times through Dom because they’re both film majors and he was nice enough. He was Irish and I could barely understand him sober, let alone drunk, but everything that I could understand was always nice.

“That sounds good. I’m such a good host,” Reese said mostly to himself.

Despite his insistence that he’d wait until Niall & Co. got here—because that’s what a good host would do and he was ‘practically a ninteen-fucking-fifties housewife level host,’ Astrid kept his shot glass because Reese had a habit of sneaking shots. Which is funny when we laugh about it the next day, but not funny when you have to leave the person you’ve had your eyes on the whole night and are finally hooking up with to rub Reese’s back while he pukes. It’s a little ridiculous the number of times that’s happened to one of us.

“Which roommates?” Cole asked.

“Liam and Harry, I think?” Dom replied. “He was going to bring some girl he was seeing, but I don’t think she could make it.”

“Good. I don’t want any competition,” Reese said.

“There’s no competition, Reese,” Astrid said. “Niall’s straight.”

“So is spaghetti until it gets wet,” Reese replied easily and wiggled his eyebrows because he’s dumb.

“Who’s Harry?” I asked to change the subject.

I definitely knew Liam—a little too well because Pia doesn’t understand what TMI means—but I didn’t think I’d ever heard of Harry before.

“He lived with Niall in the fall last year while you were abroad and then went abroad when you came back in the spring so you probably haven’t met him,” Dom explained. “He’s cool though, you’ll like him.”

“You don’t have to suck his dick and vomit off the balcony again though, we’re all already friends,” Reese said because he’s probably the biggest shit I know. “Also I don’t think our landlord would appreciate someone vomiting off the balcony.”

“Gee thanks for the advice,” I deadpanned. “I’ll try but there’s no promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” Reese shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“They’re downstairs, I’m going to buzz them in,” Dom said, looking up from his phone again.

“Astrid!” Reese called even though she was only a few feet away. “Make the welcome shots. I’ve got to be ready to serve my guests.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” Astrid asked.

“You’re just jealous that I’m a better host then you,” Reese replied.

“It’s not even my house, Reese,” she said. “I’m not the host.”

“You’re both dumb to me,” Pia said and sipped a glass of wine because apparently she’d given up on our bottle of UV and gotten wine at some point. But I was six shots in so those details were lost on me.

“Hey! What did I do? I’m your roommate, you’re supposed to be nice to me!” Astrid complained.

“And I’m your favorite, you should be even nicer to me,” Reese added in.

“Her favorite?” Astrid turned to look at Reese. “That’s such a lie—I’m her favorite over you.”

“This is why I think you’re both dumb,” Pia said. “And I’m blatantly my own favorite.”

“Honey, we’re ho-ome,” a familiar Irish voice called, announcing Niall & Co.’s arrival and putting an end to Astrid and Reese’s bickering—at least for a little while.

“My guests!” Reese exclaimed excitedly as they appeared in Rose’s doorway. “Come take a shot with me!”

“What do you have?” Liam asked.

“Not even going to say hi then, Liam? Really?” Pia asked.

“Sorry P,” Liam laughed and hugged her. “How’re you then?”

“Good,” she shrugged and pushed him away playfully. “That’s all I needed. Now go get your alcohol.”

As soon as Liam replied with a flirty laugh and some dumb response, I found myself tuning out. I absolutely love Pia, but listening to her flirt with anyone—which meant flirting with them and anyone else with a dick so they knew they’d have to work for it—didn’t interest me in the slightest. Especially knowing that I’d have to spend at least an hour in a post-hookup debriefing with Pia tomorrow and then another hour listening to Cole complain about Pia hooking up with someone while pretending it’s not just because he’s completely in love with her.      

“Hi,” an unfamiliar voice said and suddenly some boy I’d never seen before was standing in front of me. “I’m Harry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I don’t think we have. I’m Teddy,” I replied and shook his outstretched hand.

I took a second to look him over quickly without being too obvious—even though I probably was because there’s no discreet way to check someone out when they’re right in front of you. But he smirked and looked me over a second later so I assumed it was cool that I did it. And I’m glad I did because he was much more attractive than any of the guys I’d been around this summer. His jeans were a bit tight and would probably be a pain to take off—okay, slow down there, Teddy.

“We definitely haven’t met. I would’ve remembered you,” he said and the amount of vodka I’d had really hadn’t prepared me for this.

“Madame President,” Reese called. “Stop distracting my guests. I’m trying to welcome them into my home.”

“Madame President?” Harry quirked an eyebrow at me.

“It’s a long story,” I replied.

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to find you later so you can tell it to me,” Harry smirked and, even though I’d spent most of my time with my dad and dogs (and sub-par men, but they really aren’t important at this moment in time) this summer, I knew he was definitely flirting with me.

At least I’m pretty sure he was.

“I guess you will,” I smirked back in what could be a flirtatious manner, but could’ve also looked really fucking weird.

“Harry, stop flirting and come drink with me.”

So I guess he was flirting.

***

“Wait so you and your brother and two of your friends were all named after ex-presidents?” Harry asked and took the joint we’d been passing between the two of us for the last few minutes.

He’d found me in the kitchen stealing Reese’s Hot Cheetos from the cabinet about ten minutes ago and wasted no time reminding me that I still had a story to tell him. In the two hours since he’d gotten here, pretty much every other senior that I knew (and a lot of whom I didn’t know) had crammed into Rose and the boys’ apartment, making it a lot hotter and louder than before. Which prompted me to suggest we go outside. Which then prompted Harry to take the joint out of his pocket so we could smoke it while I told him my entire life story.

Or at least the interesting part—which revolved around being named after a dead president.

“Yep,” I nodded. “Pregnant women are weird and very hormonal.”

“I just don’t understand how three women, all with the same last names as ex-presidents, ended up in the same prenatal yoga class.”

“Divine intervention,” I deadpanned.

“You think?” Harry asked in awe and I wasn’t sure if he was an idiot or just high. “Like you were chosen or something?”

“What the fuck?” I laughed. “Chosen?”

“Wow, I’m definitely higher than I thought I was,” he giggled.

“I think I’ll have to agree with you there,” I nodded. “Pass me the joint.”

He held out the joint for me and I took it from him, our hands brushing as I grabbed it.

“Y’know,” he said, looking up from our hands to see me taking a drag. “If this was a RomCom that would’ve been a pretty big moment there.”

“What?” I laughed.

“We had an adorable bonding moment of you telling me the origin of your name. Then I said something dumb, but hopelessly endearing,” he lifted one side of his mouth when he said that and he probably thought he was being cute. He was right. “Which made us both laugh. And then our fingers brushed,” he explained.

“Well then,” I said and took a second drag because I didn’t know what else to do.

“But if this was a proper RomCom—I assume we’re going for genre accuracy, correct?”

“I’d be upset if we weren’t,” I confirmed.

“Then this would be the part where I take your hand,” he took my hand. “And—”

“Have either of you seen Pia?” Cole asked and leaned his body out the doorway, holding it with one hand.

“Not for awhile,” I frowned. “She’s probably around here somewhere. Have you checked Reese’s room? He always makes at least one of us shit talk with him at some point.”

“Yeah he’s got Astrid with him, but no Pia,” Cole said because he’d probably spent the last twenty minutes wandering around the party looking for her.

“She might be with Liam,” Harry interjected and looked at me. “I was with him when he was getting them both drinks when I saw you.”

“Cool,” Cole replied shortly and turned around to leave. I could tell he didn’t think it was cool at all, but he was the idiot who refused to tell her how he felt so I didn’t feel anything sympathy. “I’ll see if I can find them.”

“Oh wait,” Harry said, looking down at his phone, and Cole paused. “Liam texted me like 5 minutes ago. He left with Pia and just wanted Ni and I to know so we wouldn’t look for him.”

“Oh,” Cole said. “That was thoughtful of him. I’ll see you two later.”

Cole turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

“I should go check on him,” I said because even though I said I had no sympathy for Cole, I definitely did. Because I knew first hand how much finding out the person you like just left to hook up with someone else sucks. “He…um…he…”

“Likes Pia?” Harry finished for me. “It’s pretty obvious—does Pia know?”

“No, she’s pretty much the only one who doesn’t,” I said. “Which means moments like this aren’t too uncommon.”

“You’re a good friend,” Harry said. “And I admire that—even if it’s stealing you away from me.”

“You’re a shameless flirt, you know that right?” I commented because the alcohol and the weed (and the compliments) were making me a lot more confident.

“What’s the shame in flirting?” He threw back with a smile and I laughed before turning around to leave.

“Oh, Teddy?” He said and I turned around. He kept eye contact with me and took my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. He pulled back and smiled in a way that momentarily made me rethink leaving to go talk to Cole. “Couldn’t let you leave without finishing our RomCom moment. What a cliffhanger that would be?”