“When you toast, you have to look straight into the person’s eyes. Otherwise, it’s seven years of bad s*x,” Teddy says as we all raise our beer bottles over the poker table.
Teddy has a mouth like a wind chime in a tornado, and you never know what’s going to come flying out of it. But when my gaze strays toward Becca, I see that she’s laughing and shaking her head.
We’ve been home from Denver for two days, and while Becca and I have talked on the phone and texted, I haven’t seen her in person until now. And she looks damn good, dressed casually in a pair of formfitting dark jeans, a cozy gray sweater, and brown boots on her feet that make her legs look long and tempting.
Everyone is here tonight, hanging out at Teddy’s place for a poker tournament. Normally, I’d be into the hockey smack
