Chapter 22
Conner
Can your dick fall off from too much sex? Asking for a friend.
Taylor’s passed out in her bed. I cleaned up the breakfast she made us—that we never ate—and I feel terrible about wasting the food. Especially after I see her fridge and freezer are a little bare. She’s been feeding me often, and I think it’s time for a restock.
Why can’t our grocery store deliver like the ones in the bigger towns do? I don’t want to leave our little bubble yet, not even for food. Hell, I’m not sure I’m fit for civilization anymore. I feel like I’ve run a marathon—not just with Taylor, but with everything.
My head isn’t clear about my future; it’s just homed in on Taylor.
Not a bad thing, honestly, but I’ve got to talk with her father, and I still don’t know what that conversation should look like.
I don’t want to leave Larson Landscaping, but I can’t stay stagnant either.
And if I’m going to marry and have lots of babies with his daughter, I’ll need a bump in pay because Taylor deserves anything she wants, and I’ve got to be able to provide it. That’s not negotiable.
The guilt that eats my belly is this: I don’t want to be Russel Larson’s competition, but I’m ready to take on my own landscaping business.
Could I stick with his long enough to take it over after he steps down?
Maybe. But as much as he says he wants to retire early, he never will.
I know him well enough to say with certainty that Russ would go insane if he wasn’t staying busy all the time.
And he’s a control freak. There would be no stepping down and letting someone else run his business.
Not even if it were his wife or daughter.
But going off on my own makes me feel like a traitor.
I’m devoted to this company, this man, and hell, this entire family. Which means I’m stuck.
“Holy big dicks, Batman.” Taylor waddles into the kitchen, dramatically bracing herself with the wall.
I’m on her in a blink. “Hey. Whoa. I got you.”
She collapses in my arms, whimpering. “You blasted my pussy apart.”
My heart falls to my feet with guilt. “Shit, Taylor, I’m so sorry.”
This little brat stands up, pats my head, and walks away.
“What the fuck?”
She fills her teakettle with water. “Relax, Con. I’m fine.”
My gaze narrows. “You can’t joke with me about that. I’m scared all the time with you.”
“Women literally push out whole ass humans from their vaginas. A dick, no matter how big and glorious, isn’t going to tear them in two.”
Says the woman who sits down gingerly and winces.
“You are sore,” I say with regret.
“Yes. A little.” She rests her chin on her palm and bats her lashes. “It’s wonderful though. I’ve honestly never felt anything like it.”
“Stop kicking my ego. It can’t take it.”
“I’m serious!” she laughs. “I swear, I’ve never had my body rocked like that before. I’m going to feel you between my legs for a while.”
When the kettle whistles, she gets up and waddles a little over to it.
“I can make you tea if you just sit.”
“I can make it myself. But thank you.” She grabs all kinds of little jars from her counter and puts a little of this, a little of that and two pinches of another into a steeping ball. It reminds me of when we were kids, and she wanted to make magic potions all the time.
I rub the scar on my elbow. “Do you remember when we met that day at the park?”
“Which time?”
“The first.”
“Of course. You fell on me. Squished me completely.” She sits down with her tea. “I almost died.”
“So dramatic.”
We both laugh and it’s nice and the birds are chirping, and the sun is warming up the kitchen nicely. I love how Taylor’s home feels like such a happy place. It’s content and warm and safe here.
Nothing like the places I lived in growing up.
“I think I loved you even then,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“I think I loved you then, too.” She takes a sip and mirrors my posture in her seat. “I used to worry about you all the time.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
She takes another sip and holds my gaze until I drop mine to the table. I don’t want to talk about that shit. It’s done and dusted. Time to switch subjects. “What’s on your to-do list today and how can I help?”
“I’ve got to pull inventory for the Blossom Festival and pack it up. Dad’s probably going to need help loading some stuff on a trailer too.”
“He’s a vendor this year?”
“A sponsor. We decorated one of the small trailers earlier this week for the parade. Mom said we need a wider reach for our business to grow, so this is her way of advertising.”
Jesus. We’re at our max with labor and daylight as it is. “Is he hiring more employees?”
Taylor shrugs.
I’m suddenly salty. How is this supposed to work? I’m already pulling more weight than most, and I can’t sustain it and also be with Taylor. I’ll be dragging my ass here at ten every night and leaving by four am each morning. That’s not a relationship. It’s no better than a bootie call.
Running a hand down my face, I try to keep my cool. But this is the last straw. I can’t keep this up. I need to re-prioritize like Russel said.
Okay. New plan. I’ll just quit. Explain I need more for myself and Taylor. He’ll understand.
Unless he hates me being with his daughter in which case I’m fucked.
If it was anyone else, I’d tell him to kiss my ass and that I love his daughter and he can just suck it up. But Russel is like a father to me. Disappointing him in any way isn’t in me.
“I think Mom’s been in his ear a lot lately about either going big or closing shop.”
“What?” I stand up without realizing it.
Taylor looks up at me, confused. “Didn’t you say the same thing to him once?”
Yeah. But that was three years ago. Back when we had more employees, and I had big ideas.
None of it worked out though. Hell, we didn’t even get to my project ideas to see if they’d fly or not.
And then another competitor scooped up the business that could have been ours and I’ve been frustrated about it ever since.
I just want a chance to prove myself.
“I can’t believe the Blossom Festival is next weekend.”
“Uhhh. It’s tomorrow, bro.” Taylor winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean bro. I’m going to have to seriously work harder on that.”
“Tomorrow?” I feel like I’ve been sucked into a time warp. “What do you mean tomorrow?”
“How is that hard to articulate, Con?” Her eyebrows pinch together. “Did you stroke out during our fuckfest?”
This woman has the audacity to press her hand on my forehead as if checking for a fever. I bat it away. “Are you messing with me right now?”
“No. Are you messing with me?”
“No.”
Taylor frowns. “Have you seriously lost track of time and space?”
I must have. Between working non-stop for weeks, plus having a mental breakdown over Taylor, and now floating in her orbit for the past couple of days, I don’t know what time it is, what day or even month we’re in, if I’m honest.
Holy shit, I hope I didn’t fall behind on other things too. Wait. I can’t remember the last time I paid my electric bill!
“I knew you working like this was going to catch up with you. You’re just like my father.”
Why is she saying that like it’s an insult?
“You know my parents almost split up twice because of his business.”
I definitely did not know that. “When?”
“Just after you were hired. And… again about three years ago.”
No way. I can’t imagine the two of them ever splitting up. They’re ride or dies.
“They used to fight all the time when I was a kid too.”
My heart falls. “I don’t remember that.”
“Of course you don’t. I would go to the park or Carly’s or somewhere else and meet you there. I never told anyone about my parents’ business because it wasn’t anyone else’s problem.”
I’d love to argue with that logic, but I’m the same way. No one knew how bad it was in my household, and I stayed away from it as often as possible. But I just can’t imagine Russel and Corrine splitting up for anything. It legit doesn’t compute in my brain. Russ would die for Corrine.
“Work and money aren’t everything, Con.” She nervously taps her finger on the table. “Remember that, okay?”