Chapter One - 1. The Arrangement #2
Sure, I knew his height, weight and birthday.
I knew how fast he could sprint and I knew how high he could jump.
I knew exactly what grades he achieved for each of his classes and by exactly what percentage of votes he’d won student council president.
I knew that in high school, he had a chicken wrap every day for lunch, and I knew now that he had overnight oats every morning for breakfast. I knew his showers went for approximately seven minutes.
I knew he used green-apple scented fabric softener.
I knew his bottom lip was fuller than his top lip, and that his right index finger was slightly longer than his left index finger —
Okay, maybe I knew a lot of things about him. But there was still so much I didn’t know. It was hard to figure out what was going on in his head, especially when his expressions were a never ending series of cold, flat stares.
I took one step forward.
The thing was, I didn’t want to come across anything I’d rather not see. Like that idiot photo album I found last night. I wished I hadn’t seen it at all because it meant…
I didn’t know what it meant. But I didn’t like it. Every time I thought of it, my blood fizzled under my skin.
There was a metallic noise as a key was jammed into the front door, and I closed Taylor’s bedroom door and leaped across the living room. I had just leaned casually against the kitchen island when Taylor came in, his forehead shiny and his cheeks red.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Gym,” he said.
“Gym,” I repeated. He’d gone to the gym instead of staying in bed with me. “What did you hit?”
“The treadmill.”
“I thought you thought cardio was a waste of time.”
“It’s good for —” he hesitated — “for clearing your head.” He held up a McDonald’s bag. Grease had left wet spots on the brown paper. “Got you some food.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I was smiling like a goofball. It was funny how breakfast — no, being brought breakfast — changed my whole mood.
We sat on the couch and Taylor took out various McMuffins, muttering something about not being sure which one I liked. I told him I wasn’t picky. Sausage, bacon, egg, cheese, they were all yummy to me.
Taylor’s phone screen turned on with a notification, and with a yelp, I saw he still had the selfie I’d taken last night as his wallpaper. My cheeks were pink, since we’d just had sex, and his bare arm was under my head.
“You need to get rid of that,” I said, “before someone sees.”
He removed the wallpaper calmly without another word. I supposed he was too busy eating to talk.
“So,” I said later, when I was chomping down my third hash brown, “what did you need to clear your head about?”
He kept his eyes on his food, silent for so long, I thought he might not speak.
“I want to fuck you raw.”
I choked on my hash brown. Taylor just watched me cough and wipe my eyes, not moving, not saying anything. What a dick. The least he could’ve done was offer me a glass of water.
“Th —” My throat still hurt. I coughed again. “That’s what you were thinking about while you were on the treadmill?”
“If we’re going to do this, we need to get tested —”
“Hang on,” I interrupted. “I haven’t agreed yet.”
Taylor just stared at me. Despite myself, my cock jumped in my boxers.
“Okay, so hypothetically, I agree. Then what?”
“We get tested,” Taylor said.
“How many times have I swallowed your cum?” I pointed out.
“We get tested. There’s a clinic on campus. And,” — Taylor paused, something flickering in his eyes, too fast for me to decipher — “We’re exclusive. You can’t touch anyone else.”
I bristled. “You can’t touch anyone else either,” I pointed out.
He rolled his eyes like I was being slow. “Why would I want to?”
I stared at him.
“Why would I waste time and energy trying to pull when I have someone willing at home?” he explained.
“Shut up,” I said. “Just because we’re fucking now, doesn’t mean you can use me whenever you want.”
“Obviously,” Taylor said in his driest voice. “And vice versa. There might be times I’m not in the mood.”
The thought of it — of me leaning in to kiss Taylor’s neck and him pushing me away — made my heart twinge. It must’ve been obvious on my face because Taylor started to laugh and I punched him in the arm.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, leaning back against the couch, scrunching up the hash brown wrappers that had been left around.
Taylor tilted his head. “You don’t want me to come inside you?”
“It sounds like a pain to clean up,” I said, trying for nonchalant, but my voice wobbled.
“I’d clean you up,” Taylor said. “You’d just have to lie there. I’d do all the work.”
The image of me, lying flat on my stomach while Taylor wiped up the mess between my legs did weird things to my insides. I cleared my throat. “I’ll think about it,” I repeated.
“Okay,” Taylor said.
“Okay.”
He stood up, hand out for my rubbish. I gave it to him and watched him walk to the bin under the kitchen sink. His calves looked like they’d been carved from stone. I wanted to bite into them.
Taylor turned around and caught me staring. He raised a single brow, the sort of expression that made me want to punch him in the face. “What?”
“I need to have a shower. I’m still filthy from last night,” I said.
“Okay.”
I stood up. Taylor’s gaze fell to my boxers.
“Think we can both fit?” I asked.
Taylor huffed like I was inconveniencing him. But once we were in the shower, he pushed me up against the tile, his cock digging into the fleshy inside of my thigh, and kissed me so hard, it felt like a bite.