Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
I ’m back in high school, wearing the same J. Crew blouse and jean shorts I spent hours picking out over a decade ago.
I recognize where I am instantly. The red and white logo of Arroyo High’s crest is plastered against the side of its gym. I turn as a blue car pulls into the parking lot, and there he is.
Taylor waves goodbye to his mom, same as he always does in my most replayed memory. Though, unlike all those times before, he spots me instantly. A curious smile spreads across his face as he approaches. And now I’m standing in a pretty dress. My back is straight and my smile is wide. This time, no nerves prevent me from calling out his name.
He jogs over, and the Taylor of my past didn’t know who I was. But the Taylor of my dreams grins with recognition.
“Hey, Ayla! Are you here for my game?”
“I made you something,” I say. And my voice isn’t shy. This time, I have no trouble meeting his gorgeous eyes.
“Blondies?” Those twin dimples appear. “They’re my favorite.”
“I had a feeling.”
We share a smile that’s warm and familiar and right. The smile we should have shared a decade ago.
“But you know what?” Taylor steps closer.
I tilt my head. “What?”
Before my eyes, Taylor changes. He’s not in his red jersey, but a white tee and worn jeans. His hair is longer, his face leaner. I’m not looking at teenage Taylor Hedlund. I’m looking at the one I met a year ago.
“I think I’d rather taste you,” he says in that familiar drawl. And then he leans down, catching my hand in his as he pulls me into a kiss—
I wake up in a cold sweat.
“What the fuck?” I ask my ceiling.
The alarm clock on my bedside table informs me I’m up a full hour before my phone is set to ring. Which makes it three hours before my workday officially begins. And I’m wired.
Taylor isn’t just occupying my waking thoughts.
Now he’s infiltrated my dreams.
I shoot up, raking my hands through my hair. No—I can’t. I won’t have feelings for Taylor. Finding him attractive is one thing—hell, wanting to fuck him is one thing.
Having romantic fantasies about the man is another. It’s dangerous. A slippery slope I have already tumbled down once. It did me no good the first time. It might break me if I fall for Taylor again.
I’m up, throwing on a sports bra and spandex leggings before I can talk myself out of it. You know what they say about expelling negative thoughts—all you need is a bit of fresh air and a lot of sweat.
I make it two minutes into my jog before I begin to regret every decision that led me outside on a summer morning. I fucking hate exercise. And it hates me back.
My stomach is beginning to cramp and I swear I can literally hear my joints groaning as I move at a snail’s pace down the block. There’s a runner on the opposite side of the street heading my way. And I can’t help but watch his arms flex as he pumps them, his legs muscular and long. A hat shields his face from the sun, but his shirt is cut down the sides, revealing a taut stomach.
I begin to avert my eyes when the runner looks up, and his gaze locks with mine. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, stomach souring as Taylor crosses the street.
Because my mind has started replaying the memory of him over me. How he moved, the sounds he made, his gasp when he came…I’m certain I’m blushing when he stops a mere foot away.
“You stalking me?” he asks with a shit-eating grin.
“No,” I say so defensively it sounds like I’m lying. “I’m just on a run. I didn’t know you were out here.”
Taylor sucks in his cheeks, surveying me. “How many miles have you done?”
It takes me a second to realize he asked because I’m absolutely drenched in sweat. I look like I’ve been out here for hours, not a handful of minutes. “Ten.” I clear my throat. “Ten miles.”
Taylor doesn’t even try to stifle his laughter. “Wow. I didn’t know I was living with a triathlete.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Taylor gestures at the street. “I can see that. Are you heading back home?”
I think about sprinting off and leaving him in the dust. But that would require actually sprinting. And I’m five minutes away from passing out from heat stroke as it is.
“Yup.”
He nods his head in a way that suggests he hasn’t believed a single word I’ve said. “Then after you.”
I stick out my tongue as I pass him, jogging the exact same way I just came. It takes Taylor half a second to catch up to me. And while I sound like a sputtering engine, he isn’t even out of breath.
“Looks like I finally found something you’re bad at,” he says airily.
I scoff. “Can’t say the same,” I spit out on instinct, a half-second before I realize my mistake.
He laughs quietly, and when I glance over, he’s wearing that breathtaking smile.
“I call dibs on the shower,” I shout as soon as he pulls open the Havens’ front door.
“Hell no!” He nudges me aside, racing me up the stairs. “I’ve been running for an hour, I’m showering first!”
“Me too!” I scream, though we both know that’s a blatant lie.
I skid to a stop in front of the upstairs bathroom at the same time Taylor yanks open the door. I dive into the room with him close on my heels.
“Ha!” I taunt, stepping into the shower to claim it as mine. “Got here first!”
“Oh yeah?” Taylor reaches over, turning the knob so that a torrent of warm water cascades over me.
I yelp as he laughs. “You’re such a cheater, Montes.”
I shrug, adjusting the temperature. “A cheater who won. Now get out.”
But Taylor crosses his arms. “Go ahead, shower first. I’ll be waiting right here.”
“That so?”
He shrugs, so I reach for my leggings. I hold his gaze as I peel the material off my legs one by one, tossing the fabric at his feet.
Taylor tries to keep his eyes on my face, but they’re at the mercy of gravity. His gaze falls to my waist, and then lower, his throat working as he tries and fails not to stare. I’m wearing black boy shorts, but you’d think I had on a lacy thong by the shade of pink blooming across his cheeks.
I reach for the zipper of my sports bra. “Taylor,” I murmur.
“Mmm?” seems to be the only sound he can emit.
“Get the fuck out,” I say softly.
He blinks, jolting like I broke some kind of spell. He opens his mouth. Closes it. For a split second, I think he’ll step forward and join me under the water.
But he backs away slowly, eyes still fixed on mine. I slump against the wall when he shuts the door, all my strength leaving with him. I went on a run to avoid my worst fears, but it has only confirmed them.
I’m not just back on that slope.
I’m already falling down it.
When I make my way downstairs twenty minutes later, Taylor is gone.
I wish the realization didn’t come with a pang of disappointment.
Victor sent him on some kind of urgent errand—at least according to the email waiting at the top of my inbox. Guilt accompanies my disappointment when I realize he didn’t get a chance to shower before running out the door. Knowing Taylor, he’ll be uncomfortable in his workout clothes, unable to shake the sensation of not being clean.
I have never met a man more organized or put together. Running around smelling like sweat must be driving him crazy.
When I start washing the dishes in the sink, I tell myself it’s out of the kindness of my heart. A little gesture to make up for hogging the shower. But deep down, I know I’m doing it because I want Taylor to know I care. I want to bring a smile to his face, even if it’s from something simple, like finishing the household chores.
And okay, maybe it’s his smile I find myself picturing as I clean the upstairs bathroom and take out the garbage bags. I’m not supposed to be keeping an eye on the clock, wondering when he’ll return. But I do that, too.
The front door creaks open what feels like hours later, and it takes everything in me to not beeline for the stairs. I have to sing the alphabet backward in my head to keep a straight face when Taylor finds me vacuuming the Havens’ master bedroom.
I was right. He’s still in his workout clothes, his hair a little flatter and his cheeks more flushed than usual. But he offers me a small wave, and the sight does something to my chest. If I don’t think quick, he’ll be able to read the effect he has on me.
“You look like shit,” I say, turning off the vacuum.
Taylor’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t volley a comeback like he usually does. When he lets my insult pass in silence, I know something’s up.
I approach slowly, studying his face. He looks tired. And…what’s that? The corners of his lips are tipped down. He keeps rubbing a spot on his wrist, an anxious tick that gives him away.
“What happened? Did you run into your ex again?”
It’s a total shot in the dark that manages to land home.
Taylor’s eyes widen and I grimace. “Really? Again? What a small, awful world we live in.”
At last, a bit of tension eases between his brows. “No. I mean, kind of. I got an invitation to my high school reunion.”
I purse my lips. “Okay. So?”
“So…it’s not really my scene.”
I shrug. “Then don’t go.”
“I can’t.”
I let out a little laugh. “Why?”
Taylor ruffles his hair. “Because if I don’t go, Rachel will think it’s because of her. I guarantee she’ll tell everyone I’m still not over our breakup.”
I’m failing to see his point. “So, what? You know that isn’t the case.”
Taylor lowers his eyes, turning his cheek. I’ve never seen him so unsettled.
“Hold on…do you really care that much about what people think?” When he doesn’t respond, I poke a finger into his chest. “You do, don’t you! No offense, but I never took you for a people pleaser. You certainly didn’t care what I thought of you.”
The ire in my voice causes him to scowl. “So what if I do? What are you, some kind of expert in not-caring? Should you tutor me in that, too?”
“Look, I used to care a lot about other peoples’ opinions of me. But life feels a lot lighter when you aren’t worrying about what everyone else thinks.”
“Easier said than done, Montes.” Taylor sighs. “Maybe you’ll feel different at your own high school reunion.”
“Can’t. I won’t be going.”
Taylor’s eyes snap back to me. “Why not?”
“No one would remember me anyway. I figure there’s no point.”
For some reason, he seems to take offense. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t people remember you?”
The question feels like he’s poking a bruise. An old wound I thought had long since healed. I sound as uncomfortable as I feel when I admit, “I didn’t have a lot of friends. I didn’t talk much in class or take any extracurriculars. I was pretty much invisible. I had a lot of free time and very little to do with it.” Besides write, I think. I could always depend on the stories I made up in my head. Especially the ones that revolved around him.
“A lot of free time, huh? Was that why you were always hanging out at my basketball games?”
My blood runs cold. I lift my head, dragging my eyes over Taylor’s face. He’s holding perfectly still, his expression inscrutable.
“So you’re finally going to admit it,” I murmur. “You remember me.”
Taylor’s throat bobs. He turns away, severing our connection. There’s a strange accusatory note in his voice when he says: “You want to explain why you were there?”
I lick my lips, words eluding me. Never, not once has Taylor suggested he recognized me from school. For nearly a year, he’s lied to me every day—pretended he didn’t know who I was until the Havens introduced us. I don’t know what to make of his admission. Later, I’ll have time to ponder what it means, how it changes our dynamic. But right now, all I know is that I can’t answer his question.
“I emailed you my notes for your spec script,” I say, blatantly changing the subject. Taylor has a chance to interject, to insist I answer his question. But he stays quiet. So I try to move on. “I think you’re ready to work on something original.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. “But you said my outline was trash.”
“It was. I still think you should start over, but it’s your choice. Write a screenplay or a pilot, I don’t particularly care. But I’ll need to see the first 30 pages by the end of the week so we can get started on edits.”
“That’s it?” Taylor’s looking tense again, and I cut him a look that only makes him scowl more. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m not supposed to question you. But you just want me to dive in? Without any instruction?”
“That’s what you did with your spec script,” I remind him. “You’re good at this, Taylor. You’re a strong writer. You’ve got the instincts, you just need confidence…and to put something on a page.”
I reach for his wrist before I can stop myself, giving it an encouraging little squeeze.
“You know where to find me if you have any questions.”