Chapter 4
Taylor pushes the screen door of her house with her shoulder, trying to keep her balance as she kicks off her sneakers on the porch. It’s barely a seven-minute walk from Harold’s place to hers, and the whole way she hasn’t stopped thinking about everything that went down in Room Five.
"Tiffany?" she calls as soon as she walks in.
"In my room," her older sister answers.
Tiffany is six years older and moved in with Taylor two months ago, when she finally made up her mind to file for divorce from Jason, an uptight attorney she married when Tiffany started working at the Masons’ firm after graduating.
She’s staying with her now while things settle in her life.
Taylor doesn’t mind having her here, either; Tiffany spends most of the day at the firm and, when she gets back, she shuts herself in her room to keep working, but she makes dinner and handles the laundry.
Taylor takes the stairs two at a time up to the second floor, heading straight for her sister’s room because she needs to tell her about the mysterious woman and the exquisite fuck she just got, but she stops in the doorway just in time, when she remembers her mouth still smells like sex.
"Shit," she says, and runs for the bathroom.
Taylor washes her face and hands without losing her grin and looks at herself in the mirror. She’s flushed, and her eyes shine with pure satisfaction.
"Where are you coming from?" Tiffany asks when Taylor walks into the room.
She’s sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, laptop in her lap.
"Harold’s place," Taylor answers, propping a shoulder against the doorframe.
Her sister looks up from the screen and sets the computer aside. Taylor lifts a brow.
"Fuck, seriously?" Tiffany checks the time, and her little sister’s smile widens. "Who was it this time?"
"A woman." Taylor shrugs.
Tiffany rolls her eyes; her little sister wouldn’t be with a man even if women went extinct.
"Okay." Taylor smiles. "What I’m saying is I don’t know who she is. I don’t know her name. I met her at the restaurant—she came in for lunch and, well..."
"Let me get this straight. She came to the restaurant for lunch and you went with her to Harold’s place without even knowing her name?" Tiffany asks, stunned.
"That’s right."
"My God," her sister lets out a little laugh. "Jesus, you should be more careful. One of these days you’ll lock yourself in a room with a serial killer."
"This woman could be," Taylor murmurs, stretching out beside her sister. "She’s cold, distant, controlled. Fuck, Tiff, I’ve never met anyone like her, I swear, and it turned me on so much."
Tiffany can’t stop laughing.
"It turned you on that she was cold? You’re so weird, little sis."
Taylor shrugs; maybe she is.
"Are you going to see her again?" her sister asks.
"No idea. I don’t even know when she’s leaving."
"But would you like to?" Tiffany presses.
"Fuck, yeah. You have no idea what she can do with her tongue," she tosses off, casual as anything.
"Taylor!" Tiffany gives her a shove in the middle of another burst of laughter. "I do not need that level of detail."
"Sorry. You’re right."
Taylor straightens and sits up, planting her feet on the floor.
"Hey," Tiffany says, sitting beside her, "you know I’m fine with you sleeping with whoever you want.
It worries me a little that most of them are women just passing through," she adds gently, stroking her back, "but I get that it’s easier for you not having to explain yourself the next day and all that. Even so..."
"Even so what?" Taylor asks.
"I don’t know. Don’t you miss being with someone more seriously?"
"You mean because of what happened with June? That was years ago, Tiff. I’m over it," Taylor says.
"Exactly. Maybe it’s time you settled down a little, before you stumble into some psychopath who stabs you in Harold’s house."
Taylor’s mind drifts back to that room, and a sharp ache pulses between her legs. She remembers the woman sitting in the chair in her panties, looking at her with those gray-green eyes that never blinked, upright like a goddess, expectant, tense, waiting for her to leave.
"I like it this way," Taylor says with a crooked smile. "If I’d been with someone, I couldn’t have slept with this woman, and fuck, Tiffany..."
"Okay, yes, I know she does cool things with her mouth," Tiffany says, hands up, and Taylor’s phone starts to ring.
"It’s Ethan," she says, showing her sister the screen. "What’s up?" she says when she picks up.
"Where the hell are you?" her brother asks, irritated.
Taylor frowns and grabs her sister’s arm to check the time.
"At home. Why?"
"We were supposed to meet earlier, remember? The whole sound rig is taken apart," her brother says.
Her eyes go wide.
"Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot. I’ll shower and be there in half an hour," Taylor promises.
"Fine," he agrees with a snort.
"I don’t know why he gets so stressed," Taylor says when she hangs up, setting the phone beside the bed.
"You know him. He likes to have everything under control," Tiffany replies.
"Yeah, but it’s early. There’s plenty of time to set up the gear."
Tiffany shrugs.
"Go shower, come on. You reek of sex," Tiffany says, giving her a giggle and a shove.
Taylor heads for the door but stops before walking out.
"You coming?"
"Don’t think so. I’m wiped tonight. Maybe next week. You don’t mind, do you?" Tiffany asks.
"No, of course not. It’s just a few songs, and you’re sick of hearing them. Although I wrote a new one," Taylor announces with a mysterious look.
"Seriously? Will you sing it tonight?" Tiffany asks.
"No, it’s not ready yet," her little sister smiles. "I’m going to shower."
Thirty minutes later, Taylor is at Rusty’s, the bar where she and her brother Ethan have been playing on Friday nights for three years.
Ethan is the middle of the three siblings, just two years older than Taylor.
The small age gap between them and their shared love of music are what have made them so close.
He’s been playing electric guitar since he was twelve.
He learned in his bedroom and then practiced in the garage while Taylor hummed around him all afternoon.
Years went by, and what had been two kids’ hobby turned into something more serious when Ethan realized his sister’s voice gave everyone goosebumps while he was tearing it up on guitar.
Taylor learned to play acoustic guitar, and Sam, the bar owner’s son, plays drums with them every Friday—enough to give the songs Taylor writes the accompaniment they need.
Though Ethan knows full well his sister doesn’t need any instruments to hold a room—her voice and stage presence are more than enough.
"Well, I think that’s everything," Ethan says, slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulders with a wide grin. "Wanna grab a drink while we wait for our set?"
She smiles and gives him a gentle shove.
"You’re a grouch, you know that?"
He laughs too.
"Yeah, sorry. I got stressed when I came in and saw even the lights were taken down. By the way," he says as they sit on a couple of stools. "How’d it go with the blonde from the restaurant? She ignored me like I was an annoying pebble in the sole of her thousand-dollar shoes."
"Did you try to hit on her?" Taylor asks, though she knows the answer.
Ethan and Taylor also share a taste for seducing attractive women. He shrugs with a grin.
"Guess I wasn’t her type."
"Thank God," she replies with her crooked smile, "and she’s not blonde—her hair’s a very light brown. If you can’t notice things like that, you’re going to have trouble picking up women like her."
He rolls his eyes, and they clink their beers when they’re served.