Chapter 6
Taylor
The soft sound of birds chirping through the speaker of my alarm clock wakes me up at seven thirty. I probably should’ve given myself more time, considering the contractor is going to be here in fifteen minutes, but I stayed up way too late scrolling through hook-up apps.
Ever since the night at the bar a couple weeks ago, I’ve felt a little more like myself. Being playful enough to lean into flirting with that stranger gave me a glimmer of hope that Patrick didn’t completely ruin me.
But no dice. Not one single profile picture sent that electric current shooting down my spine the way my encounter with that stranger did.
Rolling over, I plant my feet on the floor, ready to get this week of house arrest over with.
As I get dressed, it feels good to be pulling on the familiar spandex shorts.
It’s amazing how depression crept its way into every corner of my being, to where I didn’t even want to dress like myself.
I’ve wanted to avoid everything that would remind me of Patrick or Damon…
and unfortunately, I remind me of them both.
Imagine being at odds with your own reflection.
Patrick said he liked how I wasn’t afraid to be myself. He said he was proud of me and wanted to show me off.
But apparently, he didn’t like it as much as he’d made me believe…and he only wanted to show me off to certain people at certain times.
Damon promised to always have my back…but that also had limits I knew nothing about.
Pissed that loving me seems to always come with stipulations, I decided to hide myself.
But that one interaction in the karaoke bar rekindled the fire inside my chest. It reminded me I am who I am, and fuck what everyone else thinks.
I haven’t been closeted, or normal by society’s standards, a single day in my life.
I’ll be damned if I start now.
I’m strong-willed. I’m confident. I’m fucking fabulous. And I refuse to dim my light to make others happy.
The tight, red shorts hug my ass, and my cheeks practically stick out the bottom, but through everything, my gym routine kept me from going off the deep end, so I have zero shame in showing off the hard-earned goods.
I throw on the tank top Francesca gave me for my birthday, smiling because it complements the shorts perfectly. Black with a giant rainbow flame, the words Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? written across it.
I brush my teeth, and the doorbell rings right as I spit into the sink. I give myself one last loving glance, thankful I finally seem to be getting my mind right, and run down the stairs.
“Coming!” I sing on my way to the door. Twisting the knob, I fling the door open, not prepared for what awaits me on the other side. “Oh, fuck me.” My eyes rake over his frame before coming to land on the stormy eyes of the man from the bar. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
But they aren’t just anywhere.
They’re on my parents’ front porch.
I can tell the instant recognition hits him because I swear his eyes soften at the corners and his shoulders relax. He exhales and closes his eyes as though being back in my vicinity has allowed him to release the breath he’s been holding since that night.
Either that, or he’s trying to stave off an aneurysm.
When his eyes open again, he looks angry, and for a second, I’m afraid maybe I misread the situation two weeks ago, and Livvy was right. Maybe I did take things too far. Because yeeeaahhhh, he doesn’t look happy to see me.
As much as I want to take in the rest of his outfit because I’m pretty confident that’s a toolbelt at the bottom of my vision field, I don’t break eye contact.
“You have got to be shitting me,” he mumbles in a low tone so the two men behind him can’t hear.
I almost apologize.
I almost give a shy smile and explanation before retreating inside.
But fuck that.
And fuck all the guys who think they can flirt with me and tuck tail the second they have to own it.
I feel for closeted guys. Honestly, I do. It’s probably why I keep finding myself drawn to them. I want everyone to live life out loud…but fuck them for using a gay man’s confidence against him to test waters they’re not ready for. We aren’t life preservers, for fuck’s sake.
Once I get my mental rant under control, I push it all out of my mind and flash a genuine smile at him. “I take it by the giant hammer you’re wielding, you’re the man building my parents’ back porch?”
Inwardly, I groan. For once in my life, I wasn’t trying to make an innuendo, but it comes out as one anyway.
Shockingly, it does the trick, and the tree of a man almost smiles. He lets the comment pass without a reply, but when he scans my tank top and lets out a snort of laughter, I take it as an opening.
“Well, don’t you?” I ask, holding my arms out to my sides.
His eyes flash back to mine. “Don’t I what?” he asks in a deep, gruff voice that has my dick waking up faster than my brain.
That voice could make me fall in love with him so easily.
His jeans are already dirty somehow, the short beard on his face is scrumptious, his hat is backwards, and his visible skin is free of tattoos, which is a turn on for me because it’s so rare these days.
“Wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” I ask, popping my hips with the words. Mentally, I congratulate myself on my subtle attempt to find out which way he swings and if he’s taken.
To my horny heart’s simultaneous relief and dismay, he answers, “Wife left me a while back and I don’t have a girlfriend.” Silence hangs between us for a second before he reaches his hand forward, introducing himself. “Knox Bennett.”
So, that’s the name I was denied two weeks ago.
“Taylor Landry,” I return, placing my hand in his much larger one, instantly obsessed with the way it swallows mine.
At five-nine, I’m not terribly tall, and my genetics pretty much guarantee I’ll never be packing on the muscle mass.
I have a decent amount of lean muscle though…
and let’s not forget…an ass to die for. I also have lines in all the right places, a smaller frame, and no body hair—even on my legs, because I shave that shit.
“Okay, well, just wanted to let you know we’re here. We’ll stay out of your way, but we might be loud,” Knox tells me.
I stare at him incredulously. “No comment about my performance a couple weeks ago?” I tease, trying to pick up where we left off before he high-tailed it out of the bar. He’s not getting off that easily, and I’d rather address the elephant on the front porch head-on.
He shifts his weight and throws a quick glance over his shoulder before lowering his voice again.
“You, uh, sing well, but maybe stay off bar tops in the future?” His forehead creases as he says it, like he’s unsure of himself.
Before I can press him further, he waves his hand to the men behind him.
“This is Phillip, and that’s Javier. They’re the crew assigned to this jobsite, so if anyone else shows up, they’re not with me, but I’ll be here to handle the concrete company on Monday, so you don’t have to worry about that. ”
“I wasn’t worried, but I’m glad to know you’ll be handling it,” I confirm, sending a finger wave to the men who obviously know I’m flirting with their behemoth of a boss even if the man in front of me doesn’t…or refuses to acknowledge it.
The more he tries to pretend nothing substantial passed between us that night, the more determined I become to make him admit it did.
Keeping his professional demeanor in place, he tries to keep us on track while I continue my attempts to derail this conversation at every turn.
“Some customers allow us to come in to use the restroom and refill our water bottles. Is that alright with you?” he asks.
“As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Bennett, you’re welcome to come in anything,” I pause to make sure he understands the real meaning behind my words before I finish, “and I do mean anything.” I send him a wink because I’ve never been shy about shooting my shot, and the men behind him snicker.
Phillip is rolling his lips together to keep from laughing harder at my double entendre, while Javier has his fist pressed against his mouth.
I’m glad to see they have a sense of humor at least.
Maybe the next nine days won’t be so bad after all.