Chapter 11
Knox
The little shit just continues to look up at me, all beautiful, flawless, infuriatingly perfect features, and nothing but defiance emanating from his doe eyes.
I can’t win with him, and it’s getting harder to deny my intrigue the longer he pushes the subject.
It takes me far too long to realize I’ve still got him trapped against my truck wearing nothing but another pair of those fucking spandex shorts he lives in…and I’m mesmerized.
He doesn’t have my mass, but the lines of his abs are still carved into his body…and he’s perfect, nonetheless.
I’m cataloguing his features when he slowly reaches forward and grabs my hand in a bold move, placing it on his bare stomach.
His skin is warm and pliant, even though the muscles underneath are taut and firm.
As if his body summoned me and I have no power to deny him, I run my fingertips along the smooth skin before flipping my hand over so my blunt nails trace back across the same path.
The rest of the world fades away as I stand in his parents’ driveway, caressing his abdomen, relishing the feel of someone else’s skin under my hand for the first time in a long time.
Time stands still until he chokes out a whisper as the back of his head hits the window of my truck. “That’s turning me the fuck on, Knox, and it’s about to become very noticeable.”
My cock swells in my jeans at his admission.
The skin bared to me is just as smooth as Taylor’s face, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to trace it with my tongue, tasting the mix of salt and sweat. Would it taste like Dylan’s skin, or does every guy taste differently?
Taylor speaks again, like he’s finally realizing what he’s gotten himself into and is trying to break the spell. “You gotta stop looking at me like that or I’m going to undress you in the back seat of your truck and bounce on your cock so hard I’ll risk damaging your suspension.”
Images of fogged windows enter my mind. Sweaty handprints scraping along the glass, looking for purchase, while I enter his lithe body.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Karen’s fucking phone call for one thing, but is that really enough to push me this far down this particular path?
I still have my hand on Taylor’s waist when Phil comes around the side of the house, aiming for his truck, which is parked behind mine.
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He abruptly turns around like he knows he caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. “I was just wondering what the holdup is with the concrete guys,” he adds with his back turned.
Finally, I take a step back, putting some much-needed space between Taylor and me.
“You’re not interrupting anything,” I bark. “Concrete’s not coming today.”
A look of confusion paints Phil’s features as he spins to face us again. “But we triple checked, and I could have sworn I heard the truck pull up.”
Sighing, I opt for the truth. “You did, but the guy was a condescending prick who was making slurs at Taylor, and I fired him. I’m not going to let Taylor’s parents pay some asshole who disrespects their son,” I hastily add, defending my actions.
Phil’s eyes flit back and forth between Taylor and me like he’s trying to read the invisible ink between the lines. “Okay, yeah, makes sense. Want me to see if we can get a rush job placed with Whittier? We’ll have to eat the cost, but it’ll keep us on our timeline,” Phil offers.
It’s a good suggestion. And reasonable, too. I should hand this off to Phil and get my fucking ass out of here for the day. So why the hell do I hear myself decline? And not only decline, but tell him to grab Javier and leave?
“I’ll take care of it. Can you and Javi head over to the Baker’s and start on the piping in the crawl space? We can push that job forward while the pour dries if I can get Whittier here tomorrow.”
Phil shrugs. “Sure, boss. No problem.” He starts to head around the back of the house, probably to grab Javier, when he stops and looks over his shoulder at Taylor and me. “And just so you know…Javi and I…we uh, don’t care if you—”
“We aren’t,” I confirm immediately.
I can’t bring myself to look at Taylor, but I feel his eyeroll.
Phil holds up his hands. “Hey man, you do you. Javi and I’ll head over to the Baker’s.”
“Not into guys, huh?” Taylor asks in a whisper.
When I don’t answer, he continues. “Not that I believe you have to be strictly in one category, but since it’s what you’re advertising, I can’t honestly say a lot of straight men look at me the way you do…
or touch me with as much reverence and curiosity as you just did. ”
“I’m straight,” I confirm. “But even if I wasn’t, the last fucking thing I need is my employees concerned about who I’m attracted to. We don’t talk about feelings. I don’t talk about feelings.”
“Well, maybe you should. Things might make more sense if you stop running from them and take the time to understand them instead,” Taylor argues right as the first drop of rain falls from the gray clouds above us.
His words don’t sit well because they’re eerily similar to a statement I made to Phoenix not too long ago, and I have to admit, I don’t love them when they’re aimed at me.
Before I can respond to Taylor’s insightful words, Phil and Javi come around the front of the house with all the tools that need to be packed up. They put them in Phil’s truck and throw a wave to Taylor and me as they back out of the driveway.
We don’t move.
The rain picks up, and thunder sounds overhead.
All I can do is stare. Taylor’s nipples are now visible through his shirt.
The small peaks outlined perfectly by the wet material clinging to his skin.
The longer hair that tends to cover one eye already has droplets rolling off the ends and falling onto his cheeks.
“We should probably go inside,” he says, not actually moving at all.
I can’t go inside that house. I can’t be alone with him. The tension is too high, my defenses are coming down, and I’m toeing a very dangerous line.
“I need to make some calls and set up another concrete delivery, so I should get going.”
Taylor slides his ass to the right, so he’s blocking me from getting into my truck.
I arch a brow at him and wait, knowing he’s gearing up to give me more words of wisdom.
“This could be a lot of fun. I’m a safe option to explore this side of yourself, which is clearly present whether you want to acknowledge it or not.
But you have to be ready to accept the outcome.
To accept the fact that you might like it.
And I just don’t know that you’re there yet.
But when you get there, I hope I’m the first call you make. ”
My abs clench like I was just punched in the gut. Taylor and I aren’t even friends…so why does it feel like he’s breaking up with me?
I almost laugh at how ridiculous the thought is. This is what I need—him to be the rational one since I’ve obviously lost my fucking mind.
This is absolutely for the best.
I almost believe it…until he moves away from me and my truck, leaving me standing in the rain.
It only hurts because it’s someone else exiting my life…even if they weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.
I’m out back, sitting on my own covered porch, day drinking because everyone else has shit to do, but I’m all caught up until tomorrow.
I briefly thought about driving over to the fire station, but I really don’t want to piss Stephanie off.
Hell, she’d probably extend my probation just for breaking her rule.
I watch the rain bounce off the concrete sidewalk that leads from my patio to my yard and I can’t stop myself from thinking about the Landry’s project. It’ll look nice when it’s finished.
Of course, I think about their patio for all of three seconds…and then I begin thinking about their son.
I take another gulp of the amber liquid in my glass as my phone rings. My heart rate speeds up, and I’m mortified at the flurry of excitement I feel, thinking Taylor may be calling.
But when I look down at my phone, I’m caught by surprise all over again.
Karen.
My whiskey glass slips from my hand and shatters into a thousand shards at my feet while I stare at my phone. Godfuckingdammit. I’m only holding plastic shit from now on.
I still can’t bring myself to answer it, and this time, I get notified that she’s leaving a voicemail.
Karen and I started dating at sixteen. We were married by twenty.
When we got married, I had planned on it being forever.
Time moved on. I built her the home of her dreams, and she used her degree to help manage my business.
It was comfortable. We took care of each other.
If she was unhappy, there was never a conversation about it.
Just the note on the kitchen counter telling me our life wasn’t working for her anymore.
And that was it.
Twenty years of trust and love down the drain. I haven’t spoken to her since.
Too jittery to stand, I sit for a while longer, clutching my phone, terrified it’ll start ringing again.
Oddly, I find myself torn between wanting to burn the traitorous device and clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.
But a lifeline to what?
Karen and my past?
Taylor and the present, my brain supplies, unhelpfully.
Knowing I won’t be listening to her voicemail tonight, I get up, go inside, clean myself up, as well as the glass on my patio, and change for the gym.
It’s either that or drink until I pass out, and I’ve worked too damn hard to get lost in the bottle now.
..but with each passing day, that option becomes more and more appealing.