Chapter 13
Knox
I’ve gone from trying to avoid Taylor and our interactions to using him and this conversation as a way to help distract me from what’s still waiting for me on my phone.
I really need to pick a lane.
Karen’s voicemail remains unopened because I know whatever she has to say after five years of silence won’t be anything that helps me. Even if it’s an apology.
I’m also now actively avoiding calls from the guys because I know they’re going to ask if she’s called again, and I don’t want to have to tell them I’m too big of a pussy to listen to the fucking voicemail.
I push those thoughts aside and focus on the unmistakable thrum of butterflies in my stomach as I follow Taylor into his parents’ kitchen.
As soon as we’re inside, he takes the plates from me and dumps them in the sink before crowding into my space. The feel of Taylor’s body so close to mine is dizzying. He’s gripping the sides of my sweat-soaked T-shirt, but suddenly one of his hands moves from my waist to my own hand.
He’s guiding me to his stomach again…asking me to touch him. It’s the second time he’s made the move for me, somehow sensing I’m too scared to reach out and take it for myself despite my curiosity becoming a palpable, breathing thing between us.
His six-pack is hard beneath the fabric of the outfit he’s wearing and it’s the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt.
The combination of masculinity and femininity blends to create something that is somehow the best of both.
Having someone else’s body beneath my fingertips is so overwhelming, I don’t even care that this shouldn’t be happening.
“What are you thinking?” Taylor whispers.
As if in a trance, no longer able to control my tongue, the truth slips free. “That it feels nice to touch and be touched.”
Somehow, Taylor understands I don’t mean in a sexual way, and he pulls me to him in a hug, his cheek resting on my shoulder, fingers splayed across my back.
It’s been so fucking long since I’ve felt the warmth of another body outside of the fist bumps and shoulder slaps of Jake, Hudson, and Phoenix.
My arms snake around Taylor’s back possessively in response. I’ve never met anyone like him. His fearlessness in being himself is inspiring. I think about the assholes who showed up to pour the concrete yesterday, and my grip on Taylor tightens a little more.
Without moving, he angles his face up toward mine. When I gaze down at him, I loosen my hold.
“What’s stopping you from doing this?” he asks.
“I’m not gay,” I remind him.
He frowns like he thinks I’m lying.
“Maybe not everything needs a label,” he argues quietly.
“I don’t even know how that would work,” I admit, still holding on to him. “Without those words, how do we understand who we are?”
I didn’t really see my lunch hour taking this philosophical turn, but since we’re here anyway…
“Well, you seem to have all the words,” Taylor points out, “yet, between the two of us, you’re also the one struggling to accept what you clearly want. So how much do the labels really help?”
I finally drop my arms and back up until my ass hits the island behind me and scrub my hand down my face. His scent lingers on my fingertips.
“I’m not into guys,” I repeat, the words falling flat even to my own ears.
“So, if I were to push the top of this outfit down to my waist,” he says, taking a step closer and doing just that, exposing his bare chest and the abs I was just touching, “and then lift your shirt up so we’re skin to skin,” he’s in my space again with his hands on the bottom of my shirt, waiting for me to stop him, but I don’t.
“Are you saying it doesn’t turn you on even the tiniest bit?
” The smooth skin of his abdomen rubs against mine, and he exhales a moan.
He continues moving in a way that keeps his stomach connected to me. The coarse hair of my happy trail starts irritating his skin, turning it pink, and I can’t look away.
It’s not until I feel Taylor’s cock hardening against me that I grip his naked shoulders and push him back.
“I’m saying this isn’t happening.”
“Which is totally different than saying you don’t want it to happen,” he stubbornly points out.
I yell in frustration and anger, fingers digging into my eyes as he relentlessly pushes my buttons. “I’m going back to work,” I finally announce.
Thankfully, Javi and Phil pull up five minutes later, and I join them outside. Javi’s finishing a story he must have been telling Phil on the way back to the house, and the sound of their laughter grates on my nerves.
I keep to myself the rest of the afternoon, irritated that the ghost of Taylor’s touch lingers on my skin. We wrap up and get as much ready as we can for the next phase of work tomorrow.
I don’t bother knocking when we leave, but send Taylor a text from down the street instead. Cowardly? Maybe, but I’m learning it’s the only way I can keep my fucking wits about me when I interact with him.
Knox
Done for the day.
Concrete needs forty-eight hours to dry.
Don’t walk on it. We’ll start on the seat wall tomorrow.
By the time I make it home, Taylor still hasn’t acknowledged my text. The fact that his silence disappoints me makes me feel like such an immature, indecisive asshole.
I told him I didn’t want him.
And I don’t.
Except for the part of me that does.
I grab a shower and slip into some joggers. I try turning on the game, but I can’t fucking concentrate. I’m wearing a path in my living room floor because my mind is such a disaster that my body won’t relax, and my chest is back to feeling tight.
Finally, I sit my ass down and allow myself to remember the feeling of his skin brushing across mine.
The way his hands felt on my back. How he felt in my arms. And although my heart was racing while it was happening, the memory of it lightens the pressure in my chest and causes my heart rate to even out.
But just as my body begins returning to normal, my stupid phone beeps
Phoenix
Just checking in. How are you?
Not one to enjoy hiding behind lies, I tell my friend the truth.
Knox
In a weird spot. She called again. Left a voicemail.
Phoenix
Have you listened to it yet?
Knox
No. Not sure I’m going to.
That’s a lie. Eventually, I will. Eventually, my weakness will win, and I won’t be able to help myself. Let’s be honest, I do deserve an apology. Maybe that’s what it is. Won’t know until I listen to it.
But not right now. I can’t bring myself to play it yet, even though the silence in my house is deafening.
In the span of the last two weeks, my loneliness has caused me to question my sexuality, question my morals, lash out at my friends and their happiness, and resort to drinking far more than I should.
On my second glass of bourbon, I force myself not to think as I reach for the damn device causing me so much heartache.
Knox
What if I don’t know what I need at this moment?
I hit send before I come to my senses and erase it. A fresh wave of anxiety rips through me as the waiting game begins. I uncap the bottle, prepared to top myself off, but before I can pour more, my phone rings, and I almost let out a sob of relief.
“I’m drunk,” I say instead of hello. Like somehow explaining that lets me off the hook for whatever comes next.
“I’m not,” the voice replies confidently, fully ready to take responsibility for his words and actions. “Fuck what you need, Knox. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, still unable to say it.
“Bullshit,” Taylor whispers softly but full of confidence. “Tell me.”
“I want…to move on.” I’m not sure that’s what I meant to say.
It certainly isn’t sexy. But is sexy what I’m going for here?
I don’t think so. Admitting it feels good, though.
Admitting I want to move on is finally admitting that I haven’t, and recognizing the problem seems like a logical place to start.
“From what?” Taylor asks, forcing me to confront my thoughts and emotions like a good therapist.
“From my past. My ex-wife. The resentment. The hurt.” I take a large swallow of the liquid I finally managed to pour into my glass.
“Let me help you,” he pleads.
“How?”
I hate how broken I sound. I’m the one who takes care of everyone else, and I feel like such a failure having to lean on others.
I’m the one who took care of Dylan’s window when the brick came flying through it.
I’m the one who let Hudson use my beach house when he needed to check on Shannon at the coast. I’m the one who forced Phoenix to talk his shit out with Walker.
I’m also the one who took care of Karen for twenty years, and I have nothing to show for it except an empty house and a bitter heart.
“Text me your address,” Taylor says.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
“You heard me. Text me your address,” he repeats through the phone.
“Taylor, I—”
“It wasn’t a request, Knox.”
Holy shit. People don’t talk to me like that. I’m big and disgruntled and somewhat intimidating, and Taylor doesn’t give a single fuck.
And I like it.
God, I must be drunker than I thought because I like it a lot.
Phoenix’s voice pops into my mind—annoying bastard. It’s nice to let someone else call the shots so you can just go along for the ride.
I rattle off my address, and before I can argue, Taylor says, “See you in a few,” and hangs up the phone, removing any chance I have to talk him out of this.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. I didn’t refill my glass a fourth time, but now I think maybe I should have.
When I come face-to-face with Taylor Landry, I know I’ve made a mistake in letting him come here. His lips are slightly swollen, like he was sucking on them the entire drive over…or someone else was sucking on them recently. The thought instantly pisses me right the hell off.
“I was eating grapefruit,” he says, drawing my eyes back to his.
“What?” I ask, completely confused.