Chapter 13 #2
“You’re staring at my lips,” he says in explanation. “They’re puffier than normal because I was eating grapefruit. I have a mild allergy, but it’s my favorite snack.”
I nod, my gaze returning to the luscious pout.
“Invite me in, Knox,” Taylor commands, taking control of this situation.
Unable to find words, I simply move to the side.
He walks into my living room like he owns the place, wearing a navy blue, fish-net sweater with nothing underneath, and black jeans.
“Come here,” he says, bossing me around again.
I’m trying to be mad about it, but instead, I find myself shutting the door and moving toward him. My shoulders are relaxing, and breathing is easier just because he’s here. I hadn’t realized how much energy I was spending on thinking about him, wondering where he was, who he was with.
He’s standing between my ottoman and the couch, and I stop just short of him, wondering what happens next, when he wraps his arms around my neck in an embrace.
He pushes up on his toes so he can reach better and settles against me.
As he speaks, his breath coasts along my neck, raising the hair on my arms.
“Don’t overthink it. Just feel,” he says, hugging me tighter. “You’re allowed to miss what you had. Mourn it, even.”
Blaming the alcohol and not wanting to be rude—since he made the drive over here and all—I wrap my arms around his torso, pulling him to me as if I were trying to climb into his skin.
Closing my eyes, I breathe him in. With the alcohol lowering my inhibitions, removing my excuses, and annihilating my rational mind, I forget about his age, his gender, and the temporary solution this hug is to my growing emotional black hole.
He feels good…solid, yet also fragile…like a beautiful porcelain doll.
As if he can read my thoughts, he whispers, “I won’t break.”
“I might,” I reply, unsure of what I’m actually admitting.
Another minute goes by before Taylor unwinds his arms from my neck. Reluctantly, I let him go as well, and he pulls me down on the couch to sit next to him. He crosses a boot-clad foot over his knee and begins talking.
“How long has it been?” he asks.
“Almost five years now,” I answer with a whisper, preparing to tear myself open.
“How long were you together?”
“Twenty-four years total.”
Realization hits me…Karen and I started dating the year Taylor was born. That feels like some ironic sign…yeah, that you’re too fucking old for him.
“Javi said she left, and you found out by a note on the kitchen counter.”
“Javi talks too much,” I grumble.
“Is it true?” Taylor prods.
“Yeah,” I confirm a second later. “I gave her everything. I thought we were on the same page. Being totally blindsided like that…it reduces you to rubble, tearing you down by destroying your foundation. It left me not knowing how to rebuild, so I just haven’t.”
“And every day, you’re so busy trying to survive that you’ve forgotten how to live, too. Am I right?” Taylor asks like he somehow knows exactly what I’m going through.
“You’re barely old enough to drive,” I laugh without humor. “How could you possibly understand this?”
Taylor shakes his head. “You’re so hung up on age, Knox, but it’s just an indicator of how long you’ve been on Earth, not of what you’ve done with your time here.
” Well said, you insightful little fucker, I think to myself before he begins sharing a story.
“I was seeing an older man a few months back.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I don’t think I want to hear where this story is going.”
“Why?” he asks, appearing genuinely confused by my reaction.
As the alcohol settles deeper into my bloodstream, my tongue offers truths I’ve been trying to keep hidden.
“Because I don’t like thinking about you with someone else, and especially because if this story ends with you getting hurt, I might go on a rampage.”
Taylor smiles, and I swear it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He uncrosses his ankle from his knee, unlaces his boots, and proceeds to crawl onto my lap. His butt is across my thighs and his knees are bent and resting in my armpit as my hands wrap protectively around him like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
“Well, I got hurt,” he confirms, wiggling his ass as he adjusts in my lap.
“But now, instead of getting all murdery, you can just squeeze me tighter. Then we both win,” he says before diving back into his story.
“I’d known Patrick for years. His son, Liam, and my twin brother, Damon, have been best friends since preschool.
Oddly, I often felt like the third wheel with my own twin.
But Patrick’s wife died a little over two years ago, and he was struggling badly.
Liam lives in a different state, and Patrick was falling apart, so I offered to help in any way I could.
That mostly consisted of making sure he ate, took a shower, did his laundry, went to work, that kind of thing, but there were a lot of nights where it was just the two of us, having conversations not unlike this one, and one night, he kissed me. ”
As the word kissed floats from his mouth, my eyes travel to it.
Suddenly, I know what I want.
I want to kiss Taylor Landry again.