11. Taylor
CHAPTER 11
Taylor
T he video plays on a loop in my head—over and over and over again. I don’t need to watch it, even though I’ve lost count how many times I have, to see it crystal clear in my mind.
Every morning since it happened, the second my eyes open, I’m already seeing it. Seeing his hand slide up my body, watching his hips press into me as his tongue slips past my lips with a sigh.
Each time he’s stolen a moment from me this last week my body remembers the way he held me. The way I throbbed against the rigid bulge of his cock, leaving behind a needy dull ache that’s lingered since.
Every second of that video is burned into my memory. I’m certain that even in death it will be the last thing my mind replays.
“Are you avoiding me?”
Are you kidding me? I wanted to answer back.
My head thunks heavily against the elevator wall behind me, my eyes squeezing shut tightly as if it will scrub the images from my mind. But I know it’s no use because struggling with inappropriate thoughts about Austin Blake is nothing new for me. The only difference now, I know for a fact that my fantasies could never come close to a night with him.
“Have a good weekend, Miss Harrington.”
“Have a good weekend, Bernie.”
I wave to our security guard in the lobby before making my way out into the late afternoon Chicago sun. My eyes still squint behind my sunglasses as I start to walk down the block. I have two hours yet before I’m supposed to meet Becca at DaVino’s but the thought of being trapped in my office with Austin, his cologne permeating the room, his eyes roaming over me suspiciously as I nervously try to play it cool, sounded like a nightmare.
A deliciously tempting nightmare that I know I wouldn’t have survived. I decided I would have lasted all but a minute before I was climbing into his lap, begging him to take me and completely destroying any hope at us moving on from that kiss.
There’s an uncomfortable stickiness to my body after walking the dozen or so city blocks to my building. Considering the time I still need to kill before meeting Becca, I decide a long shower is a full necessity.
Music pumps through the small hanging speaker in the corner of my shower, my attempt to distract myself from the constant loop of Austin playing through my head while also psyching myself up for tonight.
“Any man of miiiiiine,” I sing along to Shania Twain, my eyes closed as I work the shampoo into a lather through my hair. I miss when I enjoyed getting ready to go out. I loved all of it. Styling my long hair, picking out the outfit, finding the perfect perfume while Noah snuck glances of me and a kiss or two. But all of that went away about two years into our relationship.
He blamed me because I was too focused on the firm and I blamed him because he was never around when I did have some downtime.
"I just don’t understand why you’re upset with me for working as much as I am but I’m only working this much because you’re never around. So what else am I supposed to do?”
“Oh really, Taylor? Really?”
I hate when he gets like this. The tone and volume of his voice is one thing, but the condescension instantly puts me on the defense.
“How would you even know if I’m not home when you’re still at the office at eight on a Friday night? Is it him, is that why you’re staying late?”
I pinch my brows together, the amount of times we’ve had this conversation starting to wear on me. “Because I wasn’t always at the office that late, Noah, and you know that. I only started working late because you were never home and when you were, you were so buried in your phone it was like I didn’t exist.”
“And Austin?” His jaw ticks when he spits his name at me.
“I’m not even going to dignify that question with a response.”
“So, because I was forced to work late by my boss, you decide you’re going to start working late just to get back at me?”
I bite my tongue, the urge to scream at the top of my lungs that this isn’t just some petty response or cry for attention about to hit a breaking point. I’m building a billion-dollar company, not staying late to piss off my emotionally immature boyfriend. But I know it’s no use. When he gets like this, filled with jealousy, I already know where the conversation is going so I stop it, hoping to offer a solution that will finally put this all to rest.
“No, no, you’re right, I have been working too much.” I relax my brow, a smile settling over my face as I reach for one of his hands. “Why don’t we go away for a few days?”
“Go away for a few days?” He pulls his hand back. “Are you kidding me right now, Taylor? It’s end of month and end of quarter for me. I’m the sales director. I can’t just take time off right now. That’d be like pulling Tom Brady with two minutes left in the game.”
And once again, we’re back at a stalemate. Because even if I offer another time or another weekend or another month… I already know there will be another excuse then as well.
Somewhere along the way, instead of trying to resolve the issue itself, we let it build into resentment. Or so I’m starting to realize during my postmortem of our relationship on sleepless nights and long moments alone with my thoughts.
At the time, it felt like I was fighting for us. Now, I can see that I was merely prolonging the inevitable.
I go through the motions of getting ready, taking my time styling my hair, blowing it out into long, dark waves. I keep my makeup simple, adding a small black wing for dramatic effect.
The emotions aren’t the same. There’s no spark of excitement stoked by thoughts of where the night might end up. No exciting tidbits of juicy gossip to share with Becca about my love life. No hope of catching the eye of some guy who might buy me a drink or whisper a few naughty things into my ear while we take a spin on the dance floor.
I glide my fingers over a small selection of dresses that I’ve shoved pretty far into the back of my closet, my hand pausing over one in particular. I wrap my fingers around the hanger, pulling the dress free from the others.
The icy blue of the simple, satin shift dress matches my eyes perfectly. I remember because when I tried it on at the store, the sales associate mentioned it to me. I had turned to her and smiled with my fingers crossed in the air, telling her it was for a third date. Her eyes lit up and she told me it would make an amazing dress to get proposed to in someday.
It was a silly and kind comment by a total stranger, but it planted something in my head at the time that made me believe someday, when the time was perfect, he’d plan a proposal and I’d wear this dress.
The proposal never happened and I never wore the dress.
I rip the tag off, tossing it aside and pulling the dress from the hanger to see if it still fits. It glides over my body, still fitting me just as perfectly as it did when I tried it on all those years ago.
My breath catches in my throat when I turn to look at myself in the mirror. My reflection smiles back at me as I slip my feet into a pair of simple heeled sandals. I top it off with a few of my favorite gold pieces of jewelry. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I actually look like myself again. There’s more than just color from blush on my cheeks and the bright blue of the dress brings much-needed life into my eyes.
I can already hear Becca gushing over how underdressed she looks next to me but once I remind her that this is merely practice for re-entering the dating world, she’ll understand.
Looking at the time, I’ll still be a few minutes early if I leave now but it will give me time to maybe get a head start on my buzz. The thoughts of Austin’s hands and lips and tongue doing all sorts of things to my body are starting to resurface and I need to try and dull them before they get out of hand and I find myself knocking at his apartment door in a few hours.
I grab a denim jacket to throw over my shoulders if the night becomes too chilly or I grow self-conscience over my choice in a slinky dress that hits at mid-thigh, then head out into the evening.
“Dirty vodka martini, please. Top shelf.”
I turn my attention to the room after flashing the bartender a quick smile. There's a gentle hum that fills the space, small groups of people here and there around high-top tables or half-hidden booths in the corners. It’s the halfway point between an upscale martini bar and the dive bar you drown your sorrows in. Becca and I have been coming to DaVino’s on and off for the last year. We’re not regulars but it’s a comfortable spot not too far from her place that we discovered one night after I had called her crying again about Noah.
When the bartender places my drink down, I don’t waste any time. I take a sip, then another, letting the vodka numb my tongue before swallowing it down. I repeat the process, half of the martini gone in less than a minute. Before I realize it, I’ve finished it, a second one being placed in front of me.
I close my eyes for several seconds, letting the liquor do its job and quiet my brain. When they open again, I catch the bartender glancing my way, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. I avert my gaze, my attempt to appear fun and fresh-faced tonight clearly out the window already. Here I am, resting my chin pathetically on one hand as I stare down the barrel of a second martini before my friend even arrives.
“Oh good, you didn’t wait!” Becca’s familiar voice snaps me from my thoughts. “I’m so sorry I’m a little late. Hector ended up coming home before I left.”
“No apology necessary.” My smile feels lopsided already.
“I’ll have the same.” She smiles at the bartender while pointing toward my drink. “How are they tonight?”
“Tasty.” I wink, lifting my glass toward her before taking a long sip.
“Looks like it.” She giggles.
“Sorry, it’s my second one already.”
Her face falls but she quickly tries to recover. “Hopefully in celebration?”
I can see through the smile on her face. Behind it is worry or maybe it’s something else, something worse like pity.
“Yes, of course,” I say excitedly, lifting my head from my chin. “I’m extending an offer to Miguel, so pretty soon I will finally have my work-life balance back.”
“Oh, that’s great news!”
“It really is. Now I can finally get back out there.” I don’t know why I add the last part. Maybe it’s to see her smile or watch her shoulders sag in relief at the realization I’m not always going to be a pathetic sack of sadness.
She immediately launches into two different guys she’s been wanting to set me up with. “Clay is a little edgy, I should warn you.” She giggles to herself, pulling up his social media account and turning it to face me. It’s photo after photo of him BASE jumping, solo climbing, and snowboarding.
“Uhhh.”
“I know, I know.” She turns her phone back to face her. “But then there’s Zane.” She repeats the process of showing me his social media. His is filled with local 5ks he’s ran, medical trips to needy countries, and volunteering at animal shelters. The picture-perfect man you bring home to mom . Both men are attractive but neither catch my attention. How could they when there’s barely enough room in my brain to remember to breathe.
“I know you work with Clay, but how do you know Zane?”
She launches into the story about how Hector and Zane met through the hospital Hector is doing his residency at. I try to stay focused; I try to listen to all of the little anecdotes and stories about how he’d be a perfect match for me, but it’s pointless.
“Speaking of the hospital,” she says, cringing, “don’t hate me but like I said when I got here, Hector came home before I left. He was able to get off his shift early which is extremely unheard of?—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, reassuring her. “Go be with him. We can hang out anytime.”
“But you look so beautiful and I miss you.” She does that thing where she’s fighting me on something I know she wants to do because she feels guilty.
“Trust me.” I smile, not wanting to seem too eager to ditch my best friend. “You guys probably need a night together more than you and me. He can give you things I can’t.” She giggles, her face flushing a touch.
“It’s been over two weeks,” she says softly. “I’m about to go insane.”
Any other night I probably would have selfishly been upset that she’d suggest bailing on our martini hour early, but I know I’m not the best company to be around tonight. I can only fake that I’m excited to be single for so long and by the time this second martini is gone, so will any attempt to hide my sadness.
“Two whole weeks?” I fake gasp. “How are you ever going to survive!”
“Ugh, I know, I’m sorry.” There’s the pity head tilt. “Anyone in the Rolodex you can call to just get him out of your system?”
“Oh yeah, you know me, I’ve got a roster on the back burner just waiting.” We both launch into a fit of giggles, remembering some of the guys we dated over the years. “I don’t, no, but I’ll be okay. I’m not sure I’m in the headspace for casual sex yet, but when I am, I’ll be sure to hit you up for Clay and Zane’s numbers.”
“Ohh, both, huh?” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Eiffel Tower?”
I glance up from my drink just as the bartender reaches us, his eyes locking with mine with a chuckle. “I hear Paris is lovely this time of year.”
“Oh my God.” My cheeks burn in embarrassment. “No, no Eiffel Towers for me. Ever.”
“That’s a shame.” He smirks. “Can I get you ladies another round?”
“I’m okay for now,” I say, savoring the last two sips of my drink.
“And I’m about to head out so you can cash me out.” Becca reaches for her wallet, retrieving her card and handing it over to him.
“You’re not cashing out?” he asks, not looking up from the computer screen he’s tapping on.
“Not yet.” I sigh. “Think I’ll drown my sorrows a little longer.”
“Have a nice night.” He places Becca’s card down in front of her. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” He tosses me a wink before stepping away.
“He’s cute.”
“He is,” I confirm, taking a moment to appreciate his alternative appearance. His mostly tattooed skin and gauged ears isn’t the look I typically go for but maybe that’s exactly what I need. I allow myself a few more seconds of admiration while his attention is on the couple that just sat down at the other end.
The thought of bringing him back to my place for one night of sweaty, no strings attached sex flashes briefly through my mind before I push it aside, reminding myself that messing around with a bartender at one of my regular spots probably isn’t the best idea.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” My overly enthusiastic response is a dead giveaway that I might not be okay but I’m doing my damndest to convince myself and everyone else that I am. “Yes,” I say a little firmer this time when she eyes me. “Go home to Hector, get some of that headboard-breaking sex we both need. I’m just going to finish this, then grab some very greasy, disgusting food on the way back home where I plan to park my ass on the couch for the rest of the night and watch some trash reality TV.”
“Honestly, I could really use one of those nights myself soon. Between Hector’s insane schedule and school starting, I’m exhausted and we aren’t even a month into the school year.” She slings her purse over her shoulder, giving me a quick hug. “Tell me again why I thought teaching fifth grade was going to be easier than second?”
“Your first mistake was thinking that anything involving educating children was going to be easy.” I hold her by her upper arms when we disconnect from our hug. “Just remember how you cry at the end of every year when they leave your classroom. There’s a reason your kids always stop back by your room year after year to tell you they miss you and that you’re still their favorite teacher. Now go surprise Hector and let me know if you need me to bring you some Gatorade and Arnica cream when you two finally come up for air.”
“Sounds like my kind of night,” the bartender mutters with a low chuckle.
Becca giggles, pulling me in again for a second hug. “And you better let me know if you end up leaving here with him tonight.”
Before I can protest, she releases me and spins around to head out of the bar.
“You sure you don’t want another?” He nods toward my glass that holds one single sip of room temperature martini.
“Yeah.” I shrug, sitting back down at the bar. “Why not?”
“Exactly.” His smile grows wider as he reaches for the shaker. “We all need to let loose once in a while.”
His intentions are about one shade away from obvious. The look he flashes me letting me know that if I offer, he’s absolutely going to say yes. A sizzle of excitement shoots through my belly at the thought. Not at the thought of him per se, but at the realization that I have the option if I want.
The option to let loose as the bartender just said or maybe just focus on myself for a while. For so long I’ve been someone’s “other half,” bending my life to fit their demands and needs while mine went unmet. Now, my job is stable and I’m about to hire on another attorney, allowing myself to have more free time.
Maybe this is exactly the kind of disruptive, life-altering event I needed to snap myself out of whatever fog I’ve been living in.
“Fresh from my hands”—the bartender lifts the glass, placing it down in front of me—“to your lips.”
“Thank you.” I offer a genuine smile, trying to rein in any flirtatious vibes that I might unknowingly be throwing his way in my buzzed state.
When he steps away to help a few others who have gathered, I lift the glass, savoring the tartness of the olive juice followed by the burn of the vodka. The last time I remember drinking three full martinis was the night after I called Metzler, Dodson I can’t handle a double.”
“Don’t worry.” He winks, his arm lazily resting on the backrest behind me. “I’ll make sure we go nice and slow with it. You can handle it.”
Unlike the bartender’s attempt at a flirty wink, this one is downright devilish, sending my stomach into a catapult of flips. His arm behind me flexes and my eyes are drawn to the thick vein that runs up his bicep, disappearing beneath the short sleeve that struggles to contain him.
I know my mouth is hanging open right now… but what I don’t know is if the look in his eyes is just wishful thinking on my part in my half-drunken haze.
What does two and a half martinis worth of alcohol mixed with a week of replaying that damn kiss over and over again in my brain equal… Me, completely and utterly fucked.