Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
I ’m not sure when it started, but I can’t stop noticing Taylor.
Little things about him I never cared about before. Like the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck, how it’s a deeper brown now than it had been back at school. He has light freckles that span the bridge of his nose, and when he’s particularly amused, the same space wrinkles in delight.
No matter what I do, my thoughts all wander back to him. I’m staring, I know I am. But I can’t stop. And the worst part is, I recognize this feeling…what this all-consuming curiosity precedes. If I’m not careful, I’m going to send myself backward in time.
And I’ll become as besotted with Taylor Hedlund as I was ten years ago.
The thought shocks me into jamming my finger on my keyboard, logging me into a video call with the Havens five minutes too early. I take a steadying breath, waiting for the others to appear. This time, I really am going to focus. I spent nine months ignoring Taylor Hedlund’s existence—surely, I can go another day.
It feels like an eternity before Victor’s chin fills the screen.
From somewhere in the background, I hear Adoria call, “Is it on, darling? Can they see us?”
I lower the volume on my headphones. “We can see you. How’s your trip going?”
Adoria collapses into frame, bringing a hand to her chest. “Oh, the city is positively rejuvenating. I haven’t felt so inspired in ages. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Quite so,” Victor agrees, stroking his goatee. “Did you receive that Noir-Western manuscript I sent this morning? Taylor, I’m going to need your keen eye again. We’re being asked to put some money behind it, but I’m not convinced we want our names attached.”
I furrow my brow, looking through my email and coming up short. Victor didn’t bother sending the manuscript to me.
I resist the urge to glance at Taylor. He’s only in this position thanks to my help. But the part of me that would normally be annoyed is… not . Partly because I’d rather scratch out my own eyeballs than read whatever a Noir-Western is, and partly because…well, it’s kind of nice knowing I did something good.
“I’m not sure I’m the right fit for this,” Taylor says.
Wait… what?
I break my own rule by turning around and gaping at him. Red is slowly crawling up his neck, the only sign he isn’t entirely composed
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you during our last meeting, but Ayla was the one with that keen eye. Without her help, I wouldn’t have been able to give you coverage in time. She’s the one who should be taking a look at this.”
What the fuck, I think. Or maybe I say it out loud, because Taylor’s lips twitch. He glances over his shoulder for a split second, long enough for me to catch the smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I interject, turning back to my computer. “Taylor’s ideas were his own. I read his coverage myself, and you’re right, he has a natural knack for storytelling.”
I sit back in my seat, one of my hands going up to my mouth. Did I really just say that? I look behind me, and Taylor is openly staring, his jaw slack.
He gave me credit. Showed me a kindness I never expected to receive. And what did I do? Squandered it in front of the very people who control the fate of my career.
I screw my eyes shut. Stupid. That was so stupid .
Adoria punctuates the point by clapping her hands. “Excellent! Great writing takes collaboration. It is about time the two of you put your heads together.”
Victor purses his lips. “If you wish to work on the coverage together, that is fine by me. But I will still need it by the end of the week. Taylor? You have that written down?”
Taylor clears his throat, fingers racing across his keyboard. “Yes, of course. I’ve got it.”
Victor nods. “I’ll leave it up to the two of you then. Now, moving on…”
It’s nearly impossible to resist turning to Taylor, demanding why he said what he did. He’s not kind. Or, at least he wasn’t two weeks ago. Until now, it was like pulling teeth even getting the guy to acknowledge my existence.
Was Taylor abducted by aliens sometime last night? Somehow, the idea of him being replaced by a friendlier clone seems more plausible than the alternative. Because the Taylor Hedlund I know would never hand me an advantage over him—especially in front of the Havens.
I whip around the second our bosses hang up the call. Taylor has done the same, already eyeing me with flushed cheeks.
“Why did you—”
“You didn’t have to—”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In what feels like déjà vu, we’re cut off by a series of loud booms . Taylor is the first to leap up, taking me by the arm so I’m standing behind him.
“Stay here,” he commands, eyes narrowed on me until I nod my understanding. He squeezes my wrist once before hurrying down the hall.
I listen until his footsteps fade from earshot. My heart is racing, my limbs stiff with fear. The longer Taylor is gone, the worse the sensation grows. Is he okay? Is he safe ? What if he’s hurt? What if he needs me? Question after question races through my head until I can barely breathe without my chest constricting in pain.
Just when I’m ready to give up, to follow my doubts until they lead me to him…he appears in the doorway. His cheeks are flushed with color as he appraises me, his hair standing up like he’s been fisting it in two hands.
“You okay?” he breathes.
I stumble toward him, searching for signs of injury. “Are you? What happened? What was that sound?”
His jaw pitches to the side. “The plumbers,” he all but growls. “They ruptured something beneath the house. That was the sound of the pipes bursting.”
“What?” I have the sudden urge to stomp my foot. “Is anything damaged? The Havens are going to lose it.”
Taylor shakes his head, and I know he’s imagining the same meltdown I am. “The guys said they can fix everything before the Havens get back.”
“We’re so fucked,” I whisper.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” My eyes dart to Taylor’s face. He’s trying to smile, though his expression still looks pained. “They said it should be fine. We’re just supposed to let them know if we experience any flooding.”
“Flooding?” My voice is sharp on the word. “Do they think that’s likely?”
He shakes his head. “No, they said the chances were slim. But if it did happen, it would likely be upstairs—”
Taylor’s eyes widen with realization at the same moment mine do.
“Have you checked upstairs?”
Before my question has fully emerged, he’s racing out of the room, calling out a garbled “No!” over his shoulder.
I take after him, sprinting up the stairs and bursting into the Havens’ master bedroom. Side by side, we fling open their bathroom door, searching for signs of damage.
Taylor is the first to breathe a sigh of relief. “Everything looks fine.” He turns the sink on, and the steady stream of water brings a smile to both of our faces.
“That could have been a distastes,” I whisper, a nervous laugh bubbling up my throat. “I mean, can you imagine?”
Taylor knocks against one of the Havens’ brass faucets. “They would have had our heads. And then every cent in our bank accounts.”
I tug at my hair, trying not to imagine it. “We’d have to flee the country. We still might if they hear something went wrong under our watch.” A flicker of fear enters my voice, warbling the end of my thought.
Taylor reaches out, fingers curling under my chin as he gently lifts my head. “They aren’t going to find out. And nothing has gone wrong yet. Don’t worry.”
What’s crazy is after he says the words, my fear loses its edge. Not once in the year I’ve worked with him has Taylor been wrong. When he speaks, it’s with authority. There is not a problem he hasn’t solved. So when he tells me everything will be okay, I believe him.
His lips curl at my expression. “Besides, the plumbers are the ones who should be scared. They have no idea what’s coming if they mess anything else up. You’ll scar them for life, Montes. I have no doubt about that.”
My lips twitch. “I can be pretty scary, can’t I?”
Taylor makes a whistling sound. “Terrifying. It’s impressive someone so small can hold so much rage.”
I knock into him as I pass, the brief contact sending a flood of warmth through my chest. I’m relieved when he follows after me, his continued presence doing something to soothe my nerves. He used to be my worst source of anxiety… But right now, I can’t seem to remember why. With him by my side, I’m not sure there’s a single problem we couldn’t solve.
“Let’s check in here real quick,” I suggest, steering him into the guest bath.
We conduct another quick inspection, exchanging another look of relief when all appears intact.
“Kitchen next?”
I let Taylor take the lead, admiring the sight of his arms flexing as he checks the Havens’ various appliances.
“Is that it?” I wonder out loud, the knots in my stomach finally beginning to untangle.
“We’ve checked everywhere but my bathroom.”
I’m not sure whether to follow Taylor when he enters the guest room he’s been staying in. There’s something too intimate about encroaching on his personal space. From the doorway, I spy dirty clothes spilling out of a hamper and a couple shirts still folded in his suitcase. I’m tempted to move closer, scan every inch of his room in the hope of learning something new about the man I’m beginning to suspect I don’t know as well as I assumed.
Only the pained sound of a whispered “Fuck,” stops me in my tracks.
“Taylor?” I call out. When he doesn’t answer, I follow my misgivings across his room. I find him standing in the doorway of his bathroom, both hands fisted in his hair.
Gently, I brush him aside, scooting past his broad form to peer inside the room.
“Fuck.”
Water is bubbling out of the closed toilet, joining twin streams from the faucet. There’s already a small puddle forming atop the tiles. Had we waited any longer, the water would have surely leaked into Taylor’s bedroom, ruining the wooden floorboards and whatever else he left on top of them.
He grumbles something indiscernible before charging back through his room. His footsteps disappear down the hall, followed by the slam of the patio door.
I think about following him, standing by his side as he has what will surely be an uncomfortable conversation with the plumbers. Instead, I tiptoe across the bathroom tiles, fiddling with the sink. I turn the faucet handles left and right, but there’s no stopping the flow. I’m too scared to flush the toilet, so I grab a wad of toilet paper, seeping up whatever spillage I can.
I have just moved the bathmat and marble trash can into the bed of the bathtub when Taylor reappears in the doorway.
“They’re going to have to shut off the water,” he says with a sigh. “We won’t have any until tomorrow morning.”
“Wow, today keeps getting better and better.”
Taylor slides a hand down his face. “Tell me about it.”
“So they’ll be back in the morning? They think they can fix it?”
“Yeah.” But Taylor doesn’t look convinced. “They’ll need to be in here all day. But they said the repair shouldn’t be a problem.”
I look over Taylor’s shoulder, surveying his room. The plumbers will need to walk straight through it to reach the bathroom. Taylor keeps his space neat, clothes folded and shoes lined up in the closet. I can only imagine how he’ll feel having a team of men traipse through it, their shoes pulling in dirt from outdoors. His privacy will be invaded for a full day, and if I know Taylor, he’ll spend most of the night cleaning up after them.
“I don’t think you should sleep here tonight,” I say, slowly. “The Havens have another guest room, maybe you should move in there.”
Taylor glances over at me, and I can’t read his expression. “You think so?”
“Yeah, the room upstairs is a lot smaller than this one, but at least it’s dry. And secluded.”
“Secluded, huh?” Taylor looks at me through lowered lids. “Isn’t the second guest room next to yours?”
I swallow. “Yes. But, I mean, I wasn’t trying to suggest I wanted to get you alone,” I say, stumbling over my words. “Just, it’ll be away from the noise tomorrow. You won’t have to worry about anyone wandering in.”
He lifts a brow. “I’m not so sure about that.”
How annoyingly presumptuous.
And not entirely wrong.
I square my shoulders. “Do you need help moving your shit or not, Hedlund?”
Taylor’s lips twitch. “Yeah, all right. I need you, Montes.”
I know he sees the blush spill across my cheeks, but he’s smart enough to keep the observation to himself.
I knock on Taylor’s door, wincing when I realize I’ve done exactly what he predicted I would.
“Wandering in already?” he calls out, earning an eye-roll when I push my head inside.
And then I wince. The room is half as big as the one downstairs, and twice as pink. Magenta walls and a berry ceiling match the plum-colored furniture and a startlingly bright duvet. With the fading sun streaming in through peach curtains, the entire room is cast in a reddish glow.
Taylor sits on the ground, back against his bed frame as he sorts through his bags. There isn’t a dresser in here, or even a closet. He’ll have to live out of his suitcase for the foreseeable future. I’d be lying if I said the sight didn’t make me feel a little bit bad.
“Here.” I dump a handful of towels at the foot of his bed. “I found these in the linen closet. And I moved my stuff off the bathroom sink. So you can use it when the water is turned back on.”
Taylor smirks up at me. “Thanks, Teach. Hopefully, we’ll be able to take showers in the morning.”
I lean against his door, inadvertently sliding it shut. Taylor’s lips twitch, but mercifully, he doesn’t say a word.
“I ordered some pizza for us,” he says after a pause. “Raincheck on that home-cooked meal?”
“I’m not sure…what kind of pizza is it?”
“Pepperoni. And a Hawaiian.”
My brows shoot up. “You like Hawaiian pizza?”
“No.” He looks at me for a moment too long. “But you do.”
My joking smile falls by a fraction. “You got it for me?”
“Yeah, well, I had a coupon.” He shrugs. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I smile at him, and he smiles back. We hold the expression until we realize what it is. And then we’re both quick to look anywhere else.
“Don’t forget to work on your spec script,” is all I can think to say.
Taylor cocks his head. “Has anyone told you that you’re pretty demanding?”
“You were the one who demanded I teach you how to write.”
Taylor bites down on his lip, hiding a grin. “Touché.”
If I stay, I’ll stare at his mouth. So I offer him a salute, slipping out of his door.
“Don’t forget to grab a slice of pizza,” he calls after me, sounding like he actually cares.
I dearly wish I had left sooner.
For the first time in a week, I notice just how noisy I am. The bed creaks as I climb into it, my computer emits a low hum when I close out my screenwriting program. The wooden floorboards groan every time I turn atop my sheets, and I can’t help but wonder if Taylor is hearing it all.
When he was sequestered downstairs, I didn’t question whether my sleeping habits would disturb anyone else. I was free to toss and touch and be as I pleased. There will be no more late-night showers where I let my thoughts wander. Even now, as my fingers skip down my stomach, I hesitate before they can slip inside my sleep shorts.
The star of far too many of my fantasies is lying right next door. No way in hell am I risking him overhearing me. Even if my skin is flushed red and I’m tempted to soothe the ache that’s lingered between my thighs since Taylor pushed me behind him this morning…I can’t give in. Can’t succumb to the sordid thoughts his protective streak has stirred within me.
I let out a soft sigh, rolling onto my stomach. I won’t touch myself. But...if I arch my hips against the sheets, maybe I can create the right amount of friction. My breasts feel tender, nipples peaked as they brush against the satin duvet. It’s all too easy to picture someone else’s roughed palms kneading my swollen flesh. I imagine a warm body lowering itself over mine, someone’s breath tickling my ear as a hand slides between us.
The bed groans as I roll my hips, seeking a hardness that doesn’t exist. Any other night, I’d reach into my bedside table and pull out one of the toys I brought to soothe this exact ache. But I have a horrible feeling Taylor would be able to hear the buzzing and he’d know exactly what I was up to.
A frustrated little whimper escapes my lips. Without permission, my fingers slip under my shorts. Self-preservation flies out the window when I dip into my slickness, rolling it over my clit. But it’s not enough. In my fantasy, I’m being pulled against a firm chest. Protective arms wrap around my stomach as a hand sinks between my thighs. The man in my head is blonde, his limbs wiry. Every time my vision threatens to change, I try to picture thin lips and a buzzcut.
My breathing goes uneven as I try and try to make myself come to someone, anyone who isn’t the boy next door. But I can’t.
I can’t.
I fall back against my pillows, frustrated and aching and…unsatisfied.
And I have an awful suspicion that there’s only one man who’ll be able to help.
I turn on my side, forcing my eyes closed. Sleep is what I need. Blessed darkness to extinguish all thoughts of a hazel-eyed devil and his perfectly kissable lips. I tuck a hand under my pillow, willing sleep to come…when I hear it.
The low sound of…is that a groan? I go still, listening to the rustle of bedsheets. And there it is again. A muffled sigh. And my throat goes dry. Taylor’s room is configured opposite of mine. Whereas my bed is propped against the rightmost wall, his is anchored to the left. Where I’m lying puts our heads only inches apart.
I freeze in place, half-tempted to bring my ear closer to the wall so I might hear him better.
Half-tempted to walk next door and finish the job myself.
Goosebumps erupt down my arms as Taylor’s breath hitches, blankets shifting before he utters one last groan. And then all goes still.
Taylor was touching himself. And if I could hear him…my face blushes red.
No… no , there’s no way. Because that would mean Taylor was listening as I tried to get myself off. That he heard my whimpers and sighs. Maybe he even stroked himself to the sounds. Maybe they were why he slipped his own hands into his pants.
I shake my head, sinking back down.
It’s improbable. No, it’s impossible .
I screw my eyes shut, but I don’t fall asleep for a very, very long time.