U + Me
The next day, Carrick slips out so easily that he might as well not even have been at my house at all. We don’t talk about it beforehand, but it doesn’t surprise me when he begins throwing his clothes and things into his bag after breakfast. I knew this couldn’t last; he couldn’t just move into my house for good, as much as I want him to.
He doesn’t say goodbye on his way out. That’s not his style, and we both know it isn’t goodbye, anyway. It couldn’t be. I don’t think either of us would or could ever choose to let the other go. At least, I’m beginning to see that that’s how I feel; whether we’re friends, lovers or whatever, I need him in my life. And I think Carrick feels the same.
I get nearly a whole day to myself to throw the pity party I keep claiming that I’m not throwing. I spend most of the day playing video games, reading – doing anything at all that I can do not to think about Carrick, Taylor, Kate or any of the other million ways I’ve fucked my life up.
Taylor sends me a text late at night, when I’m nearly asleep on the couch. I didn’t even realize I was still there, but the sound of my phone’s text tone somehow rises above the television show that lulled me to sleep. I lunge for the coffee table, somehow knowing instinctively that the text is from Taylor before I’ve even see it.
I’m not sure if that’s even a question I’m really meant to reply to or an order. Taylor knows well enough that I’d follow any order he gave me and have never, ever been able to resist doing anything he asked of me. So what’s the point in even asking? He’s got me wrapped around his gorgeous little finger and he knows it. Still, I type a quick reply to him before peeling myself off the couch and making my way to my actual bed.
The smilie face was probably too much, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I would have put a billion little hearts in the text message if it wouldn’t have made me look like a total idiot.
Even though I know there’s still some weirdness between Taylor and me – for whatever reason – I can’t help looking forward to seeing him. Maybe whatever it was that made our phone call so awkward can be fixed. Maybe he wants to fix it. I can only assume that’s why he wants to see me and no one else tomorrow.
I don’t even remember sleeping at all once I made it to my bedroom. I remember falling onto the bed, my cell phone still in hand and a stupid smile plastered on my face at the thought of seeing Taylor, but I don’t remember sleeping. The next thing I remember is waking up, all alone for the first time in days, but not minding.
Then immediately hating myself.
How can I erase Carrick from my mind and heart so quickly? Are a few texts from Taylor and the prospect of seeing him really all it takes? It certainly seems that way. The good mood I woke up in is all but gone by the time I make it downstairs and find that I’m out of orange juice. I suppose I could start the day off with a soda or an energy drink, but as soon as I consider it, I can practically hear Kate’s judgmental voice in my head.
It seems I just can’t win today. But I do still get to see Taylor, if I haven’t drowned under all my guilt before I can even make it out of my house. So far, it’s not looking good for me.
In the end, I decide to skip breakfast entirely. If I know Taylor, and I do, he’ll bring a couple different drinks and maybe even a few pastries from Starbucks with him to the office. He’s too indecisive to pick just one meal unless he has to, so he’ll surely have something he can share with me. Reminding myself over and over again that I get to see Taylor, I manage to drag myself through the shower, dress myself in clothes that are actually clean and head out the door in time to almost not be late.
It’s always a toss up as too who will be the most late whenever a group of Hansons get together. Taylor likes to blame Natalie and his army of kids for slowing him down, but I know I’m dragging my feet today, so it’s still anyone’s guess as to which of us will make it to the office first. As I ease my truck into a parking spot outside, though, I see his in the alley. For once, Taylor’s beaten me.
The office is quiet. Too quiet. I know Taylor’s here, though, but I guess he really must be the only one, because I don’t hear a single sound coming from any of the rooms I pass. Finally, as I approach the studio itself, I hear the tell-tale sound of a piano. It probably sounds ridiculous, but I would recognize Taylor’s piano playing anywhere, even when he’s just messing around like he is right now.
I’m content just to lean against the wall and watch him. If I could just watch him all day and never have to even say a word, I’d still consider it a great day. At least if I don’t talk, the chances of sticking my foot in my mouth are greatly lessened. Of course Taylor eventually notices my presence and turns around to face me.
“Hey,” he says, grinning. “How long have you been standing there?”
I shrug. “A while. You seemed busy.”
“Just waiting on you,” he says, patting the empty space on the piano bench next to him.
I don’t have to ask what that means. There are a million questions on the tip of my tongue, but if Taylor says to come sit next to him, I’ll obey. He taps on a few keys after I sit down, not playing anything in particular at all.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Did you, umm, want to work on something?”
He shakes his head. “Just wanted to see you.”
His sun-bleached bangs hang down just enough to hide his eyes from me, so I’m left wondering what his intentions really are. It doesn’t matter that his words were simple enough; I can’t help thinking there’s something he isn’t telling me.
“You just got back,” I point out. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your kids?”
Taylor just shrugs. “They’ll be there later. Can’t I see you now?”
“Of course,” I reply, my voice catching stupidly on the words like I’m about to cry or something. I’m not. I don’t cry over things like my brother wanting to hang out with me. That would just be silly.
“Good,” Taylor replies, glancing up at me for the briefest moment, then back down at the piano. He lets his fingers drift across the keys for a moment before speaking again. “You know, they had all these parks there, with these primitive camping areas. You could stay there and really rough it, you know, except you’d be like a mile away from some resort. It looked like fun, though. Natalie didn’t agree.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to go camping if I was pregnant. I mean.” There goes that foot in mouth thing again. It never fails, really. Every time I talk, the probability of it just increases.
Taylor lets out a sound that’s halfway between a cough and a laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t thinking about taking her back there. I thought you would like it.”
Well, that has me stunned into silence. Given that whole foot in mouth thing, I’m not going to complain.
“Reminds me of how we used to camp out in the backyard, you know?” Taylor asks, like he thinks there’s any chance I might have forgotten. “Before the new house, before things got crazy. We weren’t a couple hundred yards from the house, or even the street, but it was like… our own little world, wasn’t it?”
I nod, not trusting myself to say any words that are even half as beautiful or intelligent as what Taylor just said.
“I miss that.” The words are so soft I almost don’t hear him at all, but at the same time, I know exactly what he’s said. His tone says it all.
And I agree. I agree more than he’ll ever know. I miss when it was just me and him; of course, it never really was. But there was a time when the two of us could just go away and do things like that – pinch a tent in the backyard or sit in silence behind the studio, inhaling nicotine. Now we have families and responsibilities and all these things that just keep putting space between us.
There’s no space between us right now, though. I don’t know if I sat down that close to Taylor or if he’s managed to scoot closer to me while I wasn’t paying attention, but our bodies are touching almost all the way down. I can even feel his foot tapping against mine as he taps at the keys, still playing nothing in particular.
“I’ve missed you,” I admit, my cheeks heating up as the words leave my mouth. Did I say too much?
I don’t know how I expected Taylor to respond to that, but what I definitely didn’t expect was a frown. It’s not just a slight frown, either. It takes over his whole face, his whole demeanor. His shoulders slump and his forehead creases with lines.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his hands falling away from the keys. He stares down at them like they’ve suddenly become useless to him, like he suddenly feels useless.
I don’t want him to feel that way, but I don’t know how to tell him that. I suppose I could just say it, but then I would have to explain myself and it would just take too long to get my point across. It’s much easier just to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. It’s funny; I’m often the one who needs comforting, and I’m the one who just admitted to missing Taylor, yet I’m holding him. I don’t mind, though. As we’ve already established, I’ll do anything for Taylor.
Even though he’s taller than me, he’s slumped down and drawn into himself so much that he’s resting his head on my shoulder. I’m perfectly content to just sit here, holding him, for as long as he wants. He nuzzles my neck a little, and I barely even notice, because Taylor is just affectionate like that. He would do strange little things like that to me long before that kiss at Carrick’s house.
He usually doesn’t kiss my neck, though.
His lips are warm – scorching hot, even. I can almost imagine the impression of his lips burned into my neck, a permanent tattoo of this moment. It isn’t enough, though. I want his lips, his touch, tattooed onto every inch of me. I turn my head slightly, just enough to put my lips in Taylor’s path instead. He doesn’t even hesitate before locking his lips onto mine.
I know I was drunk the last time this happened, but it feels every bit as amazing as I remember. Now that I’m sober, I want this to go on forever, so that I can memorize every aspect of him, every little touch and movement. I want his soft whimper playing on a loop forever in my mind. I just want him.
Taylor tangles his hands in my hair and tries to nudge me backward, but it just ends with us in a heap on the floor. I’m not complaining though; I’ll never complain about having Taylor on top of me. Our move to the floor doesn’t seem to have bothered him either; he’s focused, it seems, on me and only me. His hands are tugging so desperately at my hair that it kind of hurts, but I’ll never complain. All I can do is clutch at his shirt, trying to get him closer to me, even though at this point that’s practically impossible.
His lips make their way back down my neck, all the way to the collar of my shirt. He nips at my flesh and some really perverse part of my brain hopes that he’s leaving marks. I don’t even care that I’ll have to start wearing button up shirts in the middle of June to cover Taylor’s bites. I just need that little bit of evidence, that constant reminder of him, on my body.
I don’t know how far he’s willing to take this. Carrick and I haven’t taken things all the way, but with Taylor, I don’t think I have a limit at all. Whatever he wants to do, I’ll do. He’s tugging on my shirt now from practically all directions, and I think he might actually rip it apart before he gets enough control of himself to take it off the normal way. Not that I’m helpful at all, of course. I’m too busy desperately grinding against his thigh and clutching at his belt for dear life to help him get my clothes off.
I finally manage to tear myself away from, well, him, long enough to put my hands over his and help him pull my shirt over my head. He pulls back and stares down at my chest like we haven’t shared bedrooms and hotel rooms and changed clothes in front of each other a million times before. Again, I’m not going to complain. The idea that Taylor, the guy I’ve lusted after for roughly as long as I’ve had any concept of what lust was is staring at me like he feels like the same way… well, it’s a pretty nice idea.
He trails kisses down my chest, staring into my eyes the entire time. If he stares up at me once he gets where he’s going, I don’t think he’ll need to stay down there very long. Taylor just has this way of staring at a person that makes them feel like no one else in the world exists. Staring at me like that while his tongue is darting out to lick my nipples is really almost enough to push me over the edge all on its own.
When he starts moving lower, I have to close my eyes. I have to break that eye contact before I scream – although I’m not even sure I’m capable of screaming right now. I haven’t made a single sound since all this began. Except for both of our heavy breaths, the room is entirely silent.
That is, until a tinny, recorded version of one of our songs starts playing.
With a mumbled curse, he rolls off of me and fumbles in his pocket for his phone. He doesn’t even look back at me before jumping up and practically sprinting from the room to answer it.
I didn’t need to ask him who it was. I’m well aware that Natalie thinks it’s just the cutest thing ever to make Taylor’s phone play “Georgia” any time she calls. With a few mumbled curses of my own, I roll over and reach for my shirt. There’s no point in staying half naked. I know the moment has passed. Whatever happened between Taylor and me today, Natalie has ruined it.
If there’s one thing that woman is good at, it’s ruining things. Maybe I’m too hard on her, but I doubt it. God only knows what stupid shit she’s calling him about now. Probably just to whine because he isn’t at home to tend to her every pregnant need.
I don’t even bother getting up out of the floor. I do, at least, manage to pull myself up to a sitting position and slip my shirt back over my head. I’m just starting to tuck it into my pants when Taylor bursts back into the room.
“That wasn’t Natalie,” he says. “That was her mom. She’s taking Nat to the hospital.”