Page 38 of Finding Delaware

The defeat in those three words feels like a knife to my chest. I don’t want to go. What’s happening with my dick right now may be confusing as hell, but one thing for sure is thatIdo not want to leave.

“Huck...”

“Get the fuck out!”

Flinching, I step toward the door, stopping only once to look back at him, pleading silently for him to meet my gaze. He doesn’t. So I leave without another word, the door softly closing behind me.

Huckslee

Taylor is smoking weed in the house again.

I can smell it, wafting down the hallway. Usually, he opens his window, but he’s probably drunk. He’s been drinking all week.

Shaking my head, I lean back over my desk as the sounds of laughter from downstairs filter up the stairs. Dad’s annual New Year’s Eve party is in full swing, the one night out of the year when he indulges in wine. Since it’s the first year with Maisie, her friends are over, too. He invited us to come down and play board games, but I wasn’t in the mood. Neither was Taylor.

Glancing over at my phone, I resist the urge to pull up his message thread. He’s been texting me all day like a drunken idiot from his bedroom, but I haven’t responded. Focusing on the panel for the comic I’m working on, I try to block out thememory of what he did to me in the bathroom yesterday, but it’s been at the forefront of my mind since I opened my eyes.

Steam from the shower fills the bathroom, thick and heavy. The heat from the water feels good against my skin as I stand under the spray, letting it roll off my back. It soothes the slight ache in my arm that’s been present ever since Taylor held me under in the pool. I know I should be worried about it—fractures can be delicate. But the pain has been serving as a reminder this past week that what happened wasn’t in my head.

Tipping back my chin, I run my fingers through my wet curls, closing my eyes as I remember what it felt like when Taylor touched me. Everything has been so confusing between us. We’ve barely spoken since I kicked him out of my room, and the few times I’ve caught him in the kitchen or passed him in the hallway, he’s been plastered. Dad ungrounded us for the Winter break, and Taylor spent Christmas at his dad’s, plus a day in the mountains with his friends. Not having him here was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of feelings that cyclone inside me whenever he’s near.

Five months ago, his status in my life was clear. Public enemy number fucking one. Then he kissed me on the track, which threw me for one hell of a loop. Still, he was the bad guy—my bully. But then…

I don’t fucking know what he is to me anymore. Everything changed that night in the pool, at least for me. For him? He made his intentions clear the morning after when he cringed at my touch. What happened between us altered my fucking brain chemistry, but to him, it was a game. Another way to mess with me.

Pounding on the door breaks me out of my thoughts, and Taylor’s angry voice invades the bathroom.

“Huckslee! Open the fuck up, man. You’ve been in there for forty-five minutes!”

Are you kidding me?

“Go away,” I growl, reaching for my body wash, but the banging intensifies.

“I’ll kick the door down, dude. Swear to God.”

I can hear a slight slur to his speech even over the shower, and with another growl of annoyance, I leave the water running as I step out. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I yank the door open to see an irate Taylor standing in the hallway with his arms folded, his dark hair a mess. He’s wearing a new shirt with a zombie unicorn holding a severed arm in its mouth on the front. He wears the weirdest fucking t-shirts.

His eyes take in my bare torso, sweeping from the V in between my hips up to my neck when I swallow. It’s a slow perusal, and the way his cheeks slightly flush sends a flow of blood to my groin. When his eyes jump up to mine, they’re glassy and unfocused, his pupils blown out.

“I need to brush my teeth.” He rushes in almost frantically, and I grimace when the smell of whiskey hits my nose. “Maisie’s making me help decorate for their stupid party.”

And he needs to hide the alcohol on his breath. Right.

Turning around, I make my way back toward the shower. “Make it quick.”

He scoffs, but I ignore him as I close the shower door and whip off the towel. My cock is semi-hard now at the nearness of his presence, and as I wash my body, all I can think is, thankfuck for frosted glass. I hear the cabinet open, and the sink turn on, so I tune him out while I wash my hair.

Several moments later, the shower door opens, and I spin around in shock to see Taylor stepping over the lip of the tub, fully clothed.

“What the fuck—”

His mouth slams into mine, and for a moment, all I can do is freeze. His arms wrap around my neck, sealing us together as his tongue brushes the seam of my lips, seeking entry.

I know I should push him away because he’s drunk, and our parents are home. And he’s my stepbrother, and he’s dating Salem, and he’s Taylor. There are a million reasons why this is wrong.

So why does my mouth part for him, a groan leaving my throat at the first touch of our tongues? Why do my palms come up to cup his chin, tilting it to give myself deeper access while he holds on to me for dear life?

Why do my eyes sink closed as I savor his taste—mint with the slightest trace of whiskey left?

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