Page 9 of Loving Taylor
I nodded and watched her reaction.
"Why would someone want to do that?" she asked.
The more time I spent with her the more innocent she came across. Surely spiked drinks would be something she would be aware of.
"You can't be that naive," I said, struggling to believe she didn't know that there were bad people out there who would do bad things to people. All you had to look at was the rape statistics for colleges across the country and it was usually some guy no one ever suspected. Not all bad people looked evil.
It annoyed me that she could have been innocent enough to take a drink from a stranger.
"There are bad people out there. People who will do really bad things given the opportunity," I tried to explain to ensure she never made the same mistake again. Next time I might not be around to stop it.
"That was why I took you up to my room. I don't want to think what would have happened to you if I hadn't," I added, dropping my arms to my sides as my hands balled into fists.
"Thank you," she mumbled, digesting the information.
"You're welcome," I mumbled back, not used to being thanked. Feeling uncomfortable, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. My eyes dropped to the floor briefly.
"Why was I only dressed in my underwear?" she asked, nervously meeting my gaze.
"You were trying to take advantage of me," I answered, unable to stop the smirk I gave her when I remembered how she'd made it clear she'd wanted me.
She blushed. Her response boosted my confidence.
"I'm sorry." She looked mortified.
"Don't be," I said with a shrug of my shoulders. "If you hadn't been out of it, I probably would have taken you up on the offer."
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Standing in front of her now, I felt the same instant attraction I'd felt for her the night before. My eyes drifted over her, openly appreciating her feminine figure. I knew we would be great together, the sex would be amazing, I could just tell.
"Uh...well...thanks," she stuttered, clasping her hands together nervously.
She acted like she didn't have much experience with guys and I liked that. She wasn't overconfident or clingy. Hell, she'd been the first girl to sneak out of my bedroom while I had slept.
"I'd better go," I told her, needing to put some space between us. The way she affected me with one slight look was enough for my self-preservation to kick in, telling me to get as far away from her as possible.
Despite the warnings, though, I wanted to see her again. I stopped by the door and looked back over my shoulder at her.
"If you ever want to take advantage of me when you're in a sober condition, you know where to find me," I offered with the confident smile that girls swooned over.
She looked transfixed, confirming the effect I'd wanted. I left, allowing the door to slam closed behind me.
On the way back out of the dorm a girl handed me her number and I pocketed it. Before, I would have been interested, but sleeping with her didn't hold the same appeal as it would have before.
Big blue eyes in my memory reminded me of why I was feeling so disjointed. Thinking about her only increased the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was playing with fire and this was one interlude I wouldn't walk away from unscathed.
When I got back to the house Slater was dozing on the sofa. My brief encounter with Taylor was still thrumming through me. The new feeling agitated me. I went to my room and closed the door, needing to be alone so I could keep a handle on my emotions.
I opened up my laptop and tried to concentrate on the assignment I was busy with but I kept reading the same sentence over and over again without the meaning sinking in.
Frustrated, I closed the laptop and stood up. I decided to go downstairs and I slipped into the garage. I had installed a punching bag a few months ago. Not only did I get a workout from it but it helped me work through emotions and memories that were difficult to deal with. I closed my fist and hit the bag. Again and again. Sweat beaded my forehead as I increased the speed of my punches. Left, right. Jab low, jab high.
My muscles tightened and flexed with each movement. My sole focus was hitting the bag as hard as I could, making me block out my emotions with the physical strain.
I stopped for a moment. Breathless, I held on to the bag and tried to catch my breath. Sweat poured down my face so I lifted my shirt and wiped my brow.
When the door that led to the house opened I discarded my shirt on the floor.
