Page 76 of Up In Flames
But as soon as I turn around and face the fridge, my smile disappears. Pinned to the front of it with a heart-shaped magnet is a selfie of Taylor and an older man. Taylor is kissing the man’s cheek while the man gives a cocky grin to the camera.
What a waste. I will never offer Taylor my cheek again if my lips are an option.
I assess the man in the photo, instantly hating him.
His hair is too floofy, his smile looks more like a smirk, and his eyes are haughty, like he’s harboring a secret. My guess is thatTaylorwas his secret, and he liked the thrill of being with him, but also hiding him.
I itch to punch something. Ideally, the man in the picture.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I forgot that was up there.”
I turn at the sound of Taylor’s voice.
“Patrick?” I ask.
Taylor winces and nods once.
“Why do you still have it?” My question comes out harsher than I intend.
“Not that great at moving on, I guess,” he answers, his gaze transfixed on the picture. I hate that he won’t look at me. “To be fair, I haven’t been here to take it down since things between us started.”
Taylor is so much better than the pretentious prick in the photograph. I’ve been learning not to judge people, but the smirk Patrick’s wearing in this picture doesn’t screamI’m healing after the death of my wife with this amazing man by my side.It screamsYeah, I’ve still got it. Look how badly he wants me.
Looking back at the real Taylor, I take in his beautiful face, the way his eyes pop with the eyeliner, the way his full lips glisten after his tongue runs over them nervously, the way his pecs fill out the feminine top he’s wearing, making it somehow more alluring than any woman ever could.
I know offering words won’t help because I’ve been there. Hell, I was there for five years. Instead of my heart healing as time went on, my mind fucked with me and lied to me about what my marriage had been. It made me miss things that were never there to begin with.
So, I stay silent, denying my inner caveman who wants to haul Taylor to bed and make him forget everything Patrick ever said and did. He has to be on his own timeline for that.
“You ready?” I ask, my voice tight with jealousy and anger, which is new for me. I’ve never been the jealous type.
Taylor wraps his arms around my waist and buries his head against my chest. I hate to see him hurting. I hate it even more, knowing I’m contributing.
Well, this got heavy awfully fucking fast.
As if reading my thoughts, Taylor pulls back a little and looks at me with a grin that I’m quickly learning means he’s on emotional overload and he’s choosing to take a less-serious route. He’s holding something up that I hadn’t noticed in hishand a second ago. It’s a long tube that looks like it contains a poster.
With that signature grin still in place, he says, “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion, and I was thinking we could do it tonight.”
“What is it?” I ask, my arms still wrapped around him.
“A canvas. I want new art for the living room.”
“You paint?” Not the hobby I would have pictured Taylor enjoying, but what the fuck do I know? I still have so much to learn about him.
“Sort of,” he says cryptically. “Will you help me with it?”
If it gets us out of this kitchen and far away from that horrible picture on the fridge, then, “Absolutely,” I say out loud. “If that’s how you want to spend the afternoon then that’s what we’re doing.”
My job requires me to be a decent painter. I can’t draw worth a damn, but maybe I can paint the background or something.
“Oh, it is,” he says, reaching up and planting a kiss on my neck.
He grabs a small bag he’d set on the counter, turns off his lights, and we head back to my house for an afternoon of…painting?
On the way home, Taylor turns the radio up on a song he likes and proceeds to roll his window down and sing into his hand.
I love his energy. By the time we’re a mile from my house, my cheeks are sore from smiling like an idiot.
