Page 32 of Up In Flames
Karen’s voicemail remains unopened because I know whatever she has to say after five years of silence won’t be anything that helps me. Even if it’s an apology.
I’m also now actively avoiding calls from the guys because I know they’re going to ask if she’s called again, and I don’t want to have to tell them I’m too big of a pussy to listen to the fucking voicemail.
I push those thoughts aside and focus on the unmistakable thrum of butterflies in my stomach as I follow Taylor into his parents’ kitchen.
As soon as we’re inside, he takes the plates from me and dumps them in the sink before crowding into my space. The feel of Taylor’s body so close to mine is dizzying. He’s gripping the sides of my sweat-soaked T-shirt, but suddenly one of his hands moves from my waist to my own hand.
He’s guiding me to his stomach again…asking me to touch him. It’s the second time he’s made the move for me, somehowsensing I’m too scared to reach out and take it for myself despite my curiosity becoming a palpable, breathing thing between us.
His six-pack is hard beneath the fabric of the outfit he’s wearing and it’s the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt. The combination of masculinity and femininity blends to create something that is somehow the best of both. Having someone else’s body beneath my fingertips is so overwhelming, I don’t even care that this shouldn’t be happening.
“What are you thinking?” Taylor whispers.
As if in a trance, no longer able to control my tongue, the truth slips free. “That it feels nice to touch and be touched.”
Somehow, Taylor understands I don’t mean in a sexual way, and he pulls me to him in a hug, his cheek resting on my shoulder, fingers splayed across my back. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve felt the warmth of another body outside of the fist bumps and shoulder slaps of Jake, Hudson, and Phoenix.
My arms snake around Taylor’s back possessively in response. I’ve never met anyone like him. His fearlessness in being himself is inspiring. I think about the assholes who showed up to pour the concrete yesterday, and my grip on Taylor tightens a little more.
Without moving, he angles his face up toward mine. When I gaze down at him, I loosen my hold.
“What’s stopping you from doing this?” he asks.
“I’m not gay,” I remind him.
He frowns like he thinks I’m lying.
“Maybe not everything needs a label,” he argues quietly.
“I don’t even know how that would work,” I admit, still holding on to him. “Without those words, how do we understand who we are?”
I didn’t really see my lunch hour taking this philosophical turn, but since we’re here anyway…
“Well, you seem to have all the words,” Taylor points out, “yet, between the two of us, you’re also the one struggling to accept what you clearly want. So how much do the labels really help?”
I finally drop my arms and back up until my ass hits the island behind me and scrub my hand down my face. His scent lingers on my fingertips.
“I’m not into guys,” I repeat, the words falling flat even to my own ears.
“So, if I were to push the top of this outfit down to my waist,” he says, taking a step closer and doing just that, exposing his bare chest and the abs I was just touching, “and then lift your shirt up so we’re skin to skin,” he’s in my space again with his hands on the bottom of my shirt, waiting for me to stop him, but I don’t. “Are you saying it doesn’t turn you on even the tiniest bit?” The smooth skin of his abdomen rubs against mine, andheexhales a moan.
He continues moving in a way that keeps his stomach connected to me. The coarse hair of my happy trail starts irritating his skin, turning it pink, and I can’t look away.
It’s not until I feel Taylor’s cock hardening against me that I grip his naked shoulders and push him back.
“I’msayingthis isn’t happening.”
“Which is totally different than saying you don’twantit to happen,” he stubbornly points out.
I yell in frustration and anger, fingers digging into my eyes as he relentlessly pushes my buttons. “I’m going back to work,” I finally announce.
Thankfully, Javi and Phil pull up five minutes later, and I join them outside. Javi’s finishing a story he must have been telling Phil on the way back to the house, and the sound of their laughter grates on my nerves.
I keep to myself the rest of the afternoon, irritated that the ghost of Taylor’s touch lingers on my skin. We wrap up and get as much ready as we can for the next phase of work tomorrow.
I don’t bother knocking when we leave, but send Taylor a text from down the street instead. Cowardly? Maybe, but I’m learning it’s the only way I can keep my fucking wits about me when I interact with him.
Knox
