“Awesome. I’m bushed,” he said, tossing his backpack to the floor. He closed the door behind him.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. You don’t know what this means.”
“You’ve said that a lot this week, but you’ve yet to tell me why,” he said, slipping his arms out from his jacket. He took off his ball cap and tossed it onto the counter.
“I’m working it out in my head. I’m not really sure how I’m going to pull it off.”
“I’m not going to ask, but I have no idea how to prepare.”
“You don’t have to.”
He cocked his head. “Whatever it is, Falyn, I want to be with you.”
“You will be.”
“If you say so,” he said, sounding frustrated.
I couldn’t blame him for being unhappy. He was doing me a huge favor while being left in the dark about what exactly it was. I hadn’t said it out loud for more than five years, and being this close, I was afraid that if I did, I would jinx it.
We both looked around, a sudden awkwardness invading the room.
“Do you … want some sheets for the couch?” I asked.
“I have a choice? Then you take the couch.”
I smacked him on the arm and then shifted nervously. “It’s got that, um”—I pointed, my finger making small circles—“that broken bar thing. It’s a bitch to sleep on.”
He raised an eyebrow, three lines deepening across his forehead. “I remember. So, I guess this means we’re having a slumber party.” He began walking toward my bedroom.
“Taylor?”
“Seriously, Ivy League, just tell me where to go. I’m fucking tired, and we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
I held out my hands and then let them fall back to my thighs. “Okay then. The bed. But that’s not an invitation for anything else.”
Passing him, I switched off the light and pulled back the covers. I crawled into bed, watching his bulky frame fill the doorway. He eyed me as I settled against the mattress, and then he crossed the room, standing next to the bed while he kicked off his Nikes and pulled his T-shirt over his head. His muscles stretched and strained while he unbuckled his brown leather belt and unbuttoned his jeans, and then he pushed them down over his backside and thighs, letting them drop to the floor.
As hard as I tried to seem unimpressed, Taylor was fully aware of the masterpiece that was his body. After all, he was the one who would spend hours in the gym each week to perfect it. Regardless, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of staring. My facial expressions, my breathing, and my every movement were all at the forefront of my mind. I was wary of the rising level of lust I felt for the mostly naked man in front of me.
The tattoos on his arms extended over the hard slopes of his pec muscles, displaying thick black tribal art, flames, and a skull, all amazingly detailed with beautiful shading.
Not that I was looking.
Stop staring, Falyn.
Down to his gray boxer briefs, Taylor crawled into bed next to me. I turned away from him, feeling my cheeks heat to a bright pink. Without apology, he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me closer to him, my back warming instantly against his skin.
“I wish I could have gone with you to Don’s funeral. I know it sucked.”
“It was awful,” I whispered. “I haven’t cried that hard in a long time. I can’t imagine how his family must have felt.”
“You were family, too. You were the highlight of his day. You seem to be that for a lot of people.”
“I’m glad you weren’t there. I went through at least one box of tissues. It wasn’t pretty.”
He hugged me to him. “It gets easier, but it never goes away. It changes you forever.”
“You’ve lost someone?” I asked.
“Let’s go to sleep. I don’t want to get into it tonight.” He relaxed his grip, bent his arm under his head for extra support, and kept his other arm draped over my middle.
I rested my arm on his, lacing my fingers between his. He squeezed and then took a deep breath.
“Falyn?” he whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I know this weekend is important for you. But when we get back, I just want you to know that I don’t want to be friends anymore.”
My muscles tensed. “Like, you don’t ever want to see me again? Or you want to be more than friends?”
“Considering I nearly went crazy from being away from you for less than a week … I think you know what I mean.”
Relief washed over me. For the tiny moment that losing him was a possibility, my world had stopped for the second time in my life. Well-thought-out steps had been taken to keep myself from feeling that way, yet there I was, vulnerable.
“You did?” I asked.
“It was ridiculous.”
“Is that a condition?”
“No. It’s a non-promise.” He leaned up, kissed my bare shoulder, and then lay down, melting into the mattress.
I had never slept in the same bed with someone before, not even as a child with my parents. Somehow, lying next to Taylor was the most normal thing in the world, as if it had always been and always would be.
“Good night,” I whispered.
But he was already asleep.
“I got it,” Taylor said, pulling my carry-on off the conveyor belt.
We had overslept and were running a little late, trying to get through security before they began boarding our flight.
I hopped on one foot to slip on a sandal and then dropped my other shoe on the floor, sliding the strap between my first and second toe and then pulling the back over my heel. Shoes and clothes from the thrift store were always wonderfully worn in. It wasn’t the first time I appreciated not having to use the buckle on my three-seasons-old, half-size-too-big Steve Madden sandals.
Even though Taylor was in a rush to get to the gate, he watched me, a patient smile on his face.
“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I grabbed it. “Yes and no and yes. Stop asking me that. I’m trying to stay calm.”
“Haven’t you flown before?” he asked as we walked.
I shot him a look. “I’ve flown all over the world. My parents loved to travel.”
“Oh, yeah? Like where?”