Ready or Not (The Love Game Book 4)

by Elizabeth Hayley

  This neighborhood wasn’t known for its cafés, but it had a few good diners, which I figured she’d hit up for some breakfast sandwiches.

  If she didn’t make it home in the next half hour, I’d send out a search party for her. Or maybe I’d just call her. Whichever.

  It hadn’t taken me long to put together the dresser and nightstand, but the bed was another beast entirely. Lining up the holes in the rails that attached the headboard to the footboard so that I could drill the screws in while still holding everything at the right angle had proved virtually impossible for one person to accomplish. I decided to hold off until Taylor got home so she could help and went to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee while I waited.

  A few minutes later, Taylor rushed into the apartment, the bags in her hands swinging around her like a tornado as she tried to shut the door.

  “Did you go to France to get French toast? I was about to put your face on a milk carton.”

  She hefted the bags onto the counter. “When was the last time you saw milk in a carton?”

  It was a good point. “When was the last time you saw milk in your fridge?”

  She smiled widely and removed a half gallon of organic grass-fed whole milk. “Well, there’ll be some now. Along with eggs, thick-cut bacon, fresh multigrain bread, and freshly squeezed orange juice.” She’d already begun taking all the items out of the bags and getting out some pots and pans.

  “Oh, okay, so you went to a farm to get these. That’s why it took so long.”

  “I didn’t go to a farm, smartass. I just made a few stops and had to drive around a little to get what I was looking for.”

  “You didn’t have to do all that.”

  “I promised you I’d make you breakfast.” She smiled widely, her white teeth framed delicately by her pink lips.

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “I’m not used to people going to so much trouble for me.” For some reason, it was hard for me to make eye contact with her when I said it, like I’d just revealed some deep dark secret and was scared to let my vulnerability show. Which was strange considering I’d told her so much about my past.

  “I feel like putting together a bunch of furniture is way more trouble than picking up some groceries, but you’re welcome.”

  “How about I help you make breakfast, and then you help me finish putting your bed together? Your mom sent sheets too, by the way.”

  “She’s so extra,” she said. “But totally appreciated. I called her while I was out before it got too late there, but I said I’d text her a picture when it’s all put together.”

  Taylor got out two mixing bowls, one for an omelet she wanted to make and the other for French toast. Once all the ingredients and utensils were out, we went to work quickly, both of us moving in beside the other toward our common goal. She cooked some spinach and onions before adding the egg mixture, and I crisped up the bacon and then used the same pan to grill the French toast so the bacon flavored the slices of bread too.

  When everything was finished, we put all of it on plates and set everything down on the counter, along with some fresh orange juice. We’d done such a good job, it almost looked too good to eat.

  “We make a pretty good team,” I said, smoothing my napkin over my lap.

  She put the piece of French toast on her fork inside her mouth and chewed slowly, her eyes closing in a way that looked too sexy for eating breakfast. “We do. So good.”

  “So are the eggs.”

  “I’m glad you like them. I’m a little worried that my bed-building skills won’t quite come close to my cooking, though.”

  I smiled as I put another forkful of food into my mouth and washed it down with some juice. “You’ll be fine. You don’t have to chop down any trees to build the wood. You just have to hold the footboard in place while I drill the rails in.”

  “I think I can handle that much.”

  We finished eating, mostly in silence except for the occasional scraping of forks, and then headed into Taylor’s bedroom. I positioned the footboard so that it lined up with the holes in the rails and asked her to hold it in place. I got one side screwed in, and a few minutes later, the bed frame was together. We maneuvered it against the wall, and after putting the new box spring and mattress on the frame, we opened the sheets and blankets Taylor’s mom had sent.

  “Uh-oh, these aren’t organic,” I said. “Are you sure they won’t make you break out in a rash or something? Maybe you should send them back.”

  “Shut up,” she said, clearly teasing me as I held the sheet away from me like it was some sort of venomous snake I wanted to keep at a distance. “Give me that.” Then she snatched it from me with a smile. “Help me make my new bed.”

  “Um, I did help you make your new bed,” I pointed out but was already pulling the fitted sheet over one corner of the mattress. “I actually made most of it.”

  We shook out the top sheet and the comforter in an act that felt oddly domestic and then positioned the decorative pillows on the bed. When we were finished, we both collapsed onto the mattress and stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

  “This mattress is so much more comfortable,” Taylor said.

  “The comforter too. It’s so thick and smooth. Feel it on your skin.” I turned to face her so my cheek was against the fabric, and when she turned her head to face me, she couldn’t hide her smile. “Can we forget I said that?”

  “Not a chance. Tell me again how thick and smooth it feels on your face.”

  “It was a really poor choice of words.”

  “I think it was the perfect choice of words.” She laughed quietly before turning the rest of her body toward me. Both of us were fully on our sides now, our faces only inches apart.

  I wondered if she felt like I did—hyperaware of how close we were but still far away because I couldn’t bring myself to close the distance completely…even though I was desperate to.

  She breathed so slowly, so carefully, it seemed like she was worried any disruption to the moment might ruin it completely.

  But with her eyes locked on mine, I doubted anything could ruin this. Everything about this felt right, natural, like we were meant to share this space together, and I was sure Taylor could feel it too. Or maybe I just hoped she did.

  I’d never been shy about taking a chance with girls I was into, but this thing with Taylor felt different, like there was a flashing neon sign above her beautiful face with warnings like Keep Out and Beware. But a small spark of hope flickered deep inside me that maybe the warnings were more of a Proceed with Caution than a No Trespassing.

  Or maybe all this shit was just in my mind. Maybe for once being rejected by a girl scared the hell out of me because this girl wasn’t just any girl. I felt safe with her. I felt wanted, even if I wasn’t sure she wanted me the way I hoped she did. If I fuck this up now, I might fuck it up forever. Taylor felt like glass in a storm that could shatter with a strong wind sometimes.

  But then other times—times like right now—it felt like every single thing from our breathing to our heartbeats was in sync, and if I didn’t take this opportunity, I might never get another one.

  And choosing not to kiss Taylor would be worse than not kissing her any fucking day of the week. Even if she shoved me off the bed I’d just built, which was a distinct possibility.

  So I made a promise to myself that I’d stop overthinking every little thing in my life, especially Taylor, and I’d just kiss the hell out of her.

  Well, maybe not at first. I drifted my lips toward hers until they couldn’t get any closer without touching. And that was where I hovered for a moment. Not because I was scared to go any further, but because I wanted to savor this moment before both our eyes closed and our lips pressed together in a way I’d imagined so many times in the privacy of my own bed.

  When our lips finally touched, all of it felt so much softer, tasted so much sweeter, than I’d fantasized about. Every sensation felt like it journeyed through my entire body before making
its way to my core and finally settling in my pants.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this turned on from just kissing a girl, but fuck if this wasn’t better than what I’d been waiting for.

  We went slow at first, but a gentle kiss slipped into something so much deeper, hungrier, and soon both of us had more than just our mouths on each other. Our hands entered into the action, sliding under shirts and down the back of pants.

  I groaned when Taylor’s nails grabbed a hold of my ass, and I instinctually pressed my hips toward her in response. Even the slight friction over my shorts was dangerous.

  “God,” I said in between nibbles on her neck, “this is…”

  “I can’t do this,” she blurted out as if her brain and her hands belonged to two different people.

  What the…

  “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I thought you were into it.”

  I wasn’t even aware of when we’d gotten up, but both of us were on different sides of the bed now, staring at each other.

  “I am. I mean, I was,” she corrected herself, like the semantics affected the meaning.

  “Did I do something wrong?” God, I wished I wasn’t still hard while I was having this conversation. “We can take things slow. I just, I really like you, Taylor, and now I feel like I fucked everything up.” The fact that my initial fear might’ve come true wasn’t lost on me.

  “It’s okay,” she told me, but we both knew it wasn’t. “I think it’s probably best if you just go.”

  “Are you sure? We can talk about it if you—”

  “Please,” she said, and her eyes held a sadness that almost looked regretful. Whether the regret came from asking me to leave or making out with me, I might never know.

  And I knew then I’d been wrong. Choosing not to kiss Taylor would’ve been the better option.

  Chapter Sixteen

  T A Y L O R

  “No, wait, I think a few of the girls missed the first part,” Aamee said. “Tell it again.”

  “Please don’t,” Sophia pleaded, already plopping her chin into her hand. Her other hand held prosecco that she was drinking out of a gigantic glass with the words Look Like a Beauty, Drink Like a Beast written on it.

  When I’d been invited to Sophia’s surprise bachelorette party being thrown by her sorority sisters, I wasn’t sure how I’d fit in. I knew the dinner would be fine, but the girls had rented a suite at a local hotel to continue the party, and I figured they’d all be having fun talking about the past few years at Lazarus while I had to make myself look busy on my phone so I didn’t feel awkward.

  But the opposite was true. They’d practically surrounded me, begging to hear embarrassing childhood stories about her. I was like some sort of celebrity unicorn.

  “It was our teacher’s son who she asked to dance. He was tall for a fourth grader.” I looked over at Sophia and tried not to laugh. “I’ll give you that. But there was no way Mrs. Kersey was gonna let her little boy put his arms around a thirteen-year-old girl who was already a B cup. Besides, he said no anyway.”

  Aamee, Gina, Macy, and a few of the other girls laughed even more hysterically the second time I told it, probably because I hadn’t mentioned he’d declined her invitation the first time.

  “I thought he was from another school,” Sophia said. “What was he even doing at that dance?”

  “How would I know? It’s not like I have some sort of insight into Baby Boy Kersey’s Friday night plans almost a decade ago.”

  Aamee’d been standing to the side, leaning on the arm of the leather couch with her glass of champagne. I hadn’t even noticed her on her phone, but suddenly she was thrusting it in our faces.

  “Well, Baby Boy Kersey is a snack now,” she said, drawing out the last two words in a way that was a tad cringe.

  Most of us tried to catch a glimpse of him, but Aamee spun the phone around before we even had a chance to properly gauge the caliber of his looks.

  “Bryce Kersey, it’s a good thing I’m not thirsty, because I might have to—”

  “How did you even find him that fast?” Sophia asked.

  Aamee scoffed as if the question were ridiculous. “Googled Mrs. Kersey and Brighton Elementary. I know the name of the school because Brody went there too obviously.” She was speaking so quickly, I could barely keep up. “I got her first name—Bridget,” she said with a smile and something that resembled a slight bow. “So then I checked Insta for a Bridget Kersey, but they were obviously all way too young to be her. That’s when I remembered Boomers don’t have Instas, so I hopped on my Fakebook account and typed in her full name and the town you guys grew up in.”

  “Did you say your ‘Fakebook’ account?” Gina asked.

  “Yeah. It’s the Facebook profile I made for moments just like this. I use it to do stalking mostly, and on the rare occasion to enter a contest. You’re making me lose focus. Anyway, I found her easily, clicked on her friends list, but teachers are super private. So I had to go to one of her profile photos because they’re public and find one that had a lot of comments.”

  All our mouths were open as we listened, even though none of what she said actually had any importance.

  “So I found someone with the last name Kersey who’d commented, went to his profile, and then searched his friends list for people with that last name. I found a few and scrolled through their pictures until I found a family picture that included Bridget, her husband, and their son and daughter. Someone had commented what a beautiful picture it was of them and how grown up Bryce and Ava looked. From there I went to Snap and Insta and found Baby Bryce in like six seconds. Simple.”

  “You are, like, way beyond creepy,” I told her. “But as a Criminal Justice major, I’m actually quite impressed with your abilities.”

  “Thank you,” Aamee said, sounding genuinely surprised at my compliment before going back to the phone. “Oh my God, he’s a baseball player!”

  “In little league?” Sophia asked. “Is he even legal yet?”

  “Yes, he’s legal. He has some graduation pictures up from last year.”

  “He could still be seventeen.”

  “Not when his birthday was in June. He went with some of his friends to Mexico. Currently, he’s playing baseball for Willistown University, which, as you all know, is like twenty minutes away and a D1 school, so if any of you ladies are interested, you might wanna check out a game this spring, because Bryce will be starting. As a freshman. Molly, how about you? You’re a sophomore, and if I recall correctly, the only men you had any contact with last year were the ones in tweed blazers who assigned your grades.”

  Before Molly had a chance to answer, Sophia said, “Can we talk about guys who aren’t related to my old teachers and barely old enough to drive?”

  “Sure. It’s your party. Or one of them anyway,” I said. “I obviously plan to throw one for you too with everyone back home and your family.” I’d assumed I’d be Sophia’s maid of honor, though she hadn’t technically asked me. She had no sisters, and I was her closest and oldest friend.

  Aamee smiled widely, seeming way too excited to say, “I’ll be at that one too.”

  “Can’t wait,” I said, my tone high with sarcasm. “But seriously, let’s talk about that fiancé of yours since this is technically a celebration of the two of you.”

  “Is it though?” Gina asked. “It’s more of a celebration of her single life. Or the end of it, I guess. But since she doesn’t even know when she’s getting married, it’s mainly just a reason for all of us to hang out and get drunk.”

  Macy raised an eyebrow. “We need a reason?” She was coming back from the small kitchen with a tray of JELL-O shots. Two for each of us it turned out.

  Once we’d all slurped down the strawberry jiggly deliciousness, Macy’s eyes widened with excitement. “So tell us what he’s like in bed. Did the accident affect his ability to get an erection, or like do you have to be s
uper careful when you’re on top?”

  I looked to Sophia, knowing she was probably heating up from the inside out. I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Her face was getting close to the color of the shots we’d just had.

  “His…erections”—she said like the word caused her physical discomfort when it left her mouth—“are fine. No complaints in that department.”

  “That’s good,” Aamee said, refilling her glass before moving to some of the other girls to top them off. “People don’t realize how important an active sex life is in a marriage.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Sophia said.

  “Seriously. I know I don’t know much from my own experience. Well, sexually speaking I do, because Brody—”

  “Ew, stop!”

  “Anyway, my parents have been married for like”—she looked to the ceiling like she was trying to come up with an answer to a calculus problem—“I don’t know, a million years or something. They always gave me two pieces of marital advice. My mom always said marry a man who ruins your lipstick, not your mascara.”

  “Oooh, I like that one,” I said. “What was your dad’s?”

  “Never waste a piece of cake or a hard-on.”

  The room filled with sounds of horrified disgust, along with a few fits of laughter.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Aamee said. “You have to know my dad. It’s more like his vulgar way of saying that if you love the person and they turn you on, don’t let moments slip away.” At our silence, she added, “Okay, maybe it is as bad as it sounds. But it’s sweet if it didn’t come from my dad.”

  “It is kinda sweet,” I admitted. “To have that much passion after so many years.” I wondered if one day I would have that. I saw how happy Sophia was with Drew, and as far as I could tell, Mr. and Mrs. Mason seemed pretty happy. Not that I knew for sure. But I was definitely familiar with dysfunctional relationships. My own parents had divorced when I was young, and though my mom loved the life she was living, I wasn’t sure she felt the same about the man giving it to her.