“Want to watch television?” I asked.
“No.”
“Good,” I said, settling back into my chair. “I don’t have cable.”
“Got any movies?”
“Phaedra has a box of VHS tapes and a VCR in that closet,” I said, casually pointing. “But I haven’t hooked it up yet.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A while.”
Taylor stood up, groaning as he did, and then he ambled over to the closet and opened the door. He was well over six feet tall and could see everything on the top shelf just fine. He pulled the string to turn on the light and then reached for the dusty VCR, pulling it out along with a mess of cables.
He blew off the dust and then leaned back, looking disgusted. “Pick a movie. I’m going to get this bad boy hooked up.”
“Are you bored with the stimulating conversation?”
“To death,” he said the words without apology.
Oddly, there was no hint that he was unhappy with the way things were going. He didn’t seem annoyed or even put-off, which was a relief. At least he wasn’t going to require an exorbitant amount of attention and effort.
“Aliens,” I said, pointing.
Taylor took the box over to the small television sitting on top of a two-shelf table. He sat the VCR on the bottom shelf and then began unraveling the wires. “Yeah, I like that one.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Like it? It’s a classic.”
“I saw Sixteen Candles in there. I figured you’d pick that.” He plugged a cable into the back of the VCR and then reached around the back of the television.
“Clearly, you don’t know me at all.”
“I can’t decide if you’re trying to hate me or trying to make me hate you.”
“Neither.”
Taylor made a face but only because he had to reach further to screw the cable into the proper connection. “So, I don’t.”
“You don’t what?”
“Hate you.”
“Damn,” I teased.
Taylor achieved whatever it was he had been trying to do and sat upright before stretching out his legs and crossing them, leaning his back against the wall beside the TV. “I think you hate yourself enough for the both of us.”
I felt my cheeks turn red. He didn’t know how close he’d come to the truth.
“Is that a rage coming on?” Taylor said, mistaking my embarrassment for anger.
My arm pressed against the side of the chair as I leaned forward. “You don’t have that kind of effect on me.”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’d have to give a shit about you to get angry.”
“Oh, are you analyzing now, Ivy League? I thought you said you weren’t a psych major.”
“Now, you’re just being rude.”
“Saying you’re shit at conversation and that I have a feeling you’re a judgmental bitch is rude, but I wasn’t going to take it that far. But you are … and you are.”
“Ouch.” I purposely kept my features smooth.
He shook his head, confused. “One minute, you’re reactive, and the next, I can’t get a reaction. You’re all over the place. I cannot figure you out—like, at all. And I minored in women.”
“That must get you so much ass and so many high fives from your friends. But that doesn’t impress me.”
He paused for a moment. “Do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t think so. But you can if you want.”
“I don’t want. And that’s weird for me that I have an opinion, one way or the other.”
“I’m intrigued. Continue.”
“First of all, I like that you’re awkward as fuck and that you’re a raging bitch. Girls tend to giggle and run their hands through their hair a lot when I’m around. You’ve all but told me to fuck off.”
“Fuck off.”
“See? I like you.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to like me.”
“I know. And I don’t, not like that. And I think that’s what surprises me the most.”
His revelation caught me off guard, but the twinge in the pit of my stomach surprised me even more.
“Listen, Ivy League, I’m here until October. I work my ass off all day. If I’m lucky, I work first shift, so I can eat lunch at the café. You and your hateful-ass mouth have been the highlight of this job. I think you’re just being hostile because you think I’m trying to bag you, and clearly, I’m not capable of taming the shrew in this story. So, let’s turn the volume up on Aliens, so we can’t hear that piece-of-shit washer of yours and hang out.”
I blinked.
He shrugged. “I don’t care about whatever problem you have with your parents. I don’t care that you have some sort of fucked-up issue with men. I don’t want within five feet of your pussy, and you’ve gotta know that now because I’d never use the P word if I’m looking to get laid. Girls hate that. I just want to be around someone cool who also owns a washer and dryer and the best collection of VHS tapes I’ve seen since the nineties.”
“Five feet, huh?” I said. I crawled off my chair, across the scratchy carpet, and over to where Taylor was sitting.
He stiffened as I planted my hands on each side of his legs and leaned in, stopping inches from his lips.
“You sure about that?” I whispered.
He swallowed and then opened his mouth, speaking quietly, “Get the fuck away from me. I know full well that touching you would be like putting my finger on a loaded gun.”
“Then don’t pull the trigger,” I dared him, my lips almost grazing his.
He didn’t move forward, but he didn’t retreat. His body was relaxed, comfortable, with being that close to mine. “I won’t.”
I sat back on my heels and rested my hands on my knees, thinking about what he’d said. “You sound awfully confident for a guy who keeps coming to see me day after day.”
“You’re fucking weird—like, weirder than I thought. Did I pass the test?”
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I might like being around you, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fucking fool. And that’s a ridiculous test. Any guy is going to go for it if a girl is begging for it like that.”
“You didn’t.”
“I keep telling you, I’m not an idiot. I know what you’re trying to do. I just don’t know why.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You say we can be friends, but you don’t keep your word.”
“Okay then. I promise to make relentless attempts to bag your ass. How’s that?”
I tilted my head, seeing beyond the hint of his smile, his dimple, and his late-night stubble splashed across his defined jawline. I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in his words or even in his eyes. Taylor’s truth was just out of reach, like my own, so I knew where to look and how to find it. The only way to see into someone’s soul was with your own.
“You promise?” I repeated.
“Swear.”
“Are you scared of me?” I asked, only half-joking.
Taylor didn’t hesitate. “Not even a little. I know exactly what to expect from you.”
“And how is that?”
“Because I’m fairly certain that we’re the same person.”
My eyebrows shot up, unable to hide my surprise at his conclusion, and I offered a single nod. “Aliens it is.”
“You going to quit busting my balls?” he asked, crossing his arms.
I crawled back over to the chair and sat down, hooking my legs over the arm. “Probably not, but it’ll just be run-of-the-mill Falyn bitchery, and it won’t be because I’m trying to get rid of you.”
Taylor sat on his knees in front of the television, pulled on the knob to turn it on, and then twisted the dial to channel three. “You forgot the movie.”
I went to the closet and pulled it from a stack before tossing it to him. He pulled the tape out of its cover and fed it into the VCR’s front slot. Once the tape settled in, the movie began to
play. For a few seconds, the picture along with the somber violins playing during the opening credits became fuzzy, and then it all cleared up just as Ripley’s spaceship appeared in the distance, a tiny speck of white among the darkness.
Taylor walked on his knees to the sofa before crawling up and stretching out.
As I returned to my chair, a tiny part of me wanted to be polite and explain why I was being so hard on him, but I squashed it down to where I kept the old me. Explanations and apologies were a waste for someone like me. Facing forward and remembering to forget were the only things I had, and under no conditions would I ever allow myself to feel—for anyone—and risk any other similar feelings to come to the surface.
Taylor reached down to the crotch of his shorts and adjusted, tugging at the navy fabric. Once he was satisfied with the location of his junk, he pulled down his T-shirt.
I rolled my eyes. He didn’t notice.
One arm was propping his head as he sat with his eyes glued on the screen.
Just as the rescue ship crashed and Ripley was apologizing to Newt, Taylor put our jeans in the dryer and started a new load in the washer. He returned to the couch, repeating Newt’s line with a perfect young girl’s British accent, “‘They mewstly come at night … mewstly.’”
I chuckled, but he ignored me, not saying another word until the end credits.
My eyes were heavy. I was feeling the effects of a long Saturday on my feet.
“You’re right,” he said, standing up. “It’s a classic.”
“It might take a while to get all those jeans dry,” I said.
Taylor opened the dryer door and checked. “Yep, still damp.” He turned the knob to reset the time, and then he stretched out on the sofa again, his eyes blinking twice before they closed.
“You can’t sleep here,” I said.
“Okay. But can I accidentally fall asleep here?”
“No.”
He shook his head, his eyes still closed. “I’m even doing your damn laundry. You could at least let me take a nap between loads.”
“I’m going to bed soon. You can’t be here while I’m sleeping.”
“Why not?”
“I’m still not convinced that you aren’t a serial killer.”
“You think I just wanted to wait to murder you until after we enjoyed a movie together? I hate to break it to you, Ivy League, but I don’t need to wait for you to fall asleep to overpower you. You might be scrappy, but I’ve got at least fifty pounds of muscle on you.”
“I’ll give you that. You still can’t stay here. Just because you don’t want to sexually assault me doesn’t mean you don’t want to rob me.”
He shot me a dubious look. “Sorry, but I don’t need your retro Zenith. I have a badass seventy-two-inch flat screen on my wall at home.”
“Where is home? In Estes Park?”
“Yep. I’ve thought about moving here a few times, but all my buddies and my brother are living either there or in Fort Collins. But it seems like the Alpine group always ends up here.”
“One of your brothers lives in Estes?”
“Yeah.” His voice strained as he stretched. “We’ve always been kind of inseparable. I have two brothers back in Illinois and one in San Diego.”
I paused. “Do you ever go home?”
“As much as I can. Between fire seasons.”
“So, after October?”
“Yeah. Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays. My baby brother got married this past spring, kind of on the fly. They’re planning a real ceremony on their anniversary, after the bachelor party and stuff. I’ll be going back for that for sure.”
“Why?”
“The second ceremony? I guess her best friend was kind of pissed that she wasn’t invited to the first one.”
“So … you went to the same college in the same town where you graduated high school?”
“Yes, Falyn. What insult would you like to issue for that?”
“None. It’s cute. I imagine that it’s a little like high school but with less rules.”
“Isn’t that what college is anyway?”
“Not really. But I went to Dartmouth.”
“Shut up.”
I nuzzled my cheek against the arm of the chair, utterly content with how mean we were being to each other. Taylor began tapping at his cell phone, and I relaxed, feeling like an invisible one-hundred-pound blanket was draped over me.
I woke up to the morning sun pouring through my windows. My mouth tasted like a cat had pissed in it while I slept.
“Hey,” Taylor said, sitting in the center of the sofa, surrounded by piles of folded clothes. “Do you have to work today?”
“Huh?” I said, sitting up.
“Do you work on Sundays?”
“Not this week. It’s my day off,” I said, groggy. When my brain began to work again, I blinked and then glared at the man folding my unmentionables. “Why are you still here?”
“I did the rest of our laundry, and then I fell asleep. You woke me up a couple of times though. Do you have bad dreams like that a lot?”
“Huh?”
Taylor hesitated. “You had some pretty gnarly dreams. You were crying in your sleep.”
I hadn’t had a nightmare in years, not like I had while I was at Dartmouth. My former roommate, Rochelle, would still talk about how I’d terrified her in the middle of the night.
I looked at the delicate cotton in his hands. “Put down my panties. Right now.”
Taylor tossed them into the basket with the rest of my panties. Most of them were the discount-store printed variety. On certain pairs, the elastic hung loose in fuzzy strings from the waistline or leg holes.
“This is the last load,” he said, gesturing to the basket between his ankles. “Socks and panties.”
“Oh my God,” I said, rubbing my face. “You’re going to make me do the walk of shame in front of all my coworkers and customers.”
Taylor stood up. “Isn’t there a back door?”
“Chuck and the boys will still see you.”
“What time do they open on Sundays?”
“Chuck and Phaedra are pretty much always at the café—from sunrise to sunset.”
“How do you have any privacy?”
I blew my bangs from my face. “I didn’t need any until now.”
“I’ll fix it. I know what to do.”
Taylor gathered his laundry, fitting it all perfectly inside of the lone basket he’d brought, and waved at me to follow him downstairs. We stood at the bottom in full view of the retirees who always stopped at the Bucksaw on Sundays for coffee, all my coworkers, a few local families, and a table full of tourists.
Kirby stopped in her tracks, and so did Hannah. Phaedra noticed them staring, so she whipped around, her mouth falling open. The loud rumble of converging conversations abruptly silenced.
Taylor cleared his throat. “I didn’t touch her. She’s too fucking mean.”
He passed me, heading for the front door, and I watched him, trying to kill him with my expression alone.
Kirby burst into laughter. She was still cackling as Taylor waved at her before walking out onto the front sidewalk. Phaedra tried not to smile, but her deep wrinkles betrayed her. Hannah seemed just as stunned as I was.
“Good morning, sunshine. Coffee?” Phaedra said, handing me a steaming mug.
“Thank you,” I said through my teeth. Then I stomped back up the stairs.
“Falyn?” Phaedra called after me.
I stopped before turning down the hall and looked down at her.
“He’s ten steps ahead of you, kiddo.”
“I know,” I grumbled, taking my coffee to the loft.
I exploded through my door and kicked it shut before leaning against the side of the refrigerator. When I felt angry tears burning my eyes, I set the coffee on the kitchen counter and then rushed to my bedroom, reached for the shoebox, and pulled it onto the bed with me.
The most recent letter was on top of th
e others, and beneath it was the stack of cash I’d saved so far for a plane ticket. I held the notebook paper to my chest and took a deep breath. The carefully scripted loops and lines informing me of everything I had missed was nearly four months old, and it would only grow older.
I let the thin notebook paper fall to my lap.
Of course it would be Taylor fucking Maddox. The last person on Earth who I want to need is my one quick ticket to Eakins. I pushed the thought from my head. I didn’t want a plan or to even think about it.
I just needed to get there. No expectations. No hopes. Just the opportunity to knock on their door. Even if they wouldn’t forgive me, maybe I could finally forgive myself.
I wiped my cheeks, smiling as the dad in Poltergeist pushed the television out of the hotel room and onto the balcony. The credits and eerie music began to play, and I scowled at the empty mug of coffee on the carpet next to me.
My fridge contained only a moldy jar of cheese dip, ketchup, and two cans of Red Bull. Phaedra had given me a used coffee maker, but I didn’t have any coffee or sugar … or water if I couldn’t afford the bill. I cringed, thinking about having to go downstairs to use the toilet. I would have to clean that restroom on occasion, and although I made a conscious effort not to be a snob about most things, public restrooms made my skin crawl.
I stood up and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. The loud chatter of customers instantly infiltrated my head, especially the squeals and cries of children. They always seemed to hit an octave that stood out to me, grinding inside my brain like a metal fork on a plate.
The water splashed onto my T-shirt as I rinsed the mug. Then I put it into one of three dishwashers.
Hector smiled at me as he rounded the corner, wiping his hands on his apron. “Are you going to get outside and see the world today, Miss Falyn?” he asked.
I sighed. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”
Hector just smiled, carrying on with his duties.
Phaedra’s face appeared in the food window. “Hey, kiddo. What do you have planned today?”
“Nothing.” I took a bite of celery that had been left on the prep table.
Beautiful Sacrifice (Maddox Brothers #3) Page 8
