Page 27 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

He draws in what looks to be a steadying breath. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking?”

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yes,” I whisper.

He starts to lean forward but stops when a voice calls out a greeting.

“Hey, Taylor.”

I turn to see Bryan approaching the booth with Myrna trailing behind him. His brown eyes flick between Eric and me, his bushy brows drawn together as if he can’t quite get a read on what’s happening. It’s impossible to deny the charge in the air.

“Hey, Bryan,” I answer with a lame wave of my hand. “Hi, Myrna.”

Eric straightens then leans back against the booth. Holy crap…did he just growl?

Bryan blinks. “We’re going over the rehearsal schedule for next week.”

Myrna nods, but her gaze hasn’t left Eric. Yep, the pheromones are strong with Mr. Tall, Dark and Scowly.

Those brown eyes skate over Bryan, who looks cute in a fitted sweater and dark jeans.

Cute but gosh, has he always been that slim?

My hips might be wider than his. Not that I mind, but it’s a severe contrast to Eric, who looks like he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me up a mountain—if I were into that kind of thing.

My body hums in approval. I might be into that kind of thing.

I watch as Eric turns his attention to Myrna, offering her a lazy grin. She grabs my hand like she needs to steady herself.

Girl, I get it.

“How are you feeling?” Bryan asks me. “I know your stomach was off at our last rehearsal. I hope you’re better.”

I’m not sure how to answer. I just propositioned a man for sex and am tingling from head to toe. And now I’m supposed to discuss digestive upset with my crush? Could this moment be any more humiliating?

“Definitely better,” I say, my voice squeaky.

He doesn’t look convinced. “You’re flushed. Do you have a fever?”

Oh, I’ve got a fever. Just not the kind he’s thinking. “I’m good. A little too much spicy salsa.”

His smile looks relieved. “I wanted to try this place based on your recommendation. Mexican is typically too heavy for me.” He pats his flat stomach. “I’ll have to hit the gym hard tomorrow.”

There’s a snort from across the table, which I ignore.

“I’m better,” I repeat, my voice steadier. “I know things were rough for me last week, but…”

This is it. This is where I tell him I want to switch to the stage crew. Disappear like Homer Simpson into the bushes. He’s waiting for me to finish my thought, and I can feel Eric watching, his gaze heavy with expectation.

Suddenly, I don’t want to let down my confidence coach. Or Sloane. Or myself. “I just want you to know I’m going to be fine.”

“Of course you are, sweetheart.” Myrna places a hand on my shoulder. “We know that. ”

Only Bryan’s staring at Eric as if he’s just now cluing in on the energy between us.

“Right, Bryan?” Myrna asks with a nudge.

“You’re going to be great,” he agrees, turning his gaze back to me.

He runs a hand through his floppy hair, giving it a little toss.

It’s cute. He’s cute, I remind myself. Why do I need to keep reminding myself?

“We should run through your lines, just the two of us. The more you practice, the more comfortable you’ll be. ”

Just the two of us…my heart clenches, but not quite in the way I expected.

“I’m helping her,” Eric says when I don’t answer.

Bryan’s furrowed brows shoot to his forehead. “You?”

Eric offers a slow smile. “We’re friends .” The way he says that word makes it sound dirty. In a good way. “You know how it goes. I’m happy to help.”

“I can help, too.” Bryan sounds weirdly defensive then flashes one of his boyish smiles. “We could grab dinner and run lines next week?”

He’s asking me out. I can’t speak. Myrna squeezes my shoulder. I need to answer.

“Ye-yes, that would b-be great.”

The waitress returns to the table with Eric’s credit card and the check to sign but if feels like she’s there to rescue me from the awkwardness of this moment. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”

“No,” Eric answers, definitely growly, as he signs his name then shoves the platinum card into his wallet.

“We’re good,” I tell her with a smile that I keep in place as I shift my focus to Bryan and Myrna. “It was good to see you both.” Good. Everything’s so good.

“We’ll talk at school on Monday.” Bryan nods. “Looking forward to…also helping you.”

Apparently, I need a lot of help.

“Sure,” I say, then watch as they walk away .

I scoot out of the booth. “We should go.”

Eric grunts a response I can’t quite decipher.

“What did you say?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about what?” I stand toe-to-toe with him just outside the booth. His eyes flare.

“The request you made before Limpdick showed up.”

Mortification creeps across my skin like a spider. “Is the idea of sex with me such a burden that you have to mull it over?”

“It wouldn’t be a burden.” His voice has gone from growly to gentle, like he’s explaining basic math to a child. Then he turns and stalks out of the restaurant, dodging tables and waitstaff like he’s whizzing past a defensive line.

I’m almost out of breath when I catch up to him on the street.

“I need time,” he says, holding up a hand before I can speak. There’s something in his tone I don’t recognize. A level of strain that doesn’t make sense.

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I think back to Sadie and Ian, and how she told us he reacted when he found out it was her first time. I don’t know if that would make a difference with Eric–and it could be TMI—but the words are out already.

He pauses for a moment, unlocks his truck, and opens the passenger side door for me.

“I don’t...it isn’t...I never thought...” He shakes his head and doesn’t meet my gaze. “I’m not kidding, Taylor. I need to think about it. Can you respect that?”

I don’t want to, but I’m afraid if I push too hard, he’ll say no. So I hold back.

“Are you thinking hours or days? There’s kind of a clock ticking, if you know what I mean.”

He slams the passenger door shut, and I can see his mouth moving as he walks around the front of the vehicle. Whatever he’s saying to himself, it doesn’t look like a happy conversation .

“Time,” he repeats as he climbs in. “Just time.”

“Okay,” I agree, because what else am I supposed to do at this point?

We don’t speak on the way home, which feels odd and empty given how easily the conversation flowed between us before Bryan’s arrival. Walking up the stairs to the second floor, I say, “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers at the end of the hallway. “I’ll see you later, Tinkerbell.”

I want to push for more but don’t. His back is to me, so I walk past him toward my door.

Before I even unlock it, I hear his slam shut.

Closing the door behind me, I try not to think about the fact that the idea of having sex with me is so outlandish to a man with a past reputation for bagging legions of women that he needs to think it over.

My humiliation is too fresh to call a friend and lament, like a new wound that needs time to scab over.

The possibility that I’m going to be outright rejected, too real.

I could just tell him to forget it, but despite wanting to crawl in a cave for the foreseeable future, I also still want this. I want him.

Spending the rest of the evening rehearsing lines or cleaning out my closet—something productive–would be the smart thing to do.

Smart doesn’t seem to be in my current playbook so I grab my emergency box of Pop-Tarts from the cabinet, drop two in the toaster, pour a glass of milk, and flip on the TV to a true crime documentary.

A bit of vicarious fear and escapism is just what I need.

But that fear turns real when the knock comes a few minutes later—sharp and certain. My life might not be in danger with Eric, but my heart definitely is. And it pounds against my ribcage with equal parts anticipation and anxiety as I open the door, bracing myself for whatever comes next.