Page 41 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

ERIC

The image of Taylor sitting across the table from Bryan Limpdick Friday night, with him gazing at her like she’s the lucky one instead of the other way around, is seared into my brain. I might as well have taken a mallet to the side of the head for as much luck as I’m having getting rid of it.

Tinkerbell going on a date with her knight in shining tighty-whities was one of the goals of this whole operation. But seeing the two of them together made it crystal fucking clear that it was a bad idea to let our relationship get physical.

What a giant dope-on-a-rope I am. Stupid me believed I was holding back because I didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her. Yet here I am, unable to get rid of the sharp ache in my heart.

We avoided each other yesterday, which about killed me.

Especially when she showed up for the tail end of the hockey game with her hair and makeup all done up.

I could tell by the smile on her face that she killed it at rehearsal.

I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and hear all about what a fucking legend she is. Just like I’ve known all along.

But now it’s early Sunday morning and I follow Rhett into the hall just as Taylor steps out her door. My sister called yesterday to remind me that I promised to bring Rhett’s tutor for a visit. I hadn’t made the promise outright, but Jen expects it, and Rhett wants Taylor to meet his mom.

Now that the kid understands he has options other than blowing off school and pretending he doesn’t care about his grades and future, he’s eager to meet with the assistant principal to discuss an action plan that will help him thrive despite his challenges.

Like me, he doesn’t want to take that step without his mom being on board.

And if anyone can convince Jen this is the best plan, it’s Tinkerbell and her magic fairy dust.

Rhett holds up his hand for a high-five as she approaches. “Dude, thanks for coming to the game yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t miss you scoring the winning goal for anything,” she assures him, her smile bright.

“Uncle Eric came up with that play.”

“It was a good one.” Taylor meets my gaze, and the light in her blue eyes dims slightly. “Congratulations, Coach.”

She holds up her hand again, and I give her the lamest high-five in the history of high-fives. Rhett doesn’t notice, leading us down the stairwell and out the back to where my truck is parked, reciting a play-by-play recap of the periods she missed.

“I wish I could have been there for more of it,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “Rehearsal ran longer than scheduled.” I wonder if that had anything to do with Limpdick wanting to keep her from making the game. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“How’s the play going?” Rhett asks. I’m impressed that he’s thinking of someone besides himself.

Her smile softens as she climbs into the passenger seat, as if she also recognizes his effort. “It went pretty well. Only a couple of cast members missed their cues, and the lead actor flubbed a line, but otherwise, we were great.”

“I bet they’re super sad they didn’t give you the lead,” Rhett says .

She shakes her head. “I’m delivering my lines without wanting to hurl, so that works for me.”

“No hurling is huge. Mike’s parents bought tickets, and they got one for me too. Even if you suck, I’ll be clapping epic loud.”

“That means a lot, Rhett,” she says with total sincerity before glancing in my direction. I don’t say anything. Of course, I have a ticket. But I’m feeling surly and small, so that’s how I’m acting.

As we merge onto the highway, Rhett takes a pair of headphones out of his backpack, adjusts them on his head, and closes his eyes.

I’m used to it. He typically falls asleep listening to music on the way to Denver each week.

I don’t mind. He needs time to chill before visiting his mom.

Her inability to handle being both a parent and an alcoholic is what led to her stay at the facility.

Although we haven’t discussed his feelings outright, I know from my own childhood that they’re likely complicated and confusing.

Most of last week’s snow has melted, leaving only dingy gray embankments on either side of the road. Taylor gazes out the window at the houses, businesses, and bare trees we pass.

I’m attuned to her every movement, and wish I could read her mind. I wish I were a better man and could ask about her date. I’d tell her that even if I’m not the type of guy who deserves her, I know with every ounce of conviction inside me that Limpdick isn’t either.

“Jen’s going to love the house,” she says quietly.

“He can’t hear a thing with those headphones on,” I answer, which is a weak response to her comment. Surly and small, that’s me.

“It’s an amazing thing you’re doing for them,” she continues like I hadn’t spoken. The plan is for me to also talk to Jen about a permanent move to Skylark during this visit, but does Taylor really think my mood is a result of concern over my sister’s reaction to a house?

I’m about to bite off a comment, but the words get stuck in my throat because, damn it, I’m worried as hell about my sister’s reaction.

How does this woman know me so well?

“Even if she doesn’t want the house, I can fix it up and flip it. Or your dad said he’d buy it from me.”

“He did?” She lets out a huff of laughter. “Wow. You’re in big-time with the Maxwell fam.”

Just not the one I care most about.

“Hey, Tinkerbell, I’m happy for you.”

She frowns, not following my convoluted train of thought.

“Seeing you and Limpdick on a date Friday night. It’s what we were working toward.”

“Is it?” The question comes out in a whisper of breath. I wish she’d turn so I could read her expression. Well, unless those big summer-sky eyes are smitten and dreamy over another man. Don’t need to see that.

“Whether or not my sister moves to Skylark…” I start, unwilling to address the emotions that have plagued me as I consider my future. Knowing Taylor isn’t figuring me into her plans makes it simple. “I’ll be gone by March first. Maybe earlier.”

Her gaze remains fixed out the front window. “I didn’t realize there was a hard end date to your time here.”

There’s not, but it’s a believable excuse. “We both knew this was…temporary.”

“Temporary,” she repeats, like the word is a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“Convenient,” I add, then consider throat punching myself.

She inhales sharply but doesn’t turn. “You think this is convenient?”

Her hands are resting in her lap, fingers clasped tightly together. I want to hold her hand like I want my next breath, but I don’t reach for her.

“We’re neighbors.” Might as well go all in on being a jackass. Better than getting my heart broken. “That’s convenient. You needed confidence, and I needed a technicality to get around the promise I made to my sister. We’re still friends.”

Is she buying any of this? It’s all true, but nowhere near the whole truth. “Your family has done a lot for me, and I’m grateful for how much you’ve helped Rhett.” Why can’t I shut my damn mouth? “I appreciate what you’re doing today. You’re a good person and a?—”

“Perfect girl-next-door fuck buddy,” she finishes.

My gaze snaps to the rearview mirror, but Rhett’s head rests on the back seat. Based on his chest’s rhythmic rise and fall, I can tell he’s already sleeping.

“Your words, not mine.”

She finally shifts in her seat to glare directly at me, and I give her my most charming smile. It’s served me well with many women.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It’s never that way for you, right? It’s why Toby calls you the ‘manwhore with a heart’. But I don’t think you show people your heart, Eric. Charm isn’t the same thing as heart. And play-acting to keep people at arm’s length is fake at best and a lie at worst.”

My palms are suddenly sweaty on the steering wheel while my stomach churns with acid. What the hell? Why am I getting the lecture when she was the one on a date?

I refuse to bring that up because it would reveal too much. Maybe I keep people at arm’s length, but you know what? Arm’s length keeps me safe. It always has. Now is no different.

Taylor doesn’t owe me anything more than what she’s given. Hell, she’s going to a rehab center to meet my sister and discuss how to help Rhett, which is going above and beyond our initial arrangement.

How would she know my feelings have changed? As much as I’ve imagined telling her, I haven’t given her any indication that I want more than our mutually beneficial fuckbuddy relationship.

And I won’t reveal a goddamn thing.

Not when I know it isn’t what she wants.

Taking a risk to be vulnerable is one thing. Inviting this woman to land a swift uppercut to my heart is another. I need to lock down the emotions that keep bubbling up to the surface, and shut down the Pouty Pete routine before I give myself away.

I will not give myself away.

“Let’s run through your first scene.”

She chokes out a laugh and then gapes at me. “Are you joking?”

“We can start with the bit right before your solo lines. That part makes you the most nervous, right?”

She nods. “Yes, but I?—”

“You can’t practice too much.”

“Are you sure about that?” she counters.

I make a noncommittal sound in my throat.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Let’s go from…wait…you don’t have a script.”

“I know my part,” I tell her. Damn, every word out of my mouth has the potential to reveal too much.

To my surprise, she doesn’t call me out on my obvious bullshit, simply raises a brow. “You’ve got it memorized? Let’s go then.”

I feed her the line, and she recites hers. We go over it a couple of times and then move on to the next scene. She hits every cue like it’s no big deal. But it’s a huge deal, and I want her to know it.

“You’re doing amazing,” I tell her at the end. “I like the way you put the inflection on the question in that last line.”

She turns more fully to me, adjusting her seatbelt as she shifts in her seat. “You can give me notes.”

“Pass you a note like we’re in grade school?”

“Tell me how I could do better.”

I glance over, and my dick pays zero attention when I command it not to twitch. ++

“How about a song?” I suggest. “We’ve got about ten minutes until we’re at the rehab center. ”

Taylor glances toward the back seat. “He’s drooling a little.” Her smile is gentle. “I don’t want to take a chance on waking him up.”

“I bought those noise-cancelling headphones,” I tell her. “They’re top of the line. It would take an act of God to wake him up.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Tinkerbell.” I try not to let the emotion I can’t deny feeling creep into my voice. “I need something to distract me.”

She takes a deep breath. “Fine. This is one of my go-tos when I’m nervous. The year Mom and Dad put me in ski lessons, I sang it down the mountain every run.”

I laugh softly as she begins the first line to a song I recognize. She flashes a grin, but her voice doesn’t falter. Singing about whiskers on kittens and woolen mittens, her voice is like a balm to my soul.

The tight knot of nerves in my chest starts to loosen like she’s unraveling it one note at a time.

She might remember her favorite things when feeling sad, but I know what I’ll remember for the rest of my life: this moment. And the fact that, without a doubt, Taylor Maxwell is my favorite thing in the whole world.

While I’ve never considered myself possessive, it’s going to kill me to let her go.

Although maybe not as much as it would to risk keeping her and then losing her later. That would be more than I can handle, so I won’t try.

She finishes the song just as I pull into the rehab facility’s parking lot.

“Thank you,” I say. I want to lean across the console and gather her in my arms, but instead, I reach to the back seat and gently jostle my nephew’s knee. “We’re here, buddy.”

He opens his eyes and yawns. “Quick trip. ”

“Easy peasy,” Taylor agrees. “I’m excited to meet your mom. Thanks for inviting me.”

“She’s the one who wants to meet you,” he says noncommittally, but I can tell he’s glad Taylor’s here. So am I.

I cut the engine, and the silence that follows feels deafening.

“I think we’re ready,” Taylor says gently, and something in her tone tells me she knows. Today is a strange sort of goodbye, and tomorrow, the careful distance we’ve been maintaining will become a chasm neither of us will try to cross.

“Yeah,” I lie, squeezing her hand once before letting go. “Let’s go.”