Page 53 of Take Care, Taylor

“Ha!” She snorted. “I haven’t even started on that essay.”

“It’s due in six weeks.”

“Exactly. It won’t be on my radar until five weeks from now.”

“Um, okay…”

“Can you tell me if there are any other hot guys in your program?”

“Big essay aside, don’t you want to go over your short presentation that’s coming up this Friday?”

“Ugh, no.” She groaned. “I want to hear about the guys. I also need to know what I should pack whenever you agree to let me sleep over.”

“The guys here are way too old for you.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re sixteen.”

“So? There’s nothing wrong with getting their information and holding onto it until I turn eighteen. I’m just dreaming here.”

I hung up before she could say more and texted her instead.

Send me the first page of your essay and I’ll tell you about three other hot guys.

Emma

I’ll start working on it now.

Early-morning sunlight slanted through the blinds, hitting my eyes halfway through Taylor’s workshop essay.

I’d opened the file ready to attack it, but it was fucking perfect.

Exhaling, I set down my Kindle and brewed a new pot of coffee.

The kitchen filled with the scent of cinnamon as I stirred it into my mug.

Behind me, Taylor walked in, rearranged the pillows on the sofa, and plugged in his laptop like he owned the place.

“I thought we agreed that the living room was mine for the early-morning hours,” I said.

“It’s almost ten o’clock.” He looked over at me. “So technically, it’s my time—and I’m letting you stay. Generously.”

“Fine.” I bit my tongue as I stacked my things.

I shifted the pile of hardback books and binders against my chest, wincing as a sharp pull ran down my shoulder.

“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked.

“I probably re-sprained it from sleeping on the desk again,” I muttered. “Or from carrying half the library home.”

“Re-sprained?”

“I don’t think it ever healed from that time I fell out my window trying to sneak out.”

A soft smile crossed his lips.

Before I could comment, the top folder slid from my stack.

“Here.” He crossed the room, picked it up, then took the rest from my arms before I could protest.

Without asking, he carried the load toward my room.