Wild Hearts Series
Something That Could Last
Everything We Left Unsaid
Six Nights in Paradise Playlist
“Rock The Boat” by Aaliyah
“Drunk On A Plane” by Dierks Bentley
“Temperature” by Sean Paul
“No Letting Go” by Wayne Wonder
“Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira ft. Wyclef Jean
“Turn Me On” by Kevin Lyttle
“Somewhere On A Beach” by Dierks Bentley
“Sangria” by Blake Shelton
Taylor
This is it. It’s finally happening.
I leaned against the driver’s side door of his hand-me-down Tahoe. It was a faded hunter green with cracked leather seats and the permanent stench of fast food and pizza clinging to the interior, but I didn’t care. It was his car. I’d ridden in it at least a hundred times, but never just the two of us. Tonight was going to be different. Tonight I would make him mine.
I’d finally gotten up the courage to approach him and tell him how I felt. He would be graduating in less than four months, so this was my last chance.
I waited for him to emerge from the gym. He’d sunk the winning shot in the final game before playoffs started and was most likely just now showering after a long and raucous celebration with his teammates. I could be patient. I’d been waiting for this moment for three years, ever since I realized I was madly in love with him. I had a plan, and nothing was going to stop me from executing it tonight, not even if I had to wait hours for him to come out of the locker room.
When the side door finally opened, I straightened my stance and wrapped my arms around my body, portraying the abandoned little sister left out in the cold. My expression morphed into one of innocence, belying my sinful intentions.
He waved goodbye to someone still inside and walked toward his waiting vehicle, a relaxed smile playing on his lips as he watched his feet. When his gaze lifted and he caught sight of me, his smile fell away and his expression turned serious.
“Taylor, what are you doing out here? It’s freezing.” He picked up his pace, his long legs eating up the distance between us quickly. His hands came up to frame my arms, rubbing up and down to warm them. I felt the heat of his touch, even through the layers of stuffing in my winter coat.
“I missed my ride,” I said, letting my eyes drift to the ground, pretending to be embarrassed. “I saw your car still here and was hoping you could take me home.”
“Yeah, of course. Get in,” he instructed, unlocking the doors. I slid into the passenger seat as he fired up the engine.
“Why didn’t you call somebody?” he asked, a hint of scolding in his tone. I hated when people treated me like this, like I was some kind of child. He was only three years older than me. I let it slide, though. I didn’t think there was anything I couldn’t forgive him for, and he seemed so genuinely concerned. “It’s way too cold to be waiting out here.”
“Phone’s dead.” I shrugged, the lie falling easily from my lips.
“Oh.” He cranked up the heat and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward my house, the streetlights casting their soft glow over the black top.
“Can you just,” I began with a sigh, “not take me home yet?”
He glanced over at me and worry creased his brow. “Why not? Is something wrong?”
“I’m just not ready to go home.” It wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t quite the truth, either.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked in confusion, glancing at the clock on his dash. It was getting late and my curfew was quickly approaching. I had less than an hour to execute my plan. I was running out of time and needed to make my move.
I bit my bottom lip, suddenly nervous. What if he rejected me? What if I’d been imagining all those looks he’d thrown my way, the seemingly accidental touches when he brushed by me in the kitchen or the media room?
I took a deep breath, preparing myself. It was now or never.
“How about Hunter’s Point?”
He slammed on the brakes so hard, my body jutted forward, the seat belt scraping the side of my neck as his SUV skidded to a stop. His eyes flashed to mine and I sucked in a breath. Hunter’s Point was the make out spot for kids at our high school. Asking him to take me there made my intentions perfectly clear.
After a few intense seconds, he shook himself and looked away, easing his foot down on the gas pedal. He drove in silence for a moment before pulling off into an abandoned parking lot. Shifting into park, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared out the window, his shoulders and jaw tense. Finally, he returned his gaze to me and shifted in his seat, angling his body toward mine. I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned across the center console.
“Taylor, we can’t do that.” He looked pained when he said it, as though he didn’t really mean it and it hurt him to lie to me.
“Why not?” I asked, my voice low and seductive. At least that was how it sounded to my ears.
“You’re Aiden’s baby sister. He’d kill me if I so much as kissed you.” His eyes fell to my lips and I licked them. The action was involuntary and subconscious, but exactly the right move. His eyes flared with heat and he sucked in a breath. Before he could stop me, my mouth was on his. I kissed him, pressing my hands against his chest. His heartbeat skyrocketed under the hard planes of his pectoral muscles.
And he kissed me back.
I opened my mouth and his tongue slipped inside. He tasted like Gatorade and cinnamon gum, and oh, what a delicious taste it was. We lost ourselves in the moment and I reveled in the feel of him, of the soft pressure of his lips against mine.
Finally.
Suddenly his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me away. Our mouths broke apart and he stared down at me, his breath coming in and out in rapid little bursts like he’d run out of air. He turned from me and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“Damn it,” he cursed, slapping his hands against the steering wheel. “Don’t do that again,” he demanded without looking at me.
“What?” I cried. How could he say that? We were having a moment. We finally kissed and I was ready to make him mine. To become his.
“I don’t think of you like that,” he declared and then winced.
What the hell?
“But,” I began, fighting back tears, “you kissed me,” I said, touching my fingers softly to my lips, trying to capture the feel of his kiss and commit it to memory.
“No,” he bit out. “You kissed me.”
Why was he so mad about it? He seemed to like it just fine a minute ago. Now he was acting like it was a mistake.
He regretted kissing me. And there I was, preparing to offer up my virginity to the boy I’d been crushing on since seventh grade.
My face flamed with mortification. He doesn’t want me. He never wanted me. How could I be so stupid?
“Take me home,” I demanded with a sniffle. Tears slipped down my cheeks and I turned away from him, staring out the window pointedly.
He reached for my hand, whispering my name, but I jerked it away as soon as I felt his touch.
“Just take me home,” I repeated.
He sighed and shifted into gear. The short drive home felt like an eternity, the quiet discomfort a suffocating third wheel nestled between us. I regained my composure and dried my eyes, hoping no one would notice I’d been crying. When he finally pulled into my driveway, I got out before he could say anything and bolted to the door. I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking, the sound of blood rushing in my ears. A hand on my forearm startled me and I dropped them, the bundle of metal landing with a dull thud on our welcome mat. He bent to pick them up and slid the pink key marked Home into the lock, opening the door to my salvation. Before I could get away, his hand landed on my arm again, his grip gentle, apologetic. I looked up into his pained eyes and my heart cracked open a little.