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“That’s the spirit, honey,” Mr. Taylor says.
There’s a round of golf claps as I head over to the girls. June hands me a towel and my skirt, and I go indoors to get changed in the downstairs bathroom. I lock the bathroom door and wrap the towel around my waist, stripping off my shirt and hanging it over the edge of the peach-colored sink.
My reflection stares back at me, and I don’t like the flush at my throat, or the pinkness at my wrists, or the fact that the weight of Jesse’s touch is indelibly etched on my stomach. I don’t like that my nipples are puckered against my bikini top, sensitive against the moist fabric.
I back into the wall and lean against it, shut my eyes, my pussy throbbing. I’ve got to be hormonal, because even I can’t deny how hot that was.
My fingers chase over my stomach toward the hem of my bikini bottoms. My eyelids flicker open, and I meet my reflection in the mirror.
“You arenotdoing this,” I whisper.
A knock rattles the bathroom door, and I’m saved from myself.
I tie the towel around my waist and open the door.
Jesse leans one arm against the doorjamb, bare-chested, a smattering of dark hair across his pecs. He scans me from head to toe, lingering on my breasts, finally focusing on my lips and then my eyes.
“You good?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask. “You think I care about a wrestling match?”
“Just checking I didn’t go too rough on you.”
“I’m not afraid of rough,” I say.
The corner of Jesse’s lip lifts. “That so?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
But I’m aware that it’s my nipples making this weird.
Jesse and I stand there, silently, our gazes locked, and there’s tension building between us that’s unfamiliar. My breaths come in ragged gasps. His hand balls into a fist and releases.
I lift my chin, defiant.
Jesse rests his hand on my throat and squeezes once lightly, then steps back and shakes his hand as if he’s been burned. He turns and walks off.
What. The. Fuck?
I nearly fall over myself, shutting the door. My fingers dip into my bikini bottoms again, seeking release from the torture of that moment, and?—
My phone rings in the front hall. And it’s my brother’s ringtone. I have a specific one for him, so I’m prepared for anxiety.
“Fuck.”
I turn around, lean on the door and bang the back of my head against it.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
It’s for the better.
Wanting Taylor sexually is a line I don’t want to cross. Have I thought about him before? Yes. Do I believe in hate-fucking? Sure. But there are too many difficult emotions involved when it comes to him, and most of them are negative. I don’t need another negative experience with a guy. Especially after how things went with my ex. And he’s aTaylor,for God’s sake.
I open the bathroom door and run out to the entry hall to grab my phone as it goes silent.
A second later, a text blips through.
BILLY
