Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

5. Taylor

Taylor

I might need to be buried here.

There’s a real possibility that I’ll die before I travel internationally again. One delayed flight caused me to miss my connecting flight, which ended up with me sleeping in an airport chair for six hours. A few delayed flights couldn’t get me down, though, so the universe made damn sure that I missed the last bus as well.

“Business or pleasure?”

Neither. I’m wet and freezing. It’s the middle of the night, and I went through all my snacks before my first flight ever took off. My teeth chatter uncontrollably and the man driving the ‘cab’ looks at me through his rearview mirror. Outside, the only thing breaking up the sheer black of night is the heavy raindrops splattering on the window.

Shit. I could very well be getting taken to the middle of nowhere right now.

“Pleasure.” I fix the driver with the most intense stare I can muster. “I’m actually meeting my dad,” I lie. His eyes flirt between the road in front of him—which he must know well, considering there’s no way he can see anything—and my reflection in the mirror. “And my brothers,” I add. “All four of them.” He smiles, nodding his head. “They just got back from a hunting trip.”

“Hunting, huh? That’s interesting.”

“Yeah, I think it’s unfair to the bears really because my dad and brothers are so big.” I hold my arms out wide the way I usually do when I want to measure if something will fit in a new space. “Thirty-two feet tall between the five of them. Oh sorry, that’s my dad calling now.” I press my phone to my ear, saying a silent prayer that no one actually calls to interrupt my ruse. “Hi, Dad!” I pause listening to nothing but my own heavy breathing. “Yup, I’m on my way.” I tilt the phone away from my face and look at the cab driver again. “How much further? My dad wants to know,” I ask him.

“‘Bout half a mile,” he says, still smiling.

“Oh perfect. What’s that, Dad? You’re all standing outside, cleaning your hunting rifles?” Pause. I swear I briefly see the man laugh.

“Alright, Miss America. We’re here.” I ignore his comment and press my face to the window. Again, nothing but darkness.

“Here—where?”

“This is as far as I go.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, forgetting about my fake phone call.

“The road to the inn is a dirt one. Once it starts raining like this, the whole thing turns to mud. If I drive up there, I won’t be able to get out.”

“Umm, sir. You expect me to get out in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm, and carry all my luggage through a mud road?”

“Of course not.” Whew. I all but wipe at my forehead in relief. “Call your brothers to come down and help you,” he says, smiling at me through the mirror. Fuck. Me.

My options are limited at this point. I either risk it with this stranger in an unmarked cab or take my chances alone, in the dead of night, in a country I’ve never been to, during a torrential downpour. “Thanks for your help,” I mumble before taking a deep inhale. I give a curt nod and throw my door open.

My eyes squeeze shut against a freezing gust of wind that smacks me in the face, and already, the prospect of getting abducted seems better than this. I look once more at the driver, the lights in the car now on, and I can clearly see him for the first time. He’s younger than I originally thought but he’s actually kind of cute, if not a little boyish. But also, he can kick rocks for leaving me here.

My white slip-ons are immediately soaked and filthy as I run to the trunk and pull out my bags. With the thud of the trunk, he makes a U-turn and drives off, and I’m left standing at the bottom of a hill, looking up toward a soft glow in the distance. I pull my jean jacket over my head and it does fuck all to protect me from the wind and rain. I stack my duffle bag on top of my suitcase, grab the handle, and make it all of one step before the bag goes tumbling down. Fuck me. I kick my suitcase over, letting out something between a groan and a yell, and allow myself nine seconds—which feels like forever in this downpour—to have a pity party. Relax. I take a breath, drop my shoulders, and drape my duffle bag across my body. You’re fine. Annoyed, but fine. With another breath, I grab my suitcase once more and begin pulling it through the mud.

In the movies, the main character always just appears in a new country. Fresh face, shiny hair. Cue the montage of the beauty all around her. She’s smiling from ear to ear. She smells new foods for the first time. Someone rides past her on a bike or a moped. And when she least expects it, as she’s looking down at her map, the smoking-hot love interest appears to help her. And yet here I am, dragging one hundred pounds of baggage through shit soup.

I reach the wood-covered porch and shake myself off like a dog. Water comes out by the gallon when I squeeze my hair out and ring my shirt. I pause with my hand on the door, horrified that this is potentially the first impression I’m going to make, but my other option is to turn around and go home.

The room’s warmth immediately engulfs me when I step inside. A fire dances to my right in what looks like the original stone hearth that takes up a majority of the wall. Built-in bookshelves and vintage framed paintings and photographs with no rhyme or reason decorate the other walls. The room is warm, and inviting. Clean but not sterile. I spin around wanting to absorb every square inch of the space. Beautiful, rich dark woods, flowers in equally colorful ceramic vases, antique furniture draped in handmade plush quilts—I’ve officially stepped inside a Nancy Meyers movie.

“Nova?” My head swivels around quickly looking for the source of that deep gravelly voice. I sidestep around the stairs almost tripping over my discarded luggage in the process and holy shit, it looks like my night might be turning around. “Nova?” he asks again. My breath is lodged in my throat as a rugged version of Aquaman raises his eyebrows at me, likely wondering why I can’t speak or maybe why I look like a drowned rat.

“How did you know my name?”

“Well unless you used an alias to book your reservation, you’re the only Nova I have on my schedule who was supposed to check in this morning but didn’t.”

Right. I take a deep breath and mentally shake my head. I don’t dare move my bags and drag dirt through the place but I run my hand through my hair, pull my shoulders back, and flash a beaming smile. “Hi. Taylor Nova, checking in.”

“Yeah. I got that.” He smirks and I have to bite down on my bottom lip. His eyes trail me, and I should feel embarrassed with the state I’m in, but my entire body heats under his gaze. That is until he clears his throat and focuses intently on the computer screen. His brow furrows and his fingers begin typing away and Oh. My. God. My mouth parts as I slowly cross my arms over my chest. My chest that all my adult life I’ve been told was ‘too small’ but I didn’t care, because it meant I didn’t need to wear a bra. My chest that now sits completely exposed to this man through my soaking-wet white T-shirt. Wonderful.

“Alright, I’ve got you all checked in. Breakfast and dinner are included in your stay, the kitchen opens at seven a.m. Here's a brochure of the services we offer, and if you have no further questions, I’ll show you up to your room now.” He recites his monotone speech as well as the flight attendants gave their safety instructions on the flight over. With my arms still crossed, I dip down toward the desk and grab my papers. There. That didn’t look ridiculous at all.

A slight dip of his head and the way his mouth twists, attempting to hide that smirk, are all the confirmation I need that I’ve been here for seven whole minutes and already this hot as-sin man has seen my nipples. He stands from behind the desk and my head drops back to take him in fully. I’ve never seen a human specimen like him in my life. Maybe the Rock and CGI superheroes, but men like him don’t exist in the real world. Or maybe, they’re just built differently in Ireland. I force a swallow as he rounds the desk. In all my fawning over him, I somehow missed the cast and sling that cradles his arm .

“I can get those.” Before I can lunge toward my grimy bags, he’s draping my duffle over his good shoulder, sliding my carry-on under his free arm, and then picking up my full-size suitcase by the handle. He’s easily holding a hundred pounds in one arm with another fifty or so draped over his shoulder.

“This way.” I stumble back a step, letting him by. He climbs the steep stairs to the second floor, and I follow two steps behind. My face is now eye-level with the world’s most massive ass. Seriously, this man is draggin’ a wagon. My climb slows as he gets higher, showing off his impressive legs. These are legs that if given the chance to wrap around you, would do more harm than a boa constrictor. Each calf is easily the width of an overgrown watermelon, and they’re covered, for fucks sake. I can’t even imagine how they would look when he’s not wearing jeans.

He turns right at the top of the stairs and continues down the hall until he reaches the last door. I hurry my steps behind him but halt abruptly when he bends over and the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt lifts slightly. I try to focus on the way he handles my things with surprising grace—although I suppose anything would seem graceful compared to the way I manhandled them earlier—but the sliver of tan skin and rolling muscles down his lower back suck me back in. He turns to face me and quirks a brow and— lovely. I’ve been caught staring. I quickly avert my gaze, but it feels unnatural. When have I ever been embarrassed to look at someone? If anything, I would hope to be caught. I’m not the girl who gets dry mouth in front of a guy so I’m not sure why my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth now. I roll my shoulders back and remind myself that I’m the girl whose favorite accessories are her nipples. Tilting my head with a sweet smile, I proudly show off what I’m working with .

He taps a large key in the palm of his hand while his lips twist to the side like he’s weighing a life or death decision here, and then he inserts the key into the lock of door number nine.

A queen-size upholstered bed sits in the middle of the room with enough pillows for a small village. Just like downstairs, the room is clean and homey. An old wood nightstand on one side and a wicker and wood chair that acts as a bedside table on the other. “If you need anything, dial one on the phone.”

I look to where the man is now crowding me in the doorway. In any other situation, this room would seem comfortable, spacious even, but the width of his body isn’t shy about taking up space.

“And what will that do?”

“It’ll call the front desk.”

“You?”

“Mhmm.” The rumbly sound is low, deep, and comes straight from his chest and I’m blindsided by the beat that begins hammering between my legs. I don’t dare falter though, I stay firmly in place and lift my chin just an inch higher, fully meeting his gaze.

“Do you work down there every night?”

“It’s my first night.”

“Do you like it?”

“Tonight?” His eyes scan my body up and down while his knuckles drag along his beard and my eyes follow the movement like I’ve bet all my money on a sleight of hand trick. “It’s not so bad.”

His large body presses off the door frame, invading my space, and I have to crane my neck all the way back just to keep my eyes on his. I can’t tell if my blood is flowing erratically or has just stopped moving altogether when he leans in another inch. He’s so close that if I take a deep enough breath, my nipples would absolutely scrape against him. His long, thick fingers grip the key to my room in front of my face, and sparks fly from my hand to his when I grip it, but I make no effort to pull back. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, and he flashes another one of those smirks which, upon closer inspection, appears a bit more cocky than I first thought. And according to the thrumming between my legs, I rather enjoy cocky.

“Enjoy your stay, Nova.”

I exhale the breath I was holding and listen to his heavy footsteps retreat down the stairs before I drop my head to the door. What the hell was that?

My wet clothes fall to the bathroom floor with a loud plop and I check my phone while I start the shower. Three missed calls from Camila and a never-ending text thread.

Mila

I saw your plane was delayed

This seems way too long to be traveling even with delays. Please let me know you’re ok.

Miles says he knows people and if you don’t answer me in the next hour, there’s going to be a witch hunt out for you.

I check the time on the last text. Forty-eight minutes ago. I smile at my phone, tempted to see what she’ll do if I wait, but I can’t stand the thought of her worrying for a minute longer. I don’t have the energy to call her back right now though so I send a quick text instead.

Taylor

I’m here! Made it to my hotel.

Mila

You were really cutting it close there. *Alexa, cancel timer for one hour*

How was the flight? Flights?

Taylor

Pretty much as fun as the DMV.

Mila

Taylor

I was reading my book and they were JUST about to fuck and my Kindle died.

Mila

Nooooooo

Taylor

Actually now that I think about it, it probably killed itself. The last line I read was ‘I ran my tongue through her sopping wet folds.’

Mila

Really? Folds. We’re still saying that?

Taylor

She got that origami punani.

I laugh, set my phone on the counter, and step into the shower, letting the lava-like water melt off the remnants of the world’s longest travel day.

I don’t know how long I stayed in there, and I don’t remember how I got wrapped up in the world’s coziest bed, but I don’t have the chance to bother figuring it out before I let the effects of the last forty-eight hours pull me to sleep.