Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

13. Taylor

Taylor

I. Am. A. Dickhead.

There’s a knot in my stomach as we drive up into the parking lot. Knox pays the attendant, and as I watch them exchange a greeting with one another, the knot pulls tighter. This man could not have possibly been more understanding or receptive to the word vomit that I just spewed all over his truck, and I bit his head off for it. He’s obviously one of those people who is capable of processing and understanding all kinds of emotional situations so that he can live a healthy life, unlike me, who would prefer to pretend they never happened. If it never happened, there's nothing to be upset about. And for the most part, it’s worked.

Eyes closed, I lean my head on the seat behind me and let out a sigh. Not only did I info dump about my flippant parents, but for some reason, I told him about my ADHD, too. To say I wanted to crawl under the dash of his truck and hide after the words tumbled out of my mouth would be an understatement.

I’m not embarrassed that I have ADHD or shitty parents but I am surprised that I told him, considering I’ve never actually said the words out loud before.

When I was officially diagnosed in the seventh grade, I was made to feel ashamed about it by my parents. I sat with the backs of my thighs sticking to the vinyl chair in my doctor’s office while my mother spoke in hushed whispers with the doctor. I overheard her talking with my dad about the appointment when we got home, and that was that. We never talked about it again, so I never brought it up, not even with Camila. I snuck off to the school nurse at lunchtime every day for three years to take my medication until one time my mom had been gone so long that she forgot to re-order my prescription and I never said anything. I don’t remember feeling any different while taking my medication, but it's not like I remember much anyway. It’s not something that I actively think about every day. I just know that certain things can be more challenging for me because of it. I know that I have thirty unused notebooks because I think I need them. I would rather die than listen to someone talk slowly. I can’t comprehend verbal instructions, and my object permanence is to the point where if I can’t see it, it no longer exists to me. Those things are all attributed to my ADHD. But in my day-to-day life, this is just me. It’s how I’m wired, and there isn’t anything wrong with that, but I’ve also just never thought it was important enough to bring up with anyone.

We stop in a dirt lot and despite feeling like rolling out of the truck, down the hill, over the cliffs, and right into the ocean—I steady my breath, jump out, and watch Knox pull the picnic basket I made for us out of the trunk with bated breath.

I can’t take it anymore.

“Knox, wait.” I grab onto his bicep, both hands pulling him back toward me. He turns to face me. “I’m sorry, I feel like an asshole. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I felt weird because we were talking about so many things that I’m not used to talking about and I?—”

“Hey.” He sets the basket down and reaches up, brushing a windblown strand of hair from my face. He keeps it away from my face, and I finally bring myself to look at him. “I didn’t think you snapped at me.”

I almost wish he would just say ‘Yeah you are an arsehole.’ But of course, he doesn’t. “I just thought you were done with the conversation and that was your way of saying it.”

My shoulders drop and the tightness in my chest eases. As much as I want him to reprimand me for being a shitty friend, that’s just not who he is.

“Let’s go, Nova. We’ve got a picnic to have.” He smiles, picking up the basket and waving it in my face.

“This. Is.” My jaw drops as words fail me.

“Pretty cool.”

“Fucking incredible,” we say at the same time. The path up to the southern section was endless miles of cliffs towering seven hundred feet above the ocean. The contrast between the deep lush greens and the azure water below was something out of a painting. The only thing that could make it any better is if the wind would chill out.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and snap a few pictures. I attempt a panoramic photo but the wind blows my hair in front of the camera, running the shot. I snap one of Knox with his back to me, overlooking the stone wall. Even with his back to me, he’s handsome. When I’m done taking pictures, I move to stand beside him crossing my arms. My legs shake beneath me because despite it being a rather sunny day, the wind really takes the warmth away.

We head up another small trail and halfway up, Knox lifts his chin toward an area off of the path that leads to a grassy piece of land.

“Shall we?” he asks, through squinted eyes, waving the basket around.

I attempt to hide my smile because he was right. It’s windy as fuck up here. I don’t know how we’re going to have a picnic, but he’s determined to do this for me, so I follow him to where he lays a blanket down on the grass. The blanket is probably big enough for two, but since Knox is the size of a person and a half, it’s a snug fit.

“What’d you bring us?”

His fingers untwist the small leather rope from the button on the basket, and he lifts the lid.

“Cheese, crackers, bread.” He pulls out the loaf that I had to get up in the middle of the night to finish baking. “Mmm, feels fresh.”

I can’t contain my smile and as I watch Knox unload our basket. All of these smiles I’ve been giving him, the laughs and shared words, they have all been real.

Genuine.

I haven’t only been giving him my usual flirtatious smile, or my phony, surface-level conversations, which are usually things I’ve made up based on what I think people want to hear.

“Let’s take a picture.” I hold my phone out, scooting closer to Knox’s side. The reflection of his smile in the camera, grinning ear to ear, makes my heart trip over itself. Strands of my hair go every which way and I try my best to hold it down against the wind. I don't want anything ruining this picture with him. Not that I need photo evidence. I’m sure that even with my piss poor memory, I’ll never forget today.

I tap the circle once and drop my hand to my lap, looking over my shoulder. My breath whooshes out of me, heavier and scarier than the wind when I realize we’re face-to-face. My eyes drop to his lips. His presence is so overpowering, especially when he’s this close. I can’t think, I can’t speak, I can’t do anything but stare at him. My hand itches to reach up to his jaw and feel the scrape of his beard against my fingers. I’m dying to pull his face to mine, to feel his skin under my hands, the weight of his body pressed to mine, and his lips against my own.

A woman squeals in the distance. From the corner of my eye, I see her chasing her hat at record speed, and that image is enough to bring me back to reality. I have to stop looking at that face. I clear my throat and sit back on my bum. I open the photos on my phone and gasp.

“What?”

“The wind blew my hair.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that hair has been blowing.” He waves his arms around his head, making a whooshing sound.

“Yeah, but look .” I zoom in on the strand blowing above my top lip. “It looks like I have a mustache.”

“No, you just…” I look at him through narrowed eyes. “You look like you’re undercover.”

I shake my head and shove at his chest, but he takes my hand and falls back with laughter, pulling me down with him. His warm chest beats strong beneath me when I land half on top of him, and my own laughter dies, being replaced by a tingling sensation coursing its way through my body. He wraps his big arm around me, fingers lightly brushing along my back leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His injured arm remains against his chest, in that damned sling. I prop my chin under my hand, hoping an additional layer of space between us will calm me down.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he whispers, his fingers continue to trail down my spine and I briefly close my eyes so that he doesn’t see everything I’m feeling. “Let’s do something.”

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” I ask and lightly stroke his eyebrows with my middle finger.

“Nah, Nova. I like spending time with you.”

My hand stills and my throat swells with surprising emotion. I shove it down and resume trailing my finger over him.

“Careful, Knox, now it really does sound like you’re flirting with me.”

“That’s because I really am.”

My mouth parts, but I don’t have any words to respond to that. We’ve danced around this for days now—but hearing him acknowledge whatever tension this is between us somehow feels different. There’s an erratic flutter deep in my stomach and I swear something in my chest just dipped and soared. It’s the same feeling you get on those rides where they slowly pull you up to the highest peak and then let you freefall one hundred and fifty feet before catching you.

I suck in my bottom lip, considering how to respond.

I don’t get the chance.

The wind picks up, lifting the lid to our basket, and the contents fly everywhere. In a second, I’m on my feet chasing down the flower fabric napkins. Knox is running around, scooping up pieces of food and our now empty plastic cups. We look exactly like the lady and her floppy hat .

“Whose dumb idea was this?” I laugh, looking over at him.

A playful growl rumbles in the back of his throat as he rushes toward me, hands full of an assortment of picnic essentials. I can’t stop laughing at the image.

“Come here before you blow away too.” With cups tucked in the crook of his slung elbow, his free hand wraps around my waist. He pulls me in close, but movement behind him catches my eyes and with a gasp, I shove him away.

“Knox!” I yell, running towards our blanket that’s being lifted and thrown around like Aladdin’s magic carpet. Knox manages to snatch it mid-air before it has the chance to see a whole new world.

“Alright, Nova. I think the picnic is over.”

“Are you sure? We haven’t lost the charcuterie board yet. The grapes and cheese are gone though.” I shove the rest of our stuff in the basket. “Or you. You still haven’t blown away yet. That could be fun, me chasing you down.” I say, getting up and walking over to him.

“I would love for you to chase me down, but in an entirely different context.” And not even the heavy squalls threatening to take down the three hundred and twenty million-year-old cliffs could cool me down when he looks at me like that.

We barely make it back to the truck without blowing off the cliff, and when I get inside of the cab, the forceful wind slams my door shut. The hollowing noise comes to an abrupt halt.

“Well, I don’t know why you don’t do that more often. That was simply lovely,” I breathe, pulling my hair back and twisting it into a knot on the top of my head. He puts the truck in drive, shaking his head with a full belly laugh. “You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re fun.” He reaches over, brushing a wild strand of hair from my face. His hand lingers on my skin. “I think you’re exciting and adventurous. I think you’re lively and witty. I think you’re beautiful.” His thumb runs along my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. “But of all the things I think about you, crazy isn’t one of them.”

He drops his hand to stick shift and I lick my bottom lip, where the warmth of his thumb still lingers. If anyone else had said those words to me, I would have rolled my eyes and spit some snarky retort. But there’s so much sincerity in Knox’s eyes. I believe that he means every single thing he’s saying.

And isn’t that my worst-case scenario?

The sun has almost fallen below the hills, but even in the darkness, I recognize the gate that leads up to Emerald Browning Cottage .

“Stop!” I throw my arm out across Knox’s chest and he slams on the brakes, head snapping in my direction, eyes wide. In the beam of the headlights sits that little black cat. “You almost ran over your cat.”

“Jesus.” He drops his head back before looking back at me. “It’s still not my cat.”

“She might not be yours yet , but she seems to think she belongs here. She’ll be yours soon enough. Trust me.”

The cat lies down right in front of the truck, the way cats do when they find a beam of sunlight being cast through a window, and Knox’s gaze shifts between his house and me.

“Do you want to come inside?” Yes.

“I shouldn’t. ”

“You don’t strike me as someone who turns down anything she wants to do.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“But?” If he had asked me yesterday, I would have jumped at the chance. Hell, I did jump at it and would have if Liv hadn’t interrupted. Flirting with him was okay. Hooking up with him might have been toeing the line, but catching feelings for him would be falling into the deep end and drowning. I see it clear as day now, how easy it would be to fall for him. It’s that reality—that fear—that holds me back and keeps me from leaning into him now—into whatever this is.

“I’m leaving in three weeks.”

“All the more reason to come inside now.” He shifts in his seat, leaning in toward me.

I tilt my head into the moonlight that is now shining into the cab. “Friends?”

The tension is heavy, my breathing unsteady as he leans in further, closing the distance between us. His lips are a mere inch away from mine. He’s going to kiss me and even though I know that I shouldn’t, I’m going to let him. My eyelids flutter closed and I tilt my chin. His warmth engulfs me and his breath is warm on my—ear?

“Friends. For now.” His deep voice vibrates all the way down to the pulsing point between my thighs. My chest rises and falls, and I swear there is next to no oxygen left in this truck. I feel dizzy, holy shit. Has someone ever passed out from a near kiss? This can’t be healthy.

He pulls back with a knowing smirk on his face because he’s not oblivious to the effect he has on me. I narrow my eyes at him, though I’m fully aware that I’m the reason we’re not kissing—or anything else—right now.

With one hand, he throws the truck in reverse, backing up until he’s avoided his cat. He puts it in drive, the wheel sliding seamlessly through his large hand, and we make our way back up to the main house—him on his metaphorical high horse, because I’m sure he knows as well as I do—my willpower around him is next to nothing. My uncomfortably wet underwear is proof of that.