Taylor

My urge to cry finally lessens once I'm on the highway, and there's nothing but open road lined with trees glistening in the late summer sun around me. But the traffic is terrible, which I should've anticipated since it's Sunday. So what was supposed to be a two hour drive to the cabin takes me just over four hours.

I'm panting by the time I manage to get my huge suitcase from the car to the house. The ground is all soggy and muddy and the wheels kept getting stuck, so I was forced to carry it. I leave a terrible muddy trail from the front door to the living room, and I can practically hear my mom yelling at me for it.

Inconsiderate, Taylor. Who's going to clean that?

I am. But telling her that was never good enough.

The cabin is cold and dark, and smells of mold. I ignore the mud for now and open all the windows, stopping on the porch to breathe in the thousand smells of the forest. The cabin sits in a little clearing surrounded by tall pines. When I was little I'd imagine I was a princess, secreted away at this place until it was time for me to take the throne. I never told anyone about that, and haven't thought of it in ages, but the fantasy comes back now in all its vivid detail.

I shake my head and go back inside. I'm no princess, never will be, and wishing only breaks your heart in the end.

I find some cleaning supplies under the sink, and try to get the mud off of the floor and my suitcase before I track it all over the rest of the cabin. The faucet splutters then explodes into a jet of water that drenches me and half the kitchen in a second. It won't turn off, and it won't stop spewing water, which is now mixing with my tears.

First the suitcase, now this! I wasn't meant to be here, chasing some stupid idea. Henry's the right guy for me. I'll never see that hottie again. I was such an idiot for coming here!

But I am here and I won't just leave. So I pull it together, run back outside and turn off the water main.

I should just leave, right now! But then I'll never hear the end of it from Mom and Dad if I leave them this mess with the water. Or from Claire for running right back after all my superior confidence that I'm just fine on my own.

I change in the living room, toss my wet clothes into the washing machine, then call Dad. I have no idea where to find a handyman around here on a Sunday, but he might.

"She did what?" I can hear my mom in the background after I explain what happened to my dad.

"Call that caretaker…what’s his name?" Dad says. "The one who was supposed to fix the plumbing this spring. His number is in the top drawer in the kitchen."

I rummage through the drawer, but all I find are some manuals, keys for who knows where, and odds and ends, but no phone numbers.

My dad sighs when I tell him. "Well, look better."

"Can't you just call him?" I ask. I don't like dealing with handymen, and it's bad enough I have to be here to explain the problem.

"Fine, I'll do it," he says. "Just don't turn on the water again until he gets there."

How stupid does he think I am?

He calls me back while I'm still wiping up the water off the kitchen floor.

"He's sending someone to look at it," he barks. "Just don't leave until they get there. Let me know what they say."

And then he hangs up. Just once, I wish someone in my family would ask me if I'm alright, if I need something, if I'm strong enough to deal with it all. Right now, I'm not.

I'm cold, I have no food, and I wish I could be here with someone and not on my own, chasing a stupid fantasy, which anyone normal would have discarded out of hand. I'll wait for this repairman, and then I'm going back home. I don't need to make myself more alone than I already am anywhere I go by spending the night in this cabin.

* * *

Adam

I end up sleeping clear through lunch. It's almost four by the time I finally get up, though I'm still tired like I haven't gone to sleep yet. The nightmares came as soon as I dozed off. And the worst part about them, worse even than the images I see, is the feeling they leave. Like I'm right back there, just after it all happened, my heart pounding, my breaths not quite reaching my lungs, a need to have none of it happen in the first place so strong, I can't see straight.

Improvise, adapt, and overcome, as the motto goes. Chalk it up to experience and overcome. Hard when I have to relive it every night. Impossible? Fucking might as well be.

The house is totally quiet. Mom's napping on the sofa, and my sister Julie’s probably at work. I have no idea where her twin Bradley is, and I care even less. I kinda hope he doesn't come home at all today. It's been tense between us since I got back, and the less we try to have a conversation, the better.

A plate is sitting on the counter covered by a rag. My name’s written in Mom's shaky handwriting on a small white piece of paper on top of it. But the steak is hard as a rock, and I hate the taste of cold potatoes. I do try and eat it, because she'll know if I don't. I can't though, and end up tossing it all down the toilet. She'll probably know I did that too. But she'll ignore it.

The ticking of the old clock over the fridge is driving me insane as I sit there, drinking my coffee, and trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day. I could go visit my sister, but half the town will likely be at the diner on Sunday afternoon, and we'll probably just end up arguing.

I could go for a run in the woods. That would take care of the afternoon nicely. But I'm feeling too sluggish.

I can't wait for tomorrow morning so I can start tracking that girl.

Taylor.

Such a weird name, so not really sexy, and yet it is. She's the only thing I want right now. Feels kinda like the only thing I ever wanted. Maybe I'm finally going insane for real. I should just go lie back down.

My phone rings somewhere behind me and I find it in the pocket of my jacket, which is still hanging off the chair where I left it last night.

"You home, Adam?" my uncle Pat asks without even bothering to say hello.

"Yeah, why?" I say, wishing I didn't pick up at all.

"I need you to go up to one of the cabins I'm managing and take a look at a leaky pipe," he says, out of breath by the time he finishes.

"What the fuck do I know about leaky faucets?"

"Mind your tone now," he growls, and I have a strong urge to just hang up. "You said you needed a job. That means working."

"Yeah, I get that. But why can't you go? I seriously don't know jack shit about plumbing." He did say I could help him out, wasn't very particular about how much he'd pay me. But I need a distraction. Anything to get that girl out of my mind, get off the crazy train.

"I'm out of town. Just go and say I'll be there tomorrow. I have to be seen doing something."

"Fine, whatever," I relent. I write down the directions on the back of the little piece of paper with my name on it, then grab my jacket and go, stopping by Pat’s workshop to take his truck and tools.

I get lost twice, before I finally find the small cabin right in the middle of the woods. The road to it is so overgrown I'd never find it if I wasn't looking for it.

I always wished my home could be like this one, magical, hidden amid thick pines. Instead it's a boxy, disjointed thing sitting in a field of nothing but brown grass and rocky soil.

Once I reach the door, I knock loudly, the sound echoing off the trees. It's dark inside and if it weren't for the grey sedan parked out front I'd be sure I had the wrong house again.

I knock again, even louder, call out.

The license plate on the car reads New York DCE 3276.

Wait, shit!

I turn back to the door just in time to stare into the deepest, most colorful brown eyes I've ever seen.

She's wearing a tight black tank top and a pair of worn out red and white plaid pajamas, her lips red as cherries and her nipples small sharp points under the fabric.

My cock’s so hard there’s no blood left in my brain to speak.

Her mouth is still open too, her eyes so wide they're more white than brown now.

"It's you," she whispers, finding words before I do, causing an electric current to pass though me.

I clear my throat and point into the house.

"I'm here to check out the plumbing," I manage to strangle out, and it's possibly the dumbest, most inappropriate thing I've ever said.

I should be telling her how happy I am to see her again. That she's the hottest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and that all I want to do is kiss her again. As it is, the only thing keeping me from jumping on her right here on this porch is the sound of my uncle's voice cursing me out for it. No, it's not just that. I can only have this girl if she invites me in, if she lets me, asks me to take her. Only with her permission.

But I'm not even thinking. My body and mouth are totally on auto pilot right now.

She steps back and opens the door wider. I follow her across the hall to the kitchen, painfully aware that my cock is probably the hardest it's ever been. It doesn’t even matter that she's wearing pajamas about two sizes too big. Her ass is still round, her waist tapered off before it flares up to make room for those full breasts I would so love to taste. My palms are literally burning, I want to touch her so bad.

"It's this one," she says and points to the kitchen sink. "I turned off the main water switch, otherwise it just keeps spraying everywhere."

Wouldn't mind to do that myself. But I check the thought before it blossoms fully. Have to, otherwise I just might say it.

I walk up to the sink, barely suppressing a groan as I brush against her. There was room enough to go around, but that's not what I did, because I couldn't.

I fiddle with the faucet like I know what I'm doing, which I don’t. But I can't let her know I can't fix her problem for her. It's a primal thing. I can't show her any weakness.

"You think you can sort it?" she asks, standing so close I can feel the warmth of her body all along my side.

I look at the faucet some more, even checking at the pipes in the cupboard under the sink. Maybe if I just replace a part, it will work. And then she'll…What?…Let me fuck her? Getting a bit ahead of myself there.

Apart from the whispered recognition before, she's acting like we've never met. So maybe I just imagined it. She probably didn't even get a good look at me last night before I jumped her. I'm hearing things, imagining shit. Hell, judging by the way she's acting, I'm probably the last person she wanted to see come fix her faucet.

I dare not look at her directly in case I'm compelled to do some other crazy thing, like kiss her again. "My uncle will be here first thing tomorrow morning. He’ll fix this for you."

"You can't?"

"I wish I could," I tell her completely automatically. I should be apologizing, making her feel better.

"So that's it?" she asks.

Her cheeks grow red as apples as I look at her. She grabs a rag to wipe down the counter, which I sprayed with water as I fiddled with the faucet.

"Don't worry. It'll get fixed tomorrow."

I need to get out of this house, forget I ever came here, ever met her, kissed her. So much for my plans to find this girl. It was all insanity anyway. She has a boyfriend, a cheating one or not.

"Alright, I guess I'll go now," I say not moving. I can't take a step away from her, it's a physical impossibility.

But she makes it easier by tossing the rag back on the counter and walking out to the front door, thinking I'll follow. A few moments later I actually manage to.

And then I'm standing on the porch, and she's looking at me with really big, sad eyes, her chest heaving like she just ran a few miles.

That's it. If I step off this porch, she's gone. Can't have that.

"So—" I start, not really sure what I want to say.

"You know—" she says at the same time.

I shut up, and so does she. And then we're staring at each other again, the air between us so charged I'm surprised not to hear thunder.

"I wouldn't mind it if you kissed me again," she finally says, her voice so small and faint, I'm not even sure I heard it. "If you want…" she adds, sounding totally unsure of whether I'll say yes.

She can doubt whatever she wants, but never how much I want her. And that's all I know right now.

* * *

Taylor

Alright, I did it, I said it. Never really believed I would until the words tumbled from my mouth.

But now he's just staring at me with those green eyes, cat's eyes the color of nuclear waste, shining despite the dim light.

The toolbox he's still holding lands on the wooden planks with a thud that makes me shake. Then his arms are around me, and I feel like I'm dreaming again. His hot lips press against mine with urgency, and the kiss sends a jolt straight through my center, right to my core, splitting me open just as it did last night. I'm dreaming, I must be. There's no other way to account for the feeling of lightness, completeness, suffusing every cell in my body. Without his arms holding me tight, his lips grounding me, I'd just float away. Never come down again.

I let his tongue into my mouth, try to move mine out of the way, but he keeps finding it, playing with it.

I don't know how long the kiss lasts, a year it feels like by the time we finally break apart, both of us breathless. My hands won't move from his sides though, and I've never desired to see a guy take off his shirt more than I desire to see him naked right now. And by the feel of his rock hard abs, I'm sure it's a sight I've only seen in ads until now.

"You're gorgeous," he says, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead. Now I know I'm dreaming. I'm sleeping on the sofa still waiting for the repairman to come, not being held by this god of a man saying exactly what I need to hear, have always wanted to hear.

"Want to continue this inside?" he asks, his arms stroking my back now.

My cheeks burn, and I know I'm as red as a tomato right now.

He bites down on his lower lip and chuckles at the same time, and it's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

But I don't kiss strangers and then let them come to my bedroom right after. Heck, I don't even do that with my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

"So?" he asks again, his hands resting on my hips.

"I…I…" but I have no idea how to have this conversation. I want him to rip my clothes off right here, and I want to take it slow.

He kisses me again, softer, more lasting, and I lean against him, all firmness gone from my body. If he weren't holding me, I'd crumble to the ground.

His hands are caressing my back, my hair, my sides, but I'm acutely aware of the spots he's not touching. My nipples are tingling to the point of madness, and warm wetness is coating my panties. If he touched me down there, I'd come in a second, I'm sure of it.

And then there's the kiss, so gentle, so knowing, it's covering my whole body in a layer of sweet softness, the kind I've never felt before. Ever. The kind I couldn't even imagine, because I didn’t know it was possible.

"You were saying?" he asks as he pulls away from the kiss, his smirk so knowing it causes me to blush again.

"I maybe want to take it slow," I manage.

He chuckles again. "We can do whatever you want."

And if it weren't for the smirk still on his lips, his poison green eyes shining brighter than before, I'd believe he was telling the truth.

But he just wants to take me to the bedroom and have his way with me. Then he'll go visit his other girlfriend. Because there's no way a guy this hot would even look at me twice, unless he just wanted easy sex. And it doesn't matter if I do too. I'll just end up more alone afterwards, once he's gone, off with some other girl, pretending he doesn't even know me the next time he sees me. Like he did when he came here. Until I asked him to kiss me. Guys don't say no.

There's a voice in the back of my mind telling me to just go with it and damn the tomorrow, but it's not very loud. I've been here before once. Have gone with it. And it left a very sour taste in my mouth.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, his eyes searching mine, his hands laced together on the small of my back.

"I'm thinking this is a mistake," I say.

"I don't ," he says and pulls me closer. I can feel his hard cock pressing into my stomach, waking all sorts of new feelings.

"Well, I do," I say and try to move away from him, but not very hard. "I don't even know your name, for starters."

"It's Adam. Do you want me to leave?" he asks, even as he pulls me closer. He's still smiling, but it's more of a frozen thing, kind of desperate. A pang of fear stabs through my chest, but it's a momentary thing. This guy won't hurt me. I know that, as clear as I know my name.

"Yes."

He lets me go and takes a step back. "OK."

I've never heard such a stark plea in that simple little word. Or maybe I'm just imagining it because my body is suddenly so cold without his pressed against me I might just have to cry.

"But…" I say.

He turns back, the tools he's carrying clanking.

"Maybe…I don't know…we could have some dinner." Yes, a date. Brilliant idea, Taylor. Because it’ll be so much harder for him to fuck you and leave you, if you have dinner together first.

The stupid, critical voice erupting in my head sounds a lot like Claire, but it just floats away with the wide smile he gives me. "I am kinda hungry."

"OK, I'll just change," I say and rush back into the house.

I let no thought linger until I'm back outside, dressed in my jeans and a tunic that's maybe a little too tight, but is the warmest thing I have with me, save for the oversized sweatshirt I sleep in. The way he looks at me as I walk down the stairs makes me feel naked, but in a good way, a sensual, erotic way.

"So, I'll follow you in my car?" I suggest.

"Nah, I'll bring you back after, don't worry," he says and opens the passenger door for me.

I should argue, but I really don't want to. So I tell my rational mind to shut up, and just climb into this stranger's truck.