My smile widens. “Then it’s settled.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-grin. “Between you, my friends, and the guys at the fire station, I’m never going to know another minute of peace, am I?” I’m pretty sure he’s teasing, but…
“What guys at what fire station?”
“Oh,” he starts, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m a volunteer firefighter. It’s how I met my best friends. The ones who helped you out on the lake.”
My eyes widen. “That sounds more adrenaline-inducing than I would’ve thought you’d prefer.”
Knox fully smirks this time. “Judging a book by its cover, are we? For shame, Taylor.” He grabs my hand from across the table and laces our fingers together.
“Well, it also sounds hot. Like,superhot. Can I see you in your gear sometime? I mean, now sounds good.”
Knox laughs. “Down, boy. How about I send you a picture when you’re flying? Give you something to look forward to coming home to?”
For maybe the first time since this started, Knox is the one making a joke, but I want to be serious, and I’m shocked all to hell over the sincerity of my words. “I’m already looking forward to coming back home.”
Our food arrives, and we continue talking about the fire station, our schedules, our families, basically about everything except us as a couple. It doesn’t take long to realize that on paper, Knox and I don’t make sense, and I don’t think either of us wants to face that just yet.
He’s happy manning the grill at a backyard barbecue, and I’m the literal firework in the sky. He’s a quiet observer. I love being center stage. He loves weekends with his friends, hanging out on his boat. I want to meet two hundred and seventy new people at thirty thousand feet in the air four days a week.
But when he nods at my empty plate and says, “Let’s get out of here,” I don’t care about any of our differences.
He pays, opens my door, and leans over to kiss me after he climbs in his truck. The diesel engine makes my balls tingle, and I almost come when his hand lands on my thigh.
“Can we swing by your parents’ house for that maid’s outfit?” he asks, shocking the shit out of me. “I didn’t expect us to end up here, but now that we are, I really wish I’d grabbed it when I packed your bag.”
My smile is immediate.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s swing by my apartment instead. I’ve got better options.”
Chapter 27
Knox
Twenty minutes later, Taylor is letting us into his apartment.
“Feel free to look around. I’m going to grab a couple things I think you’ll like,” he says with a wink. If I hadn’t seen the pain distort his features after his accident, I’d wonder if he’d been hamming up his concussion a little because, with the prospect of more orgasms, he seems completely fine.
I’m not normally one to snoop, but seeing as this is the first time I’ve been in Taylor’s space, my curiosity propels me around his apartment.
It’s cleaner than I thought it’d be for a twenty-four-year-old bachelor. Then again, maybe he puts on that maid uniform and cleans to relax. I can easily picture him, feather duster in hand, dancing around this space to tidy up. Remembering the way his ass hung out the bottom of that outfit makes my cock thicken.
A navy-blue velvet couch fills the living room, with a matching ottoman between it and the fireplace. A flatscreen TV is mounted on the wall above. Three of the walls are crimson, and the small wall that separates the living room and kitchen is done in glittery gold wallpaper.
Yeah, his space screamsTaylor.
And I like it.
My house is all neutral colors, muted fabrics, and natural elements. Taylor’s space feels alive and invigorating whereas mine feels like a slow death—a thought that never occurred to me until just now. As though all the color and fun have literally bled out of my life.
I turn left, entering his small kitchen.
A frame hangs on the wall. Inside is what looks like a concert ticket, a photograph of him and Livvy meeting a band, and a signed napkin. One of the guys looks familiar, so I lean in closer and scan the ticket for the band name.
Beautiful Deceit.
No wonder I recognize them. Jake’s brother runs security for their bassist.
