8. Taylor

Taylor

December

S now has finally arrived in Utah, and I hate it.

A blizzard rages outside the cafeteria windows, so thick it obscures the entire football field in the distance. Thick flakes swirl into a heavy maelstrom, practically blowing sideways from the wind—perfectly matching my sour mood. Snow means no motocross, and no motocross means pissy Taylor. Not that I'd been able to ride since October. Still, saying goodbye to my two-stroke this morning as I covered it in the garage had felt like a funeral.

A deep, rolling laugh pulls me from my wallowing, and I turn to glare across the cafeteria at the source of the laughter. He's been eating lunch here more often now that I've stopped messing with him. At first, I liked it. The opportunity to observe him from a distance was too good to pass up, but lately, the sight of him has been grinding my gears. The impulse to go over there and say some shit or do something to piss him off is intense.

Old habits die hard.

Huck laughs again, grinning at something Logan says next to him, and I feel my scowl deepen. He snorted at me this morning when I put my bike away, which was the only reaction he'd given me in weeks. Logan shoves Huck playfully on the shoulder, and I feel like I'm going crazy because I want to take his arm off for touching my stepbrother.

"What did he do this time?" Christian snickers, following my gaze over to where Huck is sitting.

I give him a blank stare. "Nothing."

"Then why do you look like you're about ready to kill him, bruh," he laughs, digging into his lunch, and I force myself to look away from Huck before I do something I can't take back. Again.

"You'd look like this too if you'd been grounded for two months."

Xed sits next to Christian at the table, followed by Matty, who plops beside me. "Aaron still hasn't let you off the hook?"

Shaking my head, I push my food around on my tray. Nope, the Good Bishop is sticking to his guns about this whole grounding thing. It's been a dull few months, that's for sure. Mainly because I've been trying to do like Huck asked and stay away from him, but it's been so fucking hard. Especially after I got a taste of him.

I've tried to bury the memory of that disaster of a night at the track, but it won't give me peace. It just runs on a loop in my head, the feel of Huck against me and the shit I could have said differently. Logically, I get why he didn't understand. He doesn't know the whole story, after all. But there's a toxic side of me that's screaming how fucking dare you walk away when I opened up to you, motherfucker.

To him, it's just a bike. An object or something fun to pass the time with, but to me? That bike is everything. Not only is it my ticket to freedom but a reprieve from the shit my father slings at me.

I wince, rubbing my aching collarbone as I think about what he did to me on Thanksgiving a week ago. Maisie had forced me to spend it with him since I hadn't seen him in a while. She played it off like a good parent, but I know it's because she didn't want me ruining her perfect family holiday. Thank fuck football season is over, so I don't have to undress in front of the guys—I can't blame the injuries on Huck anymore.

"Earth to Taylor, helloooo?" Xed waves a hand in front of my face, his green-tinted Mohawk catching in the light, and I blink as I realize there's a heavy body leaning into my side, nearly pushing me over.

"Seriously, Matthew?" Shoving him off of me, I grimace when the movement causes my rotator cuff to twinge. "You have no semblance of personal space, my guy."

Matty laughs, righting himself before overcorrecting and shoulder-checking the person beside him. "Sorry, my bad."

"It's not his fault." Xed switches the orange juice on his tray for Matt's energy drink. "I'm convinced he body-swapped with a golden retriever at birth, and the poor thing doesn't know what to do with all that muscle."

That's likely the truth. Matt's the biggest, clumsiest person out of all of us, constantly tripping over his own two feet. Luckily, that doesn't carry over onto the field. It's like his body knows how to defend a ball because he's a beast when it comes to the defensive line. A small chuckle leaves my throat at the thought. He's definitely a dog trapped in a human body.

"You missed the Symbiotic show on Friday," Christian says around his food, and I groan as I cover my face with my hands, irritated at missing one of my favorite bands playing live.

"I fuckin' know, man. This grounding thing is killing me."

"My tio is taking me snowmobiling New Year's weekend. Maybe you can ask to be let off early for good behavior?"

"Yeah, maybe. I'll try."

God, I fucking hope so. I've been a good boy. Real good. And I need something to take my mind off the current subject of my obsession, sitting ten feet away, smiling at his best friend like he has no care in the world.

My eyes drift back over to him reluctantly. He looks good. Got a haircut, so the curls are shorter on the sides and longer on top, falling over his forehead. My fingers twitch against my fork, remembering how soft his hair felt when I ran them through it. His teeth on my bottom lip, stiff muscles pressed against my own, and then the confusing way my cock hardened when he had my throat in a death grip—

No.

No, no, no .

No.

I will not pop a boner in the middle of the lunchroom. Absolutely not.

Mentally, I shove those thoughts inside the box that's beginning to overflow in my mind and bury it again for later. Because I'll definitely be thinking about that again later, in my room. With my hand down my pants.

Fuck, I need to get laid.

As if someone up above heard my plight, a small shoulder bumps into mine, and a familiar feminine body squeezes in between me and Matty.

"Hey, Taytortot." Salem grins up at me, her gray eyes glowing against the reflection of the snow-covered windows.

Returning her grin, I feel myself relax in the presence of my second best friend. "Sally Mal. What's shakin', babe?"

She laughs, tossing her long red hair into a messy bun on the top of her head before leaning in and pressing a kiss to my throat. After weeks of no human contact, the feel of her lips on my skin has my dick perking up almost immediately, and I stifle a groan. With this one gesture, she's telling me that she let Brad go, and now it's my turn again. See what I mean about our relationship being easy? This girl just gets me.

Throwing an arm around her shoulders, I lean in, pressing my nose against her hair. She always smells fantastic, like lilacs or some shit, and it always calms me down. Salem is the only soul on the planet who knows about all the shit with my father, and only because she witnessed my near mental breakdown over it one night a few years ago. She saw the worst parts of me and stayed, which is more than I can say for some people.

Speaking of one of those people…

I feel his attention burning a hole in the side of my face, and I turn to meet Huck's stare. A frown pulls at his lips, his gaze bouncing between Salem and me, some form of anger burning in his irises that I can feel from here. The sight gives my sick and twisted brain an idea .

Keeping my eyes locked on Huckslee, I turn Salem's face and plant a kiss on her lips, cutting off whatever she'd been saying to Xed. She purrs, relaxing into me, her mouth parting to grant my tongue access. It's slow and sultry, nothing like the desperate frenzy of kissing my stepbrother, and though her lips are as familiar to me as my own, the kiss lacks any real heat. But that's okay because the way Huck's jaw visibly tightens as he watches us tells me I've achieved my goal.

Turning back to Salem, I find her gazing at me with narrowed eyes, and I break the kiss with a grin. "What?"

"Who are we making jealous?" She looks around the cafeteria, searching for whoever I'd been staring at.

Debating for half a second, I decide to tell her the truth. "Huckslee."

Her manicured brows rise as she snaps her eyes to Huck, who's glaring at us from across the room, and she smiles broadly as she waves at him. "Not who I expected, but it's hot, and I'm down for it."

Fuck, this is why I love her. Salem is always down for anything.

"So what did Huck do to piss you off now?" She asks. Christian laughs when he catches the end of our whispered conversation.

"That's what I asked, too."

I frown at both of them. "Why does everyone think he did something to piss me off?"

He did. But they don't need to know that.

Salem shrugs as she pulls my tray over, grabbing the fork out of my hand. "Doesn't he always?"

Ain't that the fucking truth .

Glancing back over at him, I find his attention no longer on us. He's staring down at his phone, smiling as he types away, and it's my turn to glare. Who the fuck is he talking to? Who has him smiling like that? Is it the Royce guy he was texting months ago? The thought makes my blood boil. I still haven't been able to find whoever he is on social media, though maybe I should recruit Salem for the job. Girl could work for the FBI with her investigative skills, no joke.

Pulling out my phone, I type out a quick message.

Me: Who are you texting?

And then I sit back and wait. Only a few minutes pass before his head snaps up from his phone, and he briefly locks eyes with me.

It's been months since we've even talked to each other in person. I sent him a few texts after the night on the track, which he ignored, so this is the first time in weeks that we've broken our weird stalemate. I even started staying late in the gym, lifting and performing drills Coach makes us do in the offseason to avoid awkward dinners with Aaron and Maisie. Since Huck is still on light duty for his arm, weights are out of the question, so I usually get the gym to myself late in the evening after everyone else goes home.

My phone vibrates, and I grin when I read his text.

Suckslee: Mind your fucking business.

I send him a pouty emoji, followed by a crying one. He reads it and doesn't respond.

Me: No sexting at the lunch table, young man .

His responding text comes through immediately.

Suckslee: What makes you think I'm sexting?

Me: You're a dude. I'm a dude. We only smile at our phones for nudes.

That rhymed. I'm a poet, and I didn't know it.

Suckslee: You're so off base, it's ridiculous.

Me: But I hit a home run, right? You are talking to someone?

He doesn't respond, and I peek under my lashes to find him blinking at his phone. Joining the conversation with the guys, I wait for him to say something else, but he never does. So I text him again.

Me: Is it that Royce fella?

Instant response:

Suckslee: I don't see how that's any of your business, Taylor, just like who you suck face with in the middle of the cafeteria isn't mine.

My stomach flips, thumbs flying over the screen.

Me: Saw that did you?

Suckslee: The whole lunchroom saw it. Get a room next time.

Me: Just admit that you were watching me, Huck.

Suckslee: Why? Because I'm gay so I'm always looking at you?

I shoot him an annoyed glance.

Me: No. I watch you too. It's okay.

He reads it but doesn't respond. I wait and wait, becoming engrossed in Matty's discussion with Salem about their AP Psych class. By the time the lunch bell rings, Huck is gone. And I'm still left on read, surrounded by friends but feeling lonelier than ever.