Addiction

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

January 2013...

“Hey sexy lady,” Taylor called as she closed the door behind her, hanging her coat on the rack. Sometimes she hated coming home to her parents' old house and Taylor was the only thing that made it worthwhile.

“Hey honey.” She kissed him on the cheek and put her bag on the island before observing him put the salad together. “How was work, today?” Taylor had taken over his father's printing business, changing the name to Taylor Made Designs in the process. He earned a steady income and was always home before her, so dinner was his civic duty.

“Good,” he told her. “Are you still working late tomorrow? I have a meeting about that big contract I told you about. Things are coming together, baby. All we need to do is enjoy the ride.”

She hugged him lightly before snatching a piece of feta from the salad. “Yeah,” she sighed. “You know me, all work and no play.”

“I wouldn't say that.” He grabbed her around the waist, nibbling on the remaining piece of cheese between her finger and thumb. “I happen to know that you can let loose with the best of them. You just need to do it more often.”

She knew that. She knew he found it hard when they only spent a couple of hours together each day. She checked her watch – nine p.m. and she had only just arrived home after leaving at seven a.m. this morning. Maybe she'd try to get out of work early tomorrow, even though Taylor had said not to bother, that he knew she was busy and could totally handle the client by himself. She knew this dinner meeting was a big opportunity for Taylor, and her being home for it would be a nice show of solidarity and partnership. Since she was a partner in the business anyway – she'd had to sink some funds into Taylor Made Designs last year when it had run into financial difficulty – she was supposed to attend at least some of these meetings. And the thought of actually letting loose, like he suggested was very tempting. “Maybe I will.”

“How's Logan?” he asked, using the tongs to place salad on two plates beside a serving of lasagne.

Bless his heart, he knew she spoke to Logan every Tuesday to catch up on things, and to basically keep in touch. “He's good,” she replied. If it hadn't been for Logan when their parents were killed seven years ago – on her eighteenth birthday, of all dates – she would have collapsed into a useless pile of nothingness. He'd been the only one who'd been able to get through to her – even Taylor had had to make middle of the night calls for him to come over and see her through another panic attack.

He'd been busy working two part-time jobs to put himself through uni – refusing to touch his inheritance, saying he'd rather save it for a rainy day – but he'd never so much as batted and eye when Taylor called him, telling him he'd gotten another panicked call from her in tears. Taylor had spent weekends with her for months, freeing Logan to spend time on his studies, but during the week, he'd had to stay in his own home. It just made sense with Taylor's own mother feeling unwell – she'd had cancer, and though she fought it bravely, it had ultimately claimed her life a couple of years later.

Logan had spent many nights rocking her and mopping up her tears, curling up on their parents huge bed and just holding her. He would whisper to her of a better time, when things weren't so raw, and life would have meaning again. She had even believed it when it came from him. She owed him a debt of gratitude she couldn't ever repay. Even now, sometimes in the middle of the night, she would text him to say she was feeling low, and though he'd moved to his father's old beach house miles away, he would call her and whisper of how things are never as bad as they seemed.

Taylor didn't know about those phone calls – he slept like the dead, these days – and for some reason she'd just never told him about them, holding them to herself like a precious secret. It was silly, but she thought of those calls as sacred. A time when she could say anything down the line and know Logan wouldn't judge her for it.

In return, she listened to his tales of debauchery and his woman woes. The latest – the one he'd told her about today – was called Emily. Emily's elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor, but she was a hell of a lay, to hear Logan tell it. She'd ambushed him last night from the large hedge beside his house, and proceeded to tie him up before rooting through his pockets for his keys and dragging him inside for some kinky s*x.

It all sounded very exciting, and she ignored the pang of envy when she thought of her own vanilla love-life with the ever dependable Taylor. Far from suffering boring bed-times, Logan had decided he'd had enough, apparently. He let her down gently – after the s*x, of course – and she pitched a fit worth paying money to see before smashing the windscreen on his car in her fury. She'd left him with explicit instructions to never call her, never speak to her, never even look at her again. He was only too happy to oblige.

“So what's new in Loganville?” Taylor grabbed the plates and gestured for her to take a seat at the table.

She slid into her chair and immediately tucked in to the meal, groaning as the first bite exploded in her mouth with rich flavors and textures. God, she was starved. “It's not called Loganville,” she laughed.

Taylor shrugged, shoveling food into his own mouth and swallowing before replying. “Somersville, whatever. What's new?”

Somehow, it seemed like a betrayal to tell Taylor about Logan's s*x life. So instead she shrugged in return, and said, “oh you know, same ole, same ole.”

“I swear,” he laughed. “I can always tell when you've had a conversation with Logan. You pick up his speech patterns.”

“I do?” The revelation shocked her. She hadn't thought she'd picked up anyone's habits but her own. Even the memory of her dreaded first hangover wasn't enough to keep her from a nice alcoholic beverage these days. Lord knew, she needed one most days. Tonight, she sipped a glass of Merlot that Taylor had gotten as a gift from his father last Christmas. It was full-bodied and dry – just the way she enjoyed it.

“You do,” he confirmed. “And it lasts for days.”

*