i can't sing but i've got a good boom box67.143.208.200Posted On December 03, 2017 at 9:21 AM by Taylor Dixon

Taylor was an open book if ever there was one in a person. He said what he meant and what he thought most of the time unless it was a matter of morals or feelings. He knew when it was right to tell a little white lie if only to spare someone but he always weighed his options before coming to a decision. Sure, honey, you look beautiful in those pants. He hated hurting anyone's feelings but he knew when honesty was always better than a lie. Most guys he knew pretty much said what they think anyway and if not, then they were really bad liars and he knew the signs. Not that Taylor was a human lie detector or anything so fancy. No, Becca was a big example that he would buy any lie if it came out smooth enough. Women were his weakness; always had been. A woman could tell him his leg wasn't broke and he would still try to walk on it, even with the bone sticking out. He was a goner for women and their twinkling eyes and lush lips. If they were really bad liars and there was an obvious hint, then maybe, just maybe, he might catch it and call them on it. Otherwise, he was gullible. His heart had only just started mending from the treasonous actions of his ex but he was moving past it. He could smile again, and lo and behold, he could flirt again. For a while, all the women around him were but blurs in his surroundings, like black and white images in a world of color.

But he could clearly see the dark chocolate in the locks of her hair and the sparkling green around her pupils. He could see the ivory that touched her skin like swan feathers and the pink blush of her lips. She looked so alive as he took her down the city streets to her home on the Harley. The wind blew through her hair, throwing it out behind her like night flames. Her eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky and her skin had a bright glow to it. Her laughter lit up his world and he knew it'd been a long time since he'd felt so protective over someone, especially someone he'd only just met. He knew in those moments that he would never regret stepping in to save her at the burlesque. She was meant to be protected, cared for. She was meant to show her light to the world and he wanted to be the one to save her from everything that would ever harm her. It seemed he wasn't the only one who felt that way. He studied Townsend with open curiosity, though he could read the man's skepticism from here. He knew he wasn't the first impression anyone probably wanted to see of what you bring home late at night. Especially not someone obviously protective of the young woman at his side. But Townsend seemed to trust her judgement enough to go fetch the bottle of Bastille, leaving her to grasp his hand firmly and take him into the living room.

He studied the room, finding the fireplace with fascination. He couldn't recall ever seeing a real one. It's not like he did work for the rich people of town. Usually he found the elderly in the more ramshackled homes that couldn't really afford to pay the bigger companies to come fix their things so he stepped up and did it for them at whatever they wanted to pay. He never picked the price. For some of them, he would do the work free just cause it made him feel better to have helped. He muttered about the fireplace being real, not really expecting her to be listening, let alone to respond. He snapped his gaze to her as she said she had no appeal for false things, his lips quirking. "I see your point. It certainly looks better." He tried not to look too tense when she shifted closer to him on the couch. She seemed amused by how nervous he was acting. He didn't really know what had gotten into him except he was very aware of her when they were alone. He kept it in the back of his mind that she wasn't a girl he'd picked up to take back to his motel room. She had just been assaulted in a burlesque so he figured she would be more cautious and he wouldn't blame her one bit. He tried to give her space but didn't seem to mind so much with him, only shifting that much closer so she could get a better look at the wound on his arm. As she took his arm, he could see her gaze sweeping over the other scars, his lips tugging into a small smirk as his own eyes danced with amusement. She seemed just as curious about him as he was of her.

He made a corny joke about the liquor bottle that busted on his arm and she surprised him by laughing. At her question though, he shook his head. "Only if you count the many liquor bottles I've managed to take home. At a price, of course." The way she purred the words in that accent had him looking at the fireplace for a minute to clear his head. She was making it hard to focus. He was a man, dammit. This was starting to border on torture and he knew it shouldn't be this hard to be friendly with a woman. He'll be planning on a cold shower when he got to the motel. He was offered a distraction in the forms of two big dogs that came and sat by Adelaide as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He swallowed as he looked at them, though they didn't look too menacing at the current moment, just watchful. Adelaide let him know that they wouldn't harm him as long as he was welcomed in and he felt himself relax a little. He trusted what she said. She called them Rose and Reginald and he let his gaze sweep to each dog, memorizing the names and taking in their current positions and markings. He smiled at Reginald. "Too bad I don't have a T-bone handy. Guess we'll just have to be friends the old fashioned way." He looked up as Townsend came back with the liquor and the rag and tweezers, his attention diverted until he felt the sting of Adelaide pulling a piece of glass out of his arm. He jerked and explained to her to give warning, though he knew that wouldn't make it better.

She only seemed amused, asking if he would like her to count to three next time. He chuckled. "That'll just make me anticipate it. Got a belt for me to bite on?" He grinned. "Joking. I'll just stifle my whimpers so the dogs don't think they need to jump to my defense." He gave Reginald a playful wink. He couldn't help but keep watching as she went back to cleaning his arm. She was gentle, reminding him of how gentle his mother always was when he scraped his knee or cut himself on something. Her sudden question threw him off, his eyes widening a little before he gave a sheepish smile at being caught. "It's been a while since I've been with a woman in a room that's not the bedroom." He cringed. "Didn't mean for that to come off as dirty as it sounds. Let's just say I don't usually become friendly with the women I save in public places afterwards. It's more of a 'thanks and goodbye' type of affair most of the time." He shrugged. "You usually this gentle with guys you meet in public places?" He raised a brow, curious of her answer. As her gaze found his meaningfully, he found his own gaze frozen, brows furrowed until she pulled the glass piece out. He clenched his jaw this time, air hissing through his teeth but he managed not to jump or jerk. He laughed nervously and looked away. He told her he was new to town and she seemed comforted by that.

She told him that she and Townsend had just gotten here last week. His brow rose. "Paris, huh? That's a long trip." At least her accent made sense. "You speak good English. Did you take classes?" It was just idle conversation, anything to keep his attention off her pulling glass out of his arm. He noted the sudden fierceness to her gaze as she mentioned her father though, his curiosity really burning now. Daddy issues? He knew about that firsthand. Then she told him that her father had tried to marry her off to a nobleman. His brows furrowed in sympathy. "Wow, that sucks big time. I didn't think parents still did that. Guess Paris is a little different though. I don't like my father much either. He didn't try to marry me off or anything, but he did always remind me how much I disappoint him with my choices." He shrugged, knowing his issues were pretty light compared to what she had to go through. He couldn't imagine his parents handpicking someone for him to marry. They might have made a better decision than Becca, but then they could have done worse too. Pick someone like Katherine Deegle, someone else fake. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with someone like that. He looked at her apologetic smile and shook his head. "On the contrare, lay it on me. I'm a good listener." He smirked. "Just do me a favor and don't picture your dad's head on any of those glass pieces still in my arm. I'd appreciate not having more of a scar than I'm already going to have."

His smirk turned teasing, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He could have sworn she could see into his head with her next questions. Running from something? She had no idea. He took a deep breath. "Both, in a way, I guess. Searching for a new adventure while trying to leave the past in the past. Bad ex's, fake friends, loan sharks, the works." He didn't know why he just said it, maybe hoping she would just think he was joking again or something. His eyes had darkened a little at the admission though, his face sobering bitterly as he looked down at his arm, just something to look at while he gave a little bit to match what she had confessed. Figuring she was owed more than that, he looked back up at her, his jaw clenching again as she pulled another piece out. "I owe some people money, bad people. I would recommend you stay away from me after this. I can't guarantee they won't find me." He somehow felt she needed to know that, his eyes softening, almost pleading with her to believe him for her own sake. He didn't want to put her in danger over something so stupid as his own decisions. He would never forgive himself if Doug somehow dragged her into this.


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