Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7)

by Miranda Kenneally

  But I don’t know what else to call dyslexia other than a learning disability. I certainly can’t call it a problem or an issue. Because it’s not.

  “I think if you explain your situation to Cornell, they would help. You could go back to school.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, Tease? I thought you were horny.”

  I pinch his arm. “I’m being serious!”

  “You’re serious all the time.”

  “I am not,” I reply, even though the guidance counselor said something very similar.

  I’ll show them who’s serious.

  I launch an attack, tackling him to the carpet. He retaliates with tickles. I squeal and escape by crawling away. Laughing, he chases after me on his hands and knees. He snatches my ankle, pulling me up close to him, pinning me to the floor and pushing his hips to mine with a sexy grin. I can feel his hardness through my leggings; it makes me gasp. Gasp—and think naughty thoughts. We’re still getting to know each other again and haven’t slept together, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.

  He softly kisses my lips, cupping my cheek with his hand. When he opens his eyes and smiles lazily, I flip him onto his back and straddle his hips.

  “I have one more thing to say,” I announce.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he mutters.

  “I’ll stop being serious after I say this.”

  “Fine, go ahead.”

  “Please call Cornell and ask how they can help.”

  “Taylor, seriously. We’ve been through this. I hate classes. I hate taking notes. I hate writing papers. I hate reading. I’m happy now.”

  “But you want to be an architect.”

  “What I want and what’s going to happen are very different things. You think my dad would pay for me to go to school to become an architect?”

  “You could always get student loans.”

  With his hands wrapped around my waist, we sit in silence, looking at each other.

  He’s right. I am being way too serious for a Friday night. So I start another wrestling-tickling fight, and for a second time, I end up in his lap with his arms straitjacketed around me. He kisses my nose.

  That’s when I hear a throat being cleared.

  I fall off Ezra’s lap backward, then scramble to a sitting position. I swivel around to find Oliver.

  “Oll!” I squeal, jumping to my feet and hurtling myself into his arms. It’s so good to see my brother. I hug him hard, then step back to take him in. Same disheveled auburn hair. Dark jeans, a corduroy jacket with elbow patches, a white button-down, and brown loafers. Totally an outfit my mother bought him. His eyes glare from behind his glasses.

  He pats my back stiffly. “What’s going on here?”

  “Creepy,” I say. “Your voice sounds just like Dad’s.”

  No one laughs at my joke.

  I start, “Ezra and I—”

  “Oll, I need to speak with you in private,” Ezra interjects.

  “Oh, come on,” I complain. “Just tell him now.”

  “Tell me what? That my best friend is fooling around with my baby sister?”

  “We need to talk,” Ezra repeats.

  Oliver nods at Ezra. “Upstairs.”

  My brother storms out of the room. Ezra takes a few long, steadying breaths, stands, and adjusts the front of his jeans. He blushes when he notices me staring. Then he trudges up the steps after Oliver.

  I blow out a puff of air and cross my arms. Then uncross them. I look up at the ceiling. Chew on my thumb.

  I’d hate to mess up their friendship. Oliver and Ezra have known each other for almost fifteen years. I had been planning to tell Oliver about me and Ezra, but I wasn’t honestly sure how to tell him yet. Our relationship is still new. Shaky. Fragile. I mean, I know we’re really into each other, but what if I can convince him to go back to school for second semester? What if he decides we can’t date because of that distance, or if he continues to spout nonsense about feeling inferior?

  Then I remember what he said a few minutes ago: “I like that you take what you want.”

  I can do that.

  I charge up the stairs to the kitchen, where I find Oliver pouring tequila into shot glasses and Ezra shuffling a deck of cards.

  “I don’t care what you say,” I snap at my brother. “I want Ezra, and nobody’s going to stop me from dating him. Not you. Not Dad. Not Svetlana, the Russian gymnast.”

  “Rawr,” Oliver says.

  My little speech lights up Ezra’s eyes.

  “Bottoms up, man,” Oliver says, pushing one of the shots in front of Ezra. They sprinkle salt onto their wrists, toast their glasses, throw back their liquor, grimace, then lick their wrists. Next, Ezra deals Oliver a card. Are they playing blackjack?

  “Seriously?” I say. “Were you just going to leave me down there all night while you get trashed and gamble?”

  They both have the decency to look sheepish. Ezra sweeps the cards back into a neat pile.

  Oliver holds an arm out to me. I slide up against him and accept his hug. “I wish you’d given me a heads-up that you’re with Ez now. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was trying to figure out how. I didn’t want to mess up your friendship, but I’m not giving up Ezra either.”

  “It sucks to know you didn’t feel comfortable telling me.”

  I nod. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

  My brother gives me a small smile. “Love you too.”

  “So you’re okay with us dating?”

  Oliver looks from me to Ezra. “I trust him with my life. Why wouldn’t I trust him with my sister’s?”

  Aww. Ezra nods once at my brother, and Oliver nods back. Then they glance away, because they are guys, and guys seemingly can’t be seen showing affection toward one another.

  “What are you doing home?” I ask my brother.

  “Fall break.”

  “I thought you were going to Alana’s house in Miami,” I say, and Ezra nods. He must’ve been under the same impression.

  “Eh, Alana and I broke things off yesterday. I got cold feet about spending five days alone with her and her parents, and that got us talking about how we’d both rather be single for now. So I decided to come home. I needed to see how you’re doing…but I guess I know, since I caught you and Ez practically bumping uglies.”

  “Ugh!” I shout.

  Ezra makes a face. “Dude, never say ‘bumping uglies’ again.”

  “If you don’t want me to say it, you shouldn’t have been trying to do that with my sister.” Oliver pours himself another tequila shot. He tosses it back, then grimaces.

  “Hey, where’s mine?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” Oliver says.

  I snake an arm around Ezra’s waist. “Where’s mine?”

  With a smile, he surrenders his shot glass to me, and I reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

  “Gross. Just because I’ve given Ez permission to date you doesn’t mean I want to see any PDA.”

  I shoot my brother a withering look. “Permission?”

  Oliver ignores me and turns to Ezra. “Do you want to head up to Nashville? There’s a new nightclub I want to check out. It’s called Tunnel Vision.”

  My brother absolutely loves clubbing. I’m surprised he didn’t head to Miami on his own so he could hit up the night scene. Honestly, I’m shocked he hasn’t tried to get a role in one of those Step Up movies.

  Ezra has always been more of the listening-to-live-music type, but the boy can dance. Like, seriously dance. I’ve never actually fast-danced with him, but I remember watching him at St. Andrew’s dances, and of course, I’ve seen my brother’s videos from their trips to Mexico and Europe. I nearly groan at the thought of Ezra behind me, swaying his hips against mine. God, I’m a complete perv. But at least
I own it.

  “I’m up for dancing if you are,” I say to Ezra. “I can use Jenna’s old license to try to get in, but it might be risky.”

  He takes my hand, caressing my fingers. “Not tonight. I’d rather just hang out here.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Oliver pours Ezra another shot. I steal it and drink before either can protest. It tastes horrible. I can barely swallow it. I cough hard and let out a burst of laughter once I’ve recovered. Then I burp accidentally.

  “She’s all yours, bud,” Oliver says to Ezra.

  “Hey!” I slap my brother’s hand.

  My phone buzzes with a new text from Chloe.

  What r u doing?

  Hanging out w Ezra and my brother. Want to come over?

  Can Alyson come too?

  By the time they arrive, Ezra and Oliver are tipsy, and we’re having our own dance party in the formal living room. When Marina shows Chloe and Alyson in, Oliver has unplugged a decorative lamp and is singing into it, pretending it’s a microphone.

  I say, “If Mom saw this, she’d have a coronary.”

  “I’m going to have a coronary,” Marina says, and Oliver placates her by setting down the lamp and making her dance with him.

  “Um, is this typical at your house?” Alyson shouts over the music, watching my brother dance with our housekeeper.

  “The Oliver Dance Party happens every night,” Ezra says.

  Once my brother has stopped doing the tango with Marina, I turn the music down and introduce everyone. Oliver checks out Chloe and vice versa.

  We turn the music back up, and I dance with Ezra, which makes Oliver cover his eyes and whine. You’d never know my brother is about to turn twenty, given how childish he’s acting. The good news is that he and my new soccer friends seem to hit it off, and they distract him from our dancing. Ezra draws me up against his chest and grips my waist, moving his hips in time with mine. I get lost in his green eyes. We dance for so long, I lose track of how many songs have played.

  “Do you have work in the morning?” I whisper in his ear.

  “Day off. You?”

  “Soccer game at noon.”

  “Nice, you can sleep in a little.”

  Mom and Dad are in Washington and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so I take a deep breath and do something I’ve never done before. Something my parents would never allow.

  “Want to stay over?”

  He raises his eyebrows and glances at my brother, who’s now passed out on the floor. He smacks his lips, then snores. Classy.

  “Yeah,” Ezra says with a thick voice. “But we probably shouldn’t fool around, since Oll is here.”

  As if Oliver would notice. He belts out another snore. Chloe and Alyson are curled up asleep together on a love seat. I wake them up to show them to one of our guest rooms.

  Then I take advantage of Oliver’s drunken obliviousness and lead Ezra to my room, praying Marina doesn’t notice. He follows me into my bathroom, where I find a new toothbrush under the sink. He accepts it with a smile, and then we brush our teeth together. Ezra goes to steal a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt from Oliver’s room while I change into the pink strawberry pajamas he bought me for my sixteenth birthday.

  When he walks back into the room and sees what I’m wearing, his eyes take me in, and he swallows hard. “You’re beautiful, Taylor.”

  “You are too.”

  His hands skim over my back to settle on my waist. “I like your strawberries,” he says with a wicked grin.

  “Behave.”

  As I’m crawling under the covers with him, cuddling and kissing, loving the feel of his body against mine, it occurs to me that I never could’ve planned such a wonderful evening if I’d tried to orchestrate it.

  Find the Coupon

  About an hour before the soccer game is to start, I’m at the field warming up. I want to get in a run and stretch my legs really well so I’m limber for the game.

  Chloe appears ten minutes late, wearing dark sunglasses. “Never. Again.”

  I laugh.

  “Your brother’s crazy.”

  “He definitely knows how to party.”

  We look over into the stands, where Oliver and Ezra are sitting together. Oliver waves at us, happy as can be. He has a Tylenol/Gatorade/McDonald’s breakfast sandwich hangover cure that works for him every single time. He looks like he’s never had a drink in his entire life. Ezra, like Chloe, is also wearing sunglasses and looks grumpy as hell.

  “Um, are you interested in Oliver?” I ask her. “I don’t really care, just wondering, since you and I are friends—”

  “No. I think he’s great, but I’m still not interested in anything serious with anyone.”

  I touch her elbow. “Do you want to warm up with me?”

  She groans. “I don’t want to do anything right now, but sure.” We begin kicking the ball around in a half-assed manner. Then I manage to squeeze in my run before joining the rest of the team to stretch.

  Nicole gets up in front of everyone and gives her typical pregame speech. “Let’s play hard, everybody.”

  I can’t help myself—maybe there’s leftover tequila in my bloodstream—but I have to speak up. “Let’s have fun today too, y’all!”

  A bunch of heads turn my way.

  “Nobody asked you,” Nicole says.

  “Oh, so you don’t want to have fun? I don’t believe that, especially considering how much you hog the ball.”

  Coach Walker just stands there. He’s probably wishing Dr. Salter were here to help him.

  “Don’t you think it would be more fun if we pass the ball to each other?” I ask. “Give everyone a chance to play?”

  “I agree,” Alyson says.

  “Me too,” Sydney adds.

  “Because otherwise, what’s the point?” I say. “I’m not having fun, Nicole. I’m tempted to walk away.”

  “Me too,” Chloe says.

  “Then why don’t you?” Nicole snaps.

  “Because then you’d have no subs,” I tell her. “C’mon, y’all. Let’s pass the ball. Communicate. Have fun.”

  “Yeah!” Chloe says, and Sydney joins in.

  A smile appears on Brittany’s face. “I’m in.”

  Slowly, all the other girls begin to clap and smile, and I haven’t felt this good about soccer since I left St. Andrew’s.

  Nicole puts her hand out, and we pile ours on top. “One, two, three, team!”

  During the game, we pass the ball and overall have a good time. I don’t even mind playing defense instead of forward, because Sydney rocks it.

  At halftime, we’re down 1–0 against Tullahoma, but we’ve been playing great. Well, everyone except for Chloe, who gets sick behind the bleachers. She should’ve tried Oliver’s hangover cure.

  During the second half, Sydney is on fire. With an assist from a momentarily revitalized Chloe, she rockets a shot into the upper left of Tullahoma’s goal.

  “Goal!” I scream, running up the field. The other girls hustle toward Sydney, surrounding her with hugs. She blushes and grins, laughing. I jump up and down. Chloe smiles but places a hand over her stomach.

  “You need grease ASAP,” I tell her.

  “That’s the first thing I’m going to do right after the game. Obtain grease.”

  The ref blows her whistle. Tullahoma kicks off, and Nicole runs up to meet the ball. She passes it off to Chloe. She dribbles a few feet before it’s stolen from her. A Tullahoma player boots it down the field my way. I stop it with my chest, and it falls to the ground in front of me with a bounce. I dribble a few feet, faking out a forward, then pass it up the left side of the field to Sydney. She’s like lightning as she attacks the ball and heads for the goal. She sidesteps a defender, rears back, and boots the ball. The Tullahoma goalie lunges for it but misses
.

  “Ahh!” I yell, running for Sydney. By the time I reach her, she’s beet red but jumping up and down. We encircle her again, patting her back. I bet the scouts will be keeping an eye on her from now on.

  “Wooooo!” Coach Walker hollers from the sidelines. Even he’s clapping.

  The rest of the game goes great. We pass the ball and call each other’s names. Alyson stops a ton of shots on goal. I’m grinning my butt off, even when Tullahoma scores a second time. But hey, a tie is great!

  When it’s all over, I throw an arm around Chloe. “You know what this tie means, right? You have to get trashed before every game from here on out. For good luck.”

  Chloe gives me an evil look to end all evil looks.

  After the game, Oliver wants to go out, just the two of us, so I give Ezra a kiss good-bye, and he makes plans for tonight to go to that dance club Oll is desperate to try. For now, I’m excited to spend time with my brother alone. I haven’t seen him since he went back to school at the end of summer, and talking on the phone is just not the same.

  My brother’s car is not much better than my Buick, but he loves it. Dad bought him a 1999 Mustang convertible. Oliver puts the top down before we peel out of the school parking lot. As always, he drives waaay too fast, and we argue over the radio station. I turn it to rock, and he keeps flipping back to rap.

  “Would you stop it?” I snap, pushing his fingers away from the radio.

  He smacks my hand.

  I let my hair out of its braid to feel it blowing in the wind.

  A cop car is up the street, so Oliver slams on the brakes, slowing way the hell down.

  “How was Jenna when you saw her last week?” Oliver shouts over the music.

  “Pretty good. She was her usual crass self.”

  “Hey, that’s my twin you’re talking about.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t devour you in the womb.”

  “Hey!” Oliver puffs out his chest. “We didn’t share an amniotic sac, so there’s no way she could’ve devoured me.”