Page 59 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Twenty-Six

Connor

I had an hour between two classes, and instead of working on my own routines like I’d usually do with the time, I had flopped on the floor of the studio and was staring up at the ceiling, questioning my life choices.

For not the first time today, I asked myself what the ever-loving fuck I was doing.

Back in Devon, I’d promised myself that I would shoot down a relationship with Patrick before we tried, failed, and cried miserably. Except that since we’d been back, I’d done absolutely nothing of the sort. Instead, I’d done the opposite and had spent every moment I could with him. We’d made dinner together, watched movies—well, started them at least—and then fallen into bed together. It had been perfect every time, and it felt like I was living in a fantasy.

The only concession I’d made was that I went home to my own bed every night. According to my ridiculous brain, we couldn’t be dating if we weren’t spending the night together, regardless of what we did beforehand. I tried not to think too hard about it, despite the fact that I was basically the living definition of an eye-roll emoji. Or maybe a facepalm.

The other line of reasoning my brain had come up with was that if I didn’t acknowledge what was going on or talk to Patrick about it, then technically I wasn’t breaking my promise. If we didn’t talk about it, we couldn’t start a relationship, and if we didn’t start a relationship, then we wouldn’t fail at having one. Simple.

Except it wasn’t simple at all. It was stupidly, ridiculously over-fucking-complicated, yet I still couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.

I was a giant class-A idiot.

I sighed and threw my arm over my eyes, wondering if it would be possible to sleep for the next fifty minutes and escape my self-inflicted idiocy. Maybe I should talk to someone. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to call me out on my bullshit and who’d tell me whether I was being a dick or whether my fears were genuine. There was only one man I knew who fit that description. My best friend since the age of twelve. Taylor.

Grabbing my phone from the table where it had been resting, I shot him a message to see if he was free. I had no idea whether he was in his office today or working from home. It was Friday afternoon, so I assumed he’d be at home.

My suspicions were confirmed two minutes later when Taylor’s face appeared on my screen.

“I’m going to assume something is really fucking wrong,” Taylor said as soon as I swiped the green icon.

“How do you know?” I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, it’s Friday afternoon. You teach a class at four, then at six, then quarter past seven, and in the middle, you do your own practice. Except today you’re asking me if I’m free during your hallowed practice time, so I’m going with something’s wrong.”

“I feel like I should be worried that you know my schedule so well.”

“Babe, it’s been two years. It’s not hard to remember.”

“Fine.”

“So, what’s up?”

I sighed, wondering where to start. “Do you remember last year when I came to see you, and I told you I didn’t think Patrick would ever like me romantically.” I’d gone to visit Taylor in London, and we’d gone out with his not-quite-boyfriend-at-the-time, Simon. A couple of cocktails in, which had been stronger than I’d anticipated, I’d told Taylor that I didn’t think anything was ever going to happen with Patrick. At the time, I’d been convinced nothing was going to. I’d always told myself I’d put my feelings for Patrick in a box, and I had. Mostly. Except when I was drunk. Which was why I never drank around Patrick.

“Yeeees,” Taylor said suspiciously. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time. Talk.” Taylor’s voice was firm, and I wanted to giggle.

“I’m not Simon. You can’t use your Dom voice on me.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Taylor said, and I could hear the smirk in his tone. I knew exactly what expression was on his face, and I was hit with a wave of longing. All I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa with him, a bottle of wine, and an enormous pizza and pour my heart out to him. Taylor had always been there for me, throughout all the highs and lows of my dating life. He knew all my secrets, and I trusted him with my life. “C’mon, babe. Stop stalling and talk to me. You wanted my advice, and I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“Ugh, fine.” I rolled my eyes, more at myself than at Taylor, then I told him everything, starting with the moment Patrick had told me he was gay and ending with last night when we’d spent the evening curled up on the sofa, and I’d blown Patrick while we watched some movie on Netflix. I left out a couple of minor details, like the fact that Patrick had been a virgin, because they weren’t my details to share. But I told Taylor everything else, including my ridiculous emotional back-and-forth. If anyone stood a chance of unpicking this tangled mess it was him.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Taylor said.

“I feel like there’s a joke in there,” I interjected, smiling up at the ceiling and twirling my foot in a circle where it was rested on my opposite knee. I felt a little lighter after telling him everything. Just getting it out in the open seemed to have relieved some of the pressure building up in my chest.

“Don’t start.”

“Spoilsport.”

---