Page 64 of That: Taylor & Brooks

He smirked, pulling her close, and placed a kiss to her lips, “That’s the goal.”

Taylor laughed, something unburdened falling from her frame. He’d thought of everything.

∞∞∞

Taylor took her time getting ready. She was so relaxed. The spa was perfect, the best sleep she’d got ina long time. She was excited about being outside. Brooks was keeping his promise at every turn. She couldn’t wait to thank him properly later.

She’d decided to wear a leather corset top, leather capri pants, and a matching leather trench coat. Her makeup was bolder now rich red lip, soft highlight, sharp wing. She wasn’t trying to be cute. She was trying to be unforgettable.

Brooks stepped inside and froze.

He didn’t speak. His eyes did the talking. Then came the low whistle, followed by a quiet, “Fuck the rest of the night.”

She smiled, one shoulder rising. “Too much?”

“Nah,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes dragging from her lips to her heels and back again. “That’s just right.”

She gave herself one last glance in the mirror.

“You sure I’m dressed for this surprise?”

Brooks laced his fingers with hers, leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“You dressed to ruin lives. Fuck you mean.” His voice dropped lower. “Let’s get outta here, so we can hurry up and get back.”

A breathy laugh slipped out as she turned away. “Brooks, stop it. You’re making me blush.”

He chuckled under his breath, then grabbed her hand, leading her out the door and toward the elevator.

He kept her close as they rode down, his hand on her back, he couldn’t stop touching her. When they stepped out into the night, he pulled her even closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.

And every few steps?

He stole a kiss.

Every time she looked away, every time her guard dropped just enough, he was there.

He couldn’t help himself.

“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” She asked as they slid into the backseat.

“Patience,” he murmured, his hand finding her thigh.

The car eventually pulled up to the Denver Performing Arts Complex, but instead of heading toward the symphony hall, Brooks guided her to a smaller theater where a crowd dressed in everything from streetwear to formal attire was gathering.

“What is this?” Taylor asked, taking in the diverse, stylish crowd.

He slipped two VIP passes from his pocket. “It’s Concrete Composed: The West Coast Hip Hop Orchestra. One-night-only. Full orchestra. All ‘90s West Coast classics, and other shit reimagined.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re serious?”

He gave her that signature smirk, smooth and smug in all the right ways. “When I saw Too $hort was on the program, I knew we had to come. Seemed a little too perfect of a coincidence, for me to miss it.”

She blinked. “You remembered…”

“I remember everything you tell me,” He said, and it wasn’t performative. Just fact.

His hand found the small of her back as they were escorted to their seats. Inside, they settled into plush seats, they had a perfect view of the stage. The space buzzed locals talking and catching up. This was black excellence, and she loved it.

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