Page 36 of Tangled Up In You
“Sometimes you’d have trouble sleeping because you got into these mindsets where you obsessed over death and what happens when we die, so we’d stay up all night talking about anything and everything just to get your mind off it.”
Guilt gnawed at my gut upon remembering Corbin’s words from a few nights ago. Hedidknow the real me, and I was mad at myself for telling him otherwise. I’d just tried to place the blame on him because I’d hoped it would help me cope with everything.
It only made me feel worse.
My phone sat on the coffee table in front of me, and I stared at it instead of at my book. Not evenThe Iliad, one of my all-time favorite stories, could distract my mind enough that night.
For all the heartache I’d been through with Corbin, there’d been more laughs and good times than anything else. Before we’d been lovers, we’d been best friends, and I missed him more than words could convey.
The years apart did nothing to ease that ache.
“Stop being a chicken shit and call him,” I said to myself, aware of how nuts I sounded but whatever. Giving yourself pep talks was healthy.
But right as I grabbed the phone, my courage faded and I set it back down.
Iwouldcontact him.
Just not tonight.
Chapter 12
Corbin
I was disappointed in Hunter. I thought if I stepped back, he would take charge. That he’d try to reach out to me. His lack of doing so proved to me that he didn’t care about me anymore, or at least proved he didn’t care enough.
I’d been naïve to think he’d still want me in that way after seven years of being apart.
Hehadwanted me for a bit anyway. I could still feel his lips trailing down my neck, feel his hands roaming my abs, and feel the weight of his body on mine. His taste was seared into my memory, as were his soft sighs and breathy moans.
We hadn’t lost any spark in the bedroom. That was for sure. But when it came to us trying to figure out where we were headed for our future, everything had derailed.
It was a bit comical thathewas the English scholar who lived and breathed classic literature that practically screamed romance and true love, and yetIwas the die-hard romantic out of the two of us.
He was the skeptic who questioned everything. Questioned life and love. And me.
Just because I’d eventually go back to Kansas City didn’t mean I had to stop seeing him. He didn’t see it that way. He believed I was nothing but a damn man-whore who couldn’t keep it in my pants, as if my fame had made me throw away all of my morals.
I’m sure he’d be surprised if he knew all the offers I’d turned down over the years. Way more than I ever gave in to.
“Have a great day, Mr. Taylor,” Joe at the bank said after handing me back my license.
That Monday had been busy. I’d had to go down to the bank and talk to them about the house, and then from there I’d had to get the deed transferred in my name. It was a bunch of crap I didn’t feel like doing, because it was just further proof that I was alone in the world. Maybe a bit dramatic, but still true.
Since Hunter was being a stubborn ass, there was no point in me sticking around town longer than necessary. So painful or not, I just wanted to get everything over with so I could leave.
As I got back into my car—well, it was the Cadillac I’d bought for Grandpa two years ago—my phone rang, and as stupid as it was, my heart jumped at the possibility of it being a certain brown haired, glasses wearing, infuriating asshole who I still fucking loved regardless of everything.
Nope. Not him.
“Hey, V,” I answered.
“I just got home from my shoot in Milan,” Veronica said. Her accent was stronger, which told me she was worried or worked up about something. Her words tended to muddle together when she talked fast. “I saw the news of you grieving a loss. Your grandpa?”
I should’ve been surprised that the damn reporters had somehow figured out my private business, but after nearly four years of them prying into my personal life, nothing they did shocked me anymore.
It was a miracle that nothing had been leaked about my sexuality as of yet. William and I’d been good at keeping our relationship private, but still. Reporters and paparazzi were like leeches who would feed off anyone or anything to get a good story.
“Yeah,” I answered, having to clear my voice afterward. “I’m back in my hometown getting it all taken care of.”
