The Cruelest Summer

Chapter 9- The First Night

 "I've never seen someone so thrilled about absolutely shitty weather," Joe crooned, once the two were finally inside. His British accent was extra thick on the word 'shitty', which made Taylor giggle.

"Well, I suppose I haven't stood in the rain in a long time," she explained.

Taylor couldn't recall the last time she had gotten caught in a storm. Maybe freshman year of high school? She had a distant memory of her and Abigail running home from a football game mid-downpour. Truthfully, because she was always surrounded by security or crowds of people, the opportunity to frolic in the middle of a rainstorm had never presented itself.

"You should come to London then," Joe suggested. "It's always raining. You're pretty much guaranteed to stand in the rain at least four times a week."

"Oh you have no idea, I would literally kill to experience a real rainy day there," Taylor said melancholily. Not like that's ever going to happen. Imagine me...walking along Notting Hill in the rain. That would turn into a paparazzi nightmare.

Taylor watched Joe search her face. She sensed that he recognized some achiness in her words. "Well, you can always live vicariously through me," he said brightly. "I can be such a wanker and have a tendency to show up to parties soaking wet. I always walk or take the tube and can never seem to remember my umbrella."

Taylor laughed. She could almost picture it: Joe frantically running into a pub for a dry escape, t-shirt soaked. Too bad I'll never get to see that in real life.

She started pulling off her boots, dumping out the puddle of water that had somehow gotten in. "God, I'm sooo wet," she mumbled.

"You know, I could probably get you even wetter," Joe teased.

Taylor let out a breathy laugh. "Joe!"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. He had such a wicked sense of humor. It was actually quite attractive to her. Tom never made any dirty jokes- everything was uber polite with him.....and Adam always managed to take things too far to the point that Taylor became uncomfortable.

"We'll see about that," she quipped, booping Joe on the nose. She instantly regretted the boop- it was something she did to Meredith for God's sake- but Joe didn't seem to mind.

"We should probably get out of these wet clothes though," Taylor quickly added.

"I think that's a good idea."

"Come, err follow me upstairs."

Taylor motioned towards the stairwell just off the entryway. The stairs were lined with a damask-print rug and littered with red wine stains. She was rather embarrassed by the condition of the place. She reasoned that Joe was far too kind to say anything about it, but it was still humiliating. You'd think that with $300 million and a full-time staff, Taylor would be able to keep her apartment clean. Housework had proven to be a difficult task for her over the past few weeks. She had no energy to tidy-up and had decided to send most of her staff on a paid-vacation to avoid human interaction. It was fucking pathetic.

"Your rental is really nice," Joe murmured. He pointed to a photograph on the wall of the upstairs hallway. "I like that you put up pictures of your family."

Taylor smiled at the image of her Mom and Austin at the beach in Rhode Island. "Thanks. It's probably the only thing of my own that's up here. Besides the booze and snacks of course. Everything else is the owners'- towels and all."

"I could sense that this place isn't your style," Joe said once he and Taylor reached the guest bedroom.

"What do you mean?" I barely know this guy- how the fuck does he know what is and isn't my style? Granted, this actually isn't my style- I'm into cottage gore and shit- but still...how did he come to that conclusion?

"I dunno. I guess I pictured you living in a cottage somewhere like the lakes or a rustic colonial- something cozy and warm," Joe elaborated.

"Interesting," Taylor mumbled. She made a mental note to look up the 'lakes' later.

"We can umm change in here," she said, taking Joe into the ensuite bathroom.

"You look extra gorgeous in this lighting," he whispered once they were standing in front of the mirror.

"How?" Taylor's mascara had dribbled down her cheek and her hair looked like that of a wet dog's- it was matted in all the wrong places.

"This is the first time I'm seeing you in good lighting. It was dark at both bars and the Met," he explained.

She blushed furiously. "You don't look half bad yourself." She smiled at Joe's soft dimples and strong jawline. I bet a sculptress shaped his face when he was baby- he's just that.....beautiful.

"Why thank you," Joe said in a breathy tone.

Fuck, his voice is hot!  Taylor could feel the anticipation building. She could almost see it- the tension crystallizing, the desire reaching its boiling point. She was about to fucking explode. Taylor was convinced Joe felt the same way as he brought a hand up to her hair. Their eyes locked for a moment and they searched each other's faces. Taylor felt like she was going to sink and drown and die again.

"Are you sure you wanna-" Joe started.

"Yes! I'm sure," Taylor said eagerly.