The Art & Science of Making Guy Friends (& What to do When They Fall in Love)

[29] Double Cock Block

It's trickier than one would think to climb into a hammock when there is already a person inside. The task becomes exponentially more difficult when you're afraid to touch said person.

It was masterful, really. If I hadn't been the victim, I might've marveled at the craftsmanship.

That golden retriever energy lulled you into a false sense of security, it caused you to lower your guard, to assume that everything he did was mere happenstance.

In actuality, Taylor was as wily as a damn fox. And I was very much a rookie stepping into the ring with a pro.

By slipping into the hammock first, he'd claimed all the plausible deniability for himself—he became a spectator, a passive player to be acted upon. He couldn't help how much we touched, because all he could do was lie there.

He didn't have to read the cues and make the judgement call, he didn't have to decide how much touching was acceptable here or how I should position myself.

Will he think I'm weird if I touch his stomach while I climb in? Do I scoot in next to him? On top of him? Under his arm? Do I rest my head on his chest?

From the smug expression on his face, I immediately knew that this had been a calculated decision—why else had he led me outside right before the sun would sink behind the distant horizon? He'd played me like a fiddle.

My skin grew hot and I actually stopped shivering as I loomed over the hammock. I grabbed hold of the rope to anchor it in place as I plotted my route of ascent.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, my eyes darted this way and that, trying to determine where I should put knee and elbow. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the mirth in Taylor's velvety brown eyes as he watched me wrestle with the very dilemma he had so artfully dodged.

"I have no idea how to get on this thing." I grumbled, as I lifted my leg and lowered it again.

Oh heavens, I was a bumbling idiot.

If I could just slither in next to him, that would be ideal, but every time I tried, the hammock lurched violently away and nearly dumped him out.

"Aria stop, stop, stop," Taylor began to chuckle, he caught my forearms in both hands and steadied the hammock, "you're going to tip us both over if you keep doing that."

I glowered at him, "I've never dangled in a bundle of ropes with a six foot man child, cut me some slack okay?"

His calloused hands gripped my wrists and I was still leaning awkwardly above him as the hammock bounced against my lower thighs like a boat bumping against a dock during the beginnings of a storm.

Taylor's eyes dipped from mine, to my lips, then lower, then back up again, "Let me help you."

Without waiting for a response, he tugged. I yipped in surprise. It was not graceful. It wasn't pretty. It was exactly the thing I was trying to avoid.

I literally fell on top of him.

... Or maybe he pulled me on top.

However you tried to spin it, the result was the same: I was lying on top of Taylor Arroyo and his body was like a wall of rock hard muscle.