I came to Tulsa, Oklahoma to celebrate Hanson Day with my friends. As a matter of fact, three of them are still in our hotel room in Tulsa, wondering about my whereabouts, I'm sure.
Where am I?
I have no fucking idea.
But my surroundings are beautiful and the only thing I'm using my phone for at the moment is taking pictures of the scenery as it passes me by faster than I'd like for it to. I don't ask Taylor to slow down so that I can capture anything. I haven't uttered very many words to him at all for the past hour. My head's still spinning and I'm still fighting to find the logic in my current situation.
I met him last night. Well, that's a lie. I guess. I guess it depends on your definition of "meeting." To me, it means having someone actually learn your name and call you by it. And maybe ask you what you do for a living. That's meeting. Shoving an autograph book at someone, or snapping a quick picture, is not much of a meeting. Not by my standards. Not technically.
But last night, I met Taylor Hanson. I met him and his brother, Isaac, in a bar after midnight. My roommates and I had decided we still had a little energy left in us after the last day of the weekend, and we wanted to have one last Mmmhops before bed. We weren't in the bar long to begin with when we found that they were out of the beer, and we literally met Taylor and Isaac in the doorway as we were leaving and they were coming in, ironically to check on the Mmmhops inventory. I, personally, thought it was an odd hour in which to do such a thing, but I didn't question it. My two friends and I stopped, dumbfounded, naturally, exchanged greetings, and expected to be on our way before Isaac got chatty. He offered to buy us a beer anyway, another brand that he preferred besides Mmmhops, and none of us even came close to thinking about turning him down. So we turned around, we followed them back inside the nearly empty bar, and took up a table near the back.
To my absolute horror, last night is kind of a blur. I try and I try to remember specifics, but all I remember is talking to Taylor nonstop. Actually, the bit parts I do remember have me chattering incessantly--which is embarrassing enough as it is. I know I'm a chatty drunk. I know how I can get. But I remember him smiling a lot, so it must not have been that bad. Or maybe he was drunk, too. Somehow I doubt that, but convincing myself that he was makes me feel better about myself.
Apparently, at some point in the night, he had gotten my phone number. I don't remember giving it to him and I don't remember him asking me for it. Honestly, I don't even remember having my phone in my hand at all until I picked it up to leave. Taylor's head was in his phone a couple of times and I remember asking him why he kept looking at his phone. And each time he laughed at me, amused, and kept telling me it wasn't his phone. My friends were all laughing around me, but I didn't know what they were laughing at. So I turned up my drink once more and tried to chat up Isaac until Taylor interfered, just like he always seemed to.
As I raise my phone again to take a picture of more green as it races past my window, it dawns on me, and I lower it and turn to look at him. "You stole my phone number last night."
"She speaks!" He cheers with a chuckle. "I was beginning to wonder if last night was a fluke."
"I was heavily inebriated last night."
"I'm aware."
"Where the hell are we?"
"You said you wanted to see Oklahoma."
He stumps me and I can't think of a comeback. Mostly because I can't recall that conversation, either. How much did I have to drink last night? Pondering this, I turn my attention back to my window.
"Why are you just now asking me this when you could have questioned my text this morning? Or even getting in my car at all?"
He doesn't drive a car. He drives a beast. I don't even know what it is, but it's black and it's big and it's tall with large wheels and I had to climb up it to get in it. Not really something you'd imagine Taylor Hanson driving, but my guess is its his own personal play toy. I bet his children have never even seen the interior of it.
"First of all, it was last night, because it isn't actually morning until I've slept. Second of all...I was intrigued. Sue me."
"Uh-huh," he sounds, unconvinced. "Well. Bet you're glad you decided to spend that extra day in Tulsa now, aren't you?"
I nod in semi-agreement. Only in semi-agreement because I'm still completely unsure of what's going on here.
"Besides, did you really think I'd let you contact that Instagram guy to try to show you around? Please. You came to see me, not him."
My eyes grow wide at this bold, narcissistic statement. I have a million comebacks for this running through my head right now, all of them bitchy and rude, and I decide to keep my mouth shut. After all, I'm still feeling him out.
Apparently my silence provokes him more. "Look. I know this seems weird. It's weird for me, too. And I know you were drunk last night, but you said a lot of things that struck a chord with me that couldn't all be just drunk talk. So I decided I wanted to take you to see a few things. We're on Route 66 right now, in case you haven't realized it yet."
I'm easily distracted by places I've never been, and the mention of Route 66 makes me feel like an excited puppy as I focus my attention back on my window, and I'm star struck for about a minute before I get back to the subject at hand. My heart pounds at what "profound" things I must have said to him and now I'm suddenly afraid of the drunken words that may or may not have come out of my mouth. "Well...what did I say?"
"Just...things. Things that--it doesn't matter. The point is, I'm showing you Oklahoma the way you should be seeing it--in a big truck, on all the back roads, one county at a time."
"One county at a--?"
"What's that?" He asks, changing the subject, pointing at my purse on the floorboard.
"That's a purse," I reply sarcastically. "Please tell me you know what one is."
"Maybe we should have ordered you two cups of coffee this morning."
Now I feel bad. The truth is, I'm sleepy. I'm sleepy and I'm confused. And then I decide that whatever I said last night couldn't have been too bad--maybe downright impressive--because it got me in the front seat of Taylor Hanson's...beast vehicle thing. So I instantly feel better when I decide to accept my situation for what it is.
"I'm talking about that cord hanging out of it," he continues, bringing me back to the present.
I grow embarrassed over my junk-filled bag that hangs open because I'm too lazy to close it. I hate having to open and close it all the time. "It's my iPod," I say nonchalantly as I crane my head closer to the window to have a better look outside.
"Plug it up," he says as he fiddles with his stereo.
I feel my face turn red as I smile at him. "No, thanks."
"Come on, just plug it up," he encourages.
"You're not gonna like what's on it."
"You don't know that."
"Pretty sure I do."
"Just plug it in."
I look at him and his smile and his blue eyes glittering behind the strand of hair that's fallen into them and I'm putty. I give in. It doesn't take much. Hell, all it took was a text to get me to take off with a stranger today. What's plugging in an iPod gonna do, land me in prison?
So I plug it in. It starts to play. And, as promised, the first song that comes on causes my face to turn burning hot in embarrassment. It's a rock song, roughly twenty years old or more, with a seductive beat and suggestive lyrics. Sitting in the car alone with him, knowing how attracted I've been to him, with this song playing, is not helping anything. At all.
I sneak a peek at him and I'm surprised to catch him with his eyes on the road, thumbing the beat against the steering wheel. In time to it. On point. I don't know what to think of this and I'm too embarrassed to ask about it, so I keep my mouth shut and look out the window some more.
A couple of minutes later, the song ends and my face cools off. And then, something more familiar comes on and I'm instantly happy and my face lights up in excitement. When I realize what it is, my face gets hot again and I become embarrassed. "Oh, yeah," I say sheepishly. "This is your song. Oops."
He smirks at me knowingly, but he doesn't reply. Then I turn the song and an ancient eighties pop song comes on and I want to die. So I reach for the cord to unplug my iPod and he slaps my hand away. "What are you doing?"
"You don't have to keep listening to this. I know my interests are...different from most people's."
"I'm curious. And it's my stereo. So back off."
I scoff at him. "It's my iPod."
"I'm the driver. I win."
Three songs later, we're singing along together at the tops of our lungs, laughing and forgetting my embarrassment.
At this point, we've been on the road for two hours. We've stopped once for gas and one other time so that I could take a picture of a random roadside motel. As I begin to see signs for Oklahoma City, I begin to realize just what's going on here.
"Tay, what are we doing?" I ask, calling him by a nickname I virtually have no right calling him by.
It doesn't seem to phase him. "I'm showing you Oklahoma."
"We've driving a long way."
"Not too long. It's okay."
For some reason, that's all I need, and we enter downtown Oklahoma City. "Oklahoma City is the state's capital. It only makes sense to bring you here. I mean, if you wanna see a new state, you go to the capital, right?"
"Uh...not always..."
"It does today."
I don't question him and I let him drive me into Oklahoma City--as if I have a choice. We spend a little time there, grabbing lunch and playing tourist. Before I know it, we're back in the beast and back on Route 66.
My phone rings as we start to drive again. It's one of my roommates. I start to panic just a little. "I have to take this. Nobody knows where I am."
He doesn't reply, he simply turns the volume down on the stereo. "Where are you?" She nearly screeches into the phone. "We've been worried sick about you all day, waking up and you being gone without a trace!"
I swallow hard. I feel so guilty. So terribly, horribly guilty. But so good at the same time. I am extremely comfortable with Taylor, it seems. At this rate, I'll let him drive me into outer space without a question. "I'm okay," is the only thing I can think of to say. "Everything's fine."
"Where are you? Why didn't you tell any of us you were leaving?"
"Well, I didn't leave. My stuff's still there."
"Yeah, but--"
"I'm with--"
And then I see Taylor's head whip around and he raises a threatening eyebrow at me. I'm nearly offended that he must doubt my intelligence that much. "I'm with a friend," I finish with my original intent.
"I didn't know you had any friends here."
I look at Taylor again. "Apparently I do."
"When should we expect you back?"
"Oh, I'll be back tonight," I assure her."
And then, much to my shock and my fear, Taylor shakes his head. I have to put the phone down. I can't ignore it. "What? What's that for?"
"We're not going back tonight."
My heart pounds. Suddenly I'm nervous, and not in a good way. "What are you talking about, not going back?"
I must be louder than I think, because I can hear my friend calling my name from my lap. I pick up the phone again, nearly fumbling and dropping it. "Uh--" I stop to clear my throat. "This is an overnight trip."
"But--but you're gonna miss sightseeing tomorrow..."
I look around my surroundings outside as we seem to have picked up speed. "I don't think sightseeing is gonna be a problem for me..."
"Where are you?" She presses again.
I grow frustrated and I tell her the truth. "I don't know! I don't--I honestly don't know where I am--"
"Do we need to call someone?" She asks with alarm.
My heart rate escalates at the thought of how far this could actually go. "NO!" I shoot at her. "No. Don't call anyone."
"Hang it up," Taylor hisses in a whisper all of a sudden.
"What?"
"Hang it up!" And then he starts to reach across the vehicle, attempting to take my phone away.
I jerk it out of his reach as the vehicle swerves. "Tay, what the hell are you doing?"
His eyes widen and he starts to hiss incoherent threats at me if I don't hang up the phone. I would be amused if I wasn't annoyed by now and I put the phone back to my ear. "Hey, I gotta get off here--"
"Who are you with? We'll make a code word or something. If you need me to help you, just say...cake."
I have to laugh. I can't help myself. "I promise you, I do not need help. I'm safe. I'm with a friend. Everything is okay. I'll touch base with you later. Promise."
This seems to satisfy her and I drop my phone in my lap as Taylor sweats bullets. "Care to tell me what that little display was all about?" I ask him.
"My wife doesn't know where I am."
This is the part where things are supposed to get uncomfortable. Except, oddly, they're not. They're not uncomfortable, because what I feel for him at this point is nothing more than platonic. This realization relieves me tremendously. Which still makes me question..."Why?"
I watch him furrow his brow as he thumbs the steering wheel to silence. "Because I didn't tell her."
"You just...I mean, do you just have a habit of just skipping town and not telling your wife?"
"No."
"So..." Then I sigh, exasperated. "You gotta put yourself in my shoes right now, Tay. This whole thing is--I've seen a lot of cool stuff today, but this whole thing is pretty bizarre when it gets right down to it."
"Sometimes I just like to drive. That's it. I told her I was visiting a music buddy and that we're seeing a show tonight and that I would be home tomorrow."
"Except that you're not."
He looks over at me and then back at the road. "Well, you like music, don't you?"
He has a point, but it's a desperate one. I can see right through him. "What are you running from? Problems at home?"
"No."
"Wife nagging you? You have a big fight? She putting the pressure on?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I told you. I'm showing you Oklahoma. She wouldn't understand."
"I don't even understand."
"Last night, you told me that the reason you came to Tulsa by yourself was because it would be better appreciated that way."
I furrow my brow in thought. I still don't recall saying it, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks because they're the truth. Did we really get that deep into conversation last night? Those are my personal feelings that I keep to myself. I don't share those feelings, not even with my friends. So why does he know?
"You told me that going on a trip with a person who doesn't appreciate being on one is worse than not going at all. Well, guess what? I live in Oklahoma and I appreciate it. So, who better to show you around, right?"
Tears spring to my eyes and I take a deep breath and blink them away before he can see them. "I, um, I'm pretty sure I didn't mean that quite so literally..."
"I know," he says simply. And then we drop the subject.
And then, speak of the devil, my phone rings. I look over at Taylor again. "It's my husband. I have to tell him. I have to tell him where I am."
He nods quietly and keeps his attention on the road.
"Where are you?" My husband asks. "Your friends are blowing up my phone."
"I don't know what they think you can do from two states away," I retort, a little more gruffly than I mean to.
"Are you okay? Do you need help? Cause your friends aren't convinced."
I look at Taylor again, white-knuckling the steering wheel. I'd hate to be in his position. It must be difficult being him sometimes, always having to watch your back and never knowing who to trust. I lose myself in thought for a moment before my husband's voice brings me back. "Well?"
"If I tell you where I am, you have to promise to keep it between us. Nobody can know. Not my parents, your parents, siblings, family, Facebook, anybody. Nobody."
"That's it. I'm calling the cops--"
"I'm in the middle of Route 66 with Taylor Hanson." I don't realize my eyes are squeezed shut until I open them after speeding the sentence out of my mouth.
"You're what?"
"You can't tell anyone. Not a soul. Just--just tell my friends I'm with a friend. Tell them you know the friend and everything's okay. Just--just keep it between us."
"Would you like to tell me why you're on Route 66 with Taylor Hanson?"
"Sightseeing," I spit out.
My husband is silent. I don't know what he's thinking. I'd like to care, but Taylor's eyes are boring into me as he glances at the road ahead of him. Time to end the call. "I'll call you before I go to sleep tonight. I'll send you some pictures, too. Okay?"
He seems satisfied with this and I'm surprised he's even half interested, though I know the only reason why is because Taylor's a man. If I had been with one of my girlfriends, this conversation would have been over in two seconds.
"I'm sorry," I say to Taylor as I end the call and finally resolve to putting my phone in my pocketbook at my feet. "He really is a trustworthy person. He won't tell anyone anything. But I can't keep secrets from him. You understand."
Taylor simply nods. I can't read him, but I decide that I don't want to. The less I stress over what's going on in his mind, the better.
After another half an hour, we've stopped so that I can finally take a picture of the Route 66 sign on the pavement. Taylor even indulges in a selfie or two of the two of us, with his phone, only to send to me after our little adventure has ended. He still doesn't completely trust me and that's okay. Being in the position he's in, I can't blame him.
We get back in the beast and we drive a little longer now, the late afternoon sun starting to drop, and Taylor merging off of Route 66 and onto another highway that I didn't pay attention to. Landscape and scenery is getting harder to see now with the gold light shining in our eyes, so we go back to my iPod.
After a song or two, I stop singing in the middle of the one we're singing along to and I find my eyes lingering on Taylor, watching him as the thumbs the steering wheel, bobs his head, and gets into the song. A smile creeps across my face at the sight, a memory coming back that likes to creep up on me like a disease, and he catches me. "What?"
I stare at him for a moment longer before I look back at the road ahead, trying to form my words correctly. "Have you ever...had any unfinished business before? Or maybe you didn't get closure or something?"
Who am I kidding? He's been married to the same woman since he was nineteen. What would he know?
"Like...wondering what might have been?" He guesses.
"No," I admit. "Not...no, not really. Just...when you dream about a person you don't love anymore and you don't know why you keep dreaming about them? Or certain things trigger memories that you'd rather not remember because you'd rather not think of them at all...?"
"Well," he says in thought. "Considering my situation...I mean, if we're talking about a relationship, then I guess I can't say I relate all that much."
"If we're talking about a relationship?"
He glances at me and smirks as he works the gear shift. "You think I don't wonder what might have been had we not gotten fucked by our record label?"
I nod and my eyes glance around as I take in his words. He has a point. I never thought of it that way before.
"Anyway, continue," he urges.
Suddenly what I have to say feels unimportant, so I rush through it. "Oh, well, my ex was a musician and what you were just doing reminded me of him. That's all."
"The way you make it sound, it must happen a lot."
"More than I'd like for it to."
"Do you miss your ex?"
I sigh. "No." That's the truth. "I don't miss him...I think I miss our friendship? Maybe? We connected on so many levels and had so much in common it was--almost like we shared a brain. I had a lot of good times with him. And my husband, well--he wouldn't know music if it slapped him in the face. And music is a big part of my life, amongst other things. We just...I love him, but we're polar opposite people. So...I guess, in a way, I kinda miss the companionship."
"I'd imagine you do, with a husband who spends all his time doing everything else but spending it with you."
I jerk my head over at him, finally having enough. "What did we talk about last night?"
"A lot," he admits. "Look. The long and short of it is, I like you. Drunk or not. I don't mean, like...you know, like that, I just think you seem like a good person who's been...you know, dealt a hand you didn't really deserve. And it just so happened that I needed a few minutes to clear my head after this crazy weekend and apparently so did you. I was going on this little trip anyway. Just decided you might want to tag along."
As touched as I am to hear this, I push my shock and awe out of the way for a moment as I screw my face up at him. "Yet, you had to lie to your wife."
"I love my wife. I love my kids. But if I had simply told her, 'I gotta get away and I don't want you guys with me,' it would start World War III in my house."
"But you're not alone. You asked me to come along."
"Yeah. 'Cause after last night, I decided I wanted to show you Oklahoma."
And we're back at that again.
I decide to leave it alone, once and for all. I shouldn't even be questioning this. What goes on in his personal life is none of my business. And whether I fall into the category of his personal life remains to be seen. Though I'm pretty sure I don't.
We had driven though a couple of tiny towns as we'd talked, and now darkness is upon us. It's late. I have no idea where we are and I think Taylor doesn't, either. Both our phones are nearly dead and we're starting to get snippy with each other from exhaustion. It's time to call it a day.
He pulls the beast into the parking lot of a small general store, a chain I'm familiar with, and I try not to be a little surprised, and star struck at the same time, at the fact that Taylor Hanson shops at these places. Truthfully, he probably doesn't, it just happens to be the first place we see.
I meet him at the front of the beast and I ask him what we need here. "Go get whatever you need for the night," he says.
"This is starting to sound worse and worse as the day goes by," I say. "Think about it. You text me in the middle of the night and tell me to meet you behind the hotel and don't tell my friends. You make a creepy display of being paranoid by my talking to them, tell me you're not taking me back tonight, and now you want me to 'get whatever I need?' Are you kidnapping me?"
"I mean, if you wanna sleep in your clothes and stink for the five or six hour drive back to Tulsa tomorrow, be my guest. But you won't be sitting next to me."
Once again, he has a point. Red-faced with embarrassment and slight frustration at this being his idea and not warning me to pack, I go into the store. I know he's milling around somewhere but I try to shop quickly before he sees me. I don't want him watching me shop for my personals. I find a cheap set of pajamas, a package of underwear, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and soap. My clothes aren't dirty, so I can wear them again.
As I rush back out to the beast, which he's already sitting in, I hear my stomach rumble and it makes me remember that it's late and we haven't had dinner. I don't press the dinner issue. Save for my little shopping spree, he's footed the bill for everything today. Kind of makes me feel guilty.
It's when we get to the hotel that I realize we're not even in Oklahoma anymore. We're in Texas. Just over the state line, apparently. And it's pouring rain. I find it funny that he's been harping about showing me Oklahoma all day long, but we end up in Texas. Once again, I decide to keep my mouth shut about it. He's being cranky to the receptionist and I decide to let whatever mood he's in blow over and he can interact with me whenever he feels like it. I'm not about to poke that gorilla.
He gets us two separate rooms, next door to each other. Makes sense to me. It doesn't take him long to come over to mine in his sock feet after we get settled in, however. I discover then that he's starving like me and that's what's been responsible for his mood. So we order a pizza delivery and we get drinks from the vending machine down the hall.
Waiting for the pizza, I check out the view from my balcony. There isn't much of one, but the rain has stopped and a light breeze blows through the air. I decide to crack my balcony door so that the fresh air can flow through my room and a conversation starts about the weather.
Our conversation goes on and on, right through the pizza delivery, right through dinner, and right through our candy bar desserts from another vending machine visit. We talk about everything under the sun, including the sun, and we laugh and we joke and we lose track of the time.
After our bellies are full and our muscles are cramping from laughter, exhaustion kicks in. Taylor says goodnight and adjourns to his own room and I call my husband, as promised. I have an entire day's worth of things to tell him, but I've woken him up and he seems disinterested in what I have to say, so our conversation lasts maybe five minutes. I text my friends to tell them, once more, that I'm okay and that I'll be back tomorrow afternoon sometime. Putting my phone down, I look around the room and sigh, finding myself alone once more in the deafening silence. Taylor and I had been so wrapped up in our conversation that I hadn't even attempted to find the television remote.
I still don't look for it as I head straight for the bath. A good, hot soak is just what the doctor ordered and, even though it's a standard-sized tub, hot water never felt so good.
I bathe and I wash my face free of makeup and I put on the new, poorly-made pajamas I'd bought just for tonight. It's tempting to just leave them in the room tomorrow, but their only saving grace are the cute cartoon giraffes covering the pants. The matching shirt is a black, long-sleeved shirt with a giraffe on the chest and, despite the questionable material, it still feels good to put on something clean after a bath. So I'm instantly comfortable.
I'm attracted to balconies. I've always loved them. There's a kind of magic to a balcony and you instantly feel like Rapunzel or Juliet every time you're on one. The higher the better, I say. We're mid-level in the hotel, so we're not terribly high up. There isn't much of a view, either, most of it is darkness, so I just enjoy standing there and taking in the breeze.
I prop my arms up on the balcony railing, letting the wind blow through my hair and I smile into the night. Opening my nostrils, I breathe in the fresh air, as we don't find ourselves in a downtown area, so the air naturally smells just a little fresher. I contemplate looking through hotel information and Googling where we are, when I feel heat behind me and Taylor's hands are gripping the balcony rail on either side of me.
I don't have time to react to his presence as the front of his body presses into the back of mine and his hot breath on my neck sends chills through my body that feel deliciously unnatural. His lips against my skin are criminal, and I know it, but I let my head fall to the side anyway and I close my eyes as my hand runs lightly up his bare forearm, my fingers trailing through the hair on his arm. Resisting him is futile. It has been all day. So I decide not to over-think it and let my body do whatever it's going to do.
The arm that I'd been caressing leaves the rail and begins to slide around my waist as he pulls me tighter into him. I tense up automatically, suddenly the most self-conscious I've ever been. I don't know what he's doing, I don't know what his intentions are, but I think it would be best to stop him before things go any further.
I turn around to face him, prepared to object, when he goes straight for my mouth, parting my lips with his tongue and melting me completely into him. His kiss is intoxicating, his lips perfect, his tongue with its seductive rhythm. His hips begin to rock into me in time with his tongue and I'm only getting more and more turned on.
He breaks our kiss and he pulls away, his hand drifting down my body and taking my own hand in his. As he pulls me toward the open sliding glass door and into the room, I have to stop him. I just have to, for my own sanity. "Tay," I say quietly. "Tay, wait. I just--I'm not attractive. Okay? I'm not--clothes do wonders if you wear them right. I'm not thin around the middle like the other girls. My breasts look atrocious, my thighs have more stretch marks than an elephant, and let's not even talk about how ghostly pale I am--"
"Stop saying that," he says.
"It's true. It's all true, I just--if this is what your intention is, I don't want you going in with any preconceived notions or disappointments--"
"Nobody's perfect," he whispers, taking both of my hands in his. "I'm not perfect, either. If I was really that shallow, I wouldn't be here. You turn me on because of who you are, not because of your body."
I want to cry. Nobody's ever said that to me before. I've never been God's gift to men. I've never been terribly attractive. And because my marriage has been so passionless for so long, I've become convinced that my husband has merely settled for me, only saying a few sentences to me per day, only touching me maybe once a month.
I watch Taylor pull his t-shirt off over his head and I take his body in in wide wonder. He isn't perfect. Not the way we like to think so. He doesn't have built up pecs, there are gray hairs peppering his chest, and he doesn't have abs or a flat stomach. He has a set of love handles that are kind of adorable and his biceps aren't terribly shapely. He isn't perfect at all. But he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "It's your imperfections that make you perfect," I whisper inaudibly.
A smile creeps across his face as he pulls me close to him by my hips. "Now you understand."
My throat catches in a cross between tears and desire. I look up at him, searching his face for something. Anything beyond that beautiful smile. "Did you--did you take me out today just so you can--?"
"I told you. Time and again. I wanted to show you Oklahoma."
"But we're in Texas," I whisper.
He shakes his head. "No. In this room, we're still in Oklahoma."
And then I belong to him, no questions asked. I am his and he is mine and he makes passionate love to my imperfect body in a way that I've never felt before. As I reach climax after climax, tears roll down my cheeks. It's the best sex I've ever had, and it's strictly because it's between two people who have a mutual understanding and...and appreciation for each other.
When we finish, we don't rush to get dressed. We don't cuddle, but we do shimmy under the covers beside each other. We lay there in silence for a moment, though not an awkward one, before it registers with me that he's in my room at all. "How did you get in here?" I ask.
I watch him smile at the ceiling before he side-glances at me. "You should really be careful where you leave your room key when you have company over."
I roll my eyes and I shake my head, but I'm smiling. He's unbelievable. I like it.
Then Taylor turns over on his side and looks down at me. "I've never done this before," he confesses.
"That makes two of us."
"But I don't regret it. I should. But I don't."
"I didn't think you were attracted to me like that."
"I wasn't. Until my song came on your iPod and you forgot it was mine. That's when I knew that you saw me for me and not as the band. And after that, I hung on to every word you said. So...I guess in a way, you and I both feel under-appreciated in some capacity or another."
"Are you saying...we both needed this?"
Taylor nods his head against the hand he has it propped against. "Yeah. Look, I just--I don't know the details of yours and your husband's relationship and if he seems like a nice enough guy, then that's fine. But he should still appreciate spending time with you. You shouldn't have to feel like taking a trip alone is the only way you won't feel alone. That's not right. But, I just want you to know that whenever you come to Oklahoma, there's someone here who will appreciate it with you. You won't be alone here."
Why is he saying all the right things? Why is he making me feel...appreciated? And worth it? Is it charity? Is it a booty call? What is it? What about his--?
"What about your wife?" I ask cautiously.
He sighs and he drops his eyes, picking imaginary lint from the linen. "She and I haven't slept in the same room for three months now."
I'm stunned. Shocked. Flabbergasted. On the surface, they look like the perfect, happy little family, all smiles and cuddles and such. But that apparently isn't the reality. "Why?" I ask.
"I wish I knew," he mutters. "I try to talk to her about it. She always changes the subject. I think part of it is that the passion has sort of taken a backseat to...well, to our lives, really. We haven't been on the same wavelength for a long time. And now I'm kinda stuck wondering what happens now. Do we go on for the sake of the kids or do we try to make it work for real?"
I don't know what to say. I feel like it's not my place to offer advice. Just like he said, he doesn't know mine and my husband's marriage and I don't know his and his wife's marriage. So I offer him the only thing I know I can truly offer him. "There was no shortage of passion in this room tonight. I know it wasn't...necessarily moral, but there was passion here. And everyone needs that sometimes. And you can know that any time I come to Oklahoma, I will be happy to appreciate it with you."
He looks at me for a moment and then he kisses me again, which I absolutely do not expect. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his body down over mine until I roll him over onto his back and I make love to him one more time before we fall asleep in each other's arms. I'm sure sleeping together, naked and tangled up in each other, isn't intentional either, but we're both past the point of caring.
The next day, after several more stops and hours of more endless conversation, he pulls up behind my Tulsa hotel just before the sun sets. "Thank you," I say to him. "For everything."
"Thank you," he clarifies. Then he glances at the steering wheel and back at me. "So this is probably going to be the last time I see you before you fly out tomorrow."
I nod, understanding this. I try not to be hurt by it, but the truth is, I'm not finished spending time with him, yet. I suppose fate has other ideas.
"Well," I say in an attempt to stay chipper. "If you change your mind, you know where I am."
He nods back. "I know. I think it's just best to leave it here. Um, truth is, I'd rather drop you off in Tulsa than at the airport."
For the past day and a half, his words have done nothing but shoot daggers into my heart. The man is depressed. My heart truly goes out to him. All he needs is a friend. And his wife. I hope they're able to work out their differences.
As I turn to climb out of the beast, he pulls me into the vehicle for one last kiss. I find this kind of surprising, but I don't turn it down. He's a fantastic kisser. Mutual respect and understanding or not, I still have a lustful attraction to him. That will never change.
The next evening on the plane, I cry all the way home. Not for him. Not for Taylor or us or the night we spent together. I didn't fall in love with him and he didn't fall in love with me. I cry because I'm going back home to reality. To a passionless marriage to a man who is good, but takes me for granted. But at least I had one night. I had one night--one whole night--when a man as gorgeous and desirable as Taylor Hanson wanted me and saw me as beautiful and taught me to love myself. And that, I wouldn't trade for the entire world.
I don't expect to hear from Taylor ever again. I don't expect for Hanson Day to negate a hookup every year. I don't expect him to recognize me on tour or online or any other means of connecting. I don't expect any of it. After all, he's a busy man with a reputation to uphold.
That's why I'm completely taken aback when I turn Airplane Mode off on my phone when I land and a text comes through--from Taylor, an our ago: "So. When are you coming back to Oklahoma?"
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe one of us has fallen. I'm just surprised it wasn't me who fell first.
Where am I?
I have no fucking idea.
But my surroundings are beautiful and the only thing I'm using my phone for at the moment is taking pictures of the scenery as it passes me by faster than I'd like for it to. I don't ask Taylor to slow down so that I can capture anything. I haven't uttered very many words to him at all for the past hour. My head's still spinning and I'm still fighting to find the logic in my current situation.
I met him last night. Well, that's a lie. I guess. I guess it depends on your definition of "meeting." To me, it means having someone actually learn your name and call you by it. And maybe ask you what you do for a living. That's meeting. Shoving an autograph book at someone, or snapping a quick picture, is not much of a meeting. Not by my standards. Not technically.
But last night, I met Taylor Hanson. I met him and his brother, Isaac, in a bar after midnight. My roommates and I had decided we still had a little energy left in us after the last day of the weekend, and we wanted to have one last Mmmhops before bed. We weren't in the bar long to begin with when we found that they were out of the beer, and we literally met Taylor and Isaac in the doorway as we were leaving and they were coming in, ironically to check on the Mmmhops inventory. I, personally, thought it was an odd hour in which to do such a thing, but I didn't question it. My two friends and I stopped, dumbfounded, naturally, exchanged greetings, and expected to be on our way before Isaac got chatty. He offered to buy us a beer anyway, another brand that he preferred besides Mmmhops, and none of us even came close to thinking about turning him down. So we turned around, we followed them back inside the nearly empty bar, and took up a table near the back.
To my absolute horror, last night is kind of a blur. I try and I try to remember specifics, but all I remember is talking to Taylor nonstop. Actually, the bit parts I do remember have me chattering incessantly--which is embarrassing enough as it is. I know I'm a chatty drunk. I know how I can get. But I remember him smiling a lot, so it must not have been that bad. Or maybe he was drunk, too. Somehow I doubt that, but convincing myself that he was makes me feel better about myself.
Apparently, at some point in the night, he had gotten my phone number. I don't remember giving it to him and I don't remember him asking me for it. Honestly, I don't even remember having my phone in my hand at all until I picked it up to leave. Taylor's head was in his phone a couple of times and I remember asking him why he kept looking at his phone. And each time he laughed at me, amused, and kept telling me it wasn't his phone. My friends were all laughing around me, but I didn't know what they were laughing at. So I turned up my drink once more and tried to chat up Isaac until Taylor interfered, just like he always seemed to.
As I raise my phone again to take a picture of more green as it races past my window, it dawns on me, and I lower it and turn to look at him. "You stole my phone number last night."
"She speaks!" He cheers with a chuckle. "I was beginning to wonder if last night was a fluke."
"I was heavily inebriated last night."
"I'm aware."
"Where the hell are we?"
"You said you wanted to see Oklahoma."
He stumps me and I can't think of a comeback. Mostly because I can't recall that conversation, either. How much did I have to drink last night? Pondering this, I turn my attention back to my window.
"Why are you just now asking me this when you could have questioned my text this morning? Or even getting in my car at all?"
He doesn't drive a car. He drives a beast. I don't even know what it is, but it's black and it's big and it's tall with large wheels and I had to climb up it to get in it. Not really something you'd imagine Taylor Hanson driving, but my guess is its his own personal play toy. I bet his children have never even seen the interior of it.
"First of all, it was last night, because it isn't actually morning until I've slept. Second of all...I was intrigued. Sue me."
"Uh-huh," he sounds, unconvinced. "Well. Bet you're glad you decided to spend that extra day in Tulsa now, aren't you?"
I nod in semi-agreement. Only in semi-agreement because I'm still completely unsure of what's going on here.
"Besides, did you really think I'd let you contact that Instagram guy to try to show you around? Please. You came to see me, not him."
My eyes grow wide at this bold, narcissistic statement. I have a million comebacks for this running through my head right now, all of them bitchy and rude, and I decide to keep my mouth shut. After all, I'm still feeling him out.
Apparently my silence provokes him more. "Look. I know this seems weird. It's weird for me, too. And I know you were drunk last night, but you said a lot of things that struck a chord with me that couldn't all be just drunk talk. So I decided I wanted to take you to see a few things. We're on Route 66 right now, in case you haven't realized it yet."
I'm easily distracted by places I've never been, and the mention of Route 66 makes me feel like an excited puppy as I focus my attention back on my window, and I'm star struck for about a minute before I get back to the subject at hand. My heart pounds at what "profound" things I must have said to him and now I'm suddenly afraid of the drunken words that may or may not have come out of my mouth. "Well...what did I say?"
"Just...things. Things that--it doesn't matter. The point is, I'm showing you Oklahoma the way you should be seeing it--in a big truck, on all the back roads, one county at a time."
"One county at a--?"
"What's that?" He asks, changing the subject, pointing at my purse on the floorboard.
"That's a purse," I reply sarcastically. "Please tell me you know what one is."
"Maybe we should have ordered you two cups of coffee this morning."
Now I feel bad. The truth is, I'm sleepy. I'm sleepy and I'm confused. And then I decide that whatever I said last night couldn't have been too bad--maybe downright impressive--because it got me in the front seat of Taylor Hanson's...beast vehicle thing. So I instantly feel better when I decide to accept my situation for what it is.
"I'm talking about that cord hanging out of it," he continues, bringing me back to the present.
I grow embarrassed over my junk-filled bag that hangs open because I'm too lazy to close it. I hate having to open and close it all the time. "It's my iPod," I say nonchalantly as I crane my head closer to the window to have a better look outside.
"Plug it up," he says as he fiddles with his stereo.
I feel my face turn red as I smile at him. "No, thanks."
"Come on, just plug it up," he encourages.
"You're not gonna like what's on it."
"You don't know that."
"Pretty sure I do."
"Just plug it in."
I look at him and his smile and his blue eyes glittering behind the strand of hair that's fallen into them and I'm putty. I give in. It doesn't take much. Hell, all it took was a text to get me to take off with a stranger today. What's plugging in an iPod gonna do, land me in prison?
So I plug it in. It starts to play. And, as promised, the first song that comes on causes my face to turn burning hot in embarrassment. It's a rock song, roughly twenty years old or more, with a seductive beat and suggestive lyrics. Sitting in the car alone with him, knowing how attracted I've been to him, with this song playing, is not helping anything. At all.
I sneak a peek at him and I'm surprised to catch him with his eyes on the road, thumbing the beat against the steering wheel. In time to it. On point. I don't know what to think of this and I'm too embarrassed to ask about it, so I keep my mouth shut and look out the window some more.
A couple of minutes later, the song ends and my face cools off. And then, something more familiar comes on and I'm instantly happy and my face lights up in excitement. When I realize what it is, my face gets hot again and I become embarrassed. "Oh, yeah," I say sheepishly. "This is your song. Oops."
He smirks at me knowingly, but he doesn't reply. Then I turn the song and an ancient eighties pop song comes on and I want to die. So I reach for the cord to unplug my iPod and he slaps my hand away. "What are you doing?"
"You don't have to keep listening to this. I know my interests are...different from most people's."
"I'm curious. And it's my stereo. So back off."
I scoff at him. "It's my iPod."
"I'm the driver. I win."
Three songs later, we're singing along together at the tops of our lungs, laughing and forgetting my embarrassment.
At this point, we've been on the road for two hours. We've stopped once for gas and one other time so that I could take a picture of a random roadside motel. As I begin to see signs for Oklahoma City, I begin to realize just what's going on here.
"Tay, what are we doing?" I ask, calling him by a nickname I virtually have no right calling him by.
It doesn't seem to phase him. "I'm showing you Oklahoma."
"We've driving a long way."
"Not too long. It's okay."
For some reason, that's all I need, and we enter downtown Oklahoma City. "Oklahoma City is the state's capital. It only makes sense to bring you here. I mean, if you wanna see a new state, you go to the capital, right?"
"Uh...not always..."
"It does today."
I don't question him and I let him drive me into Oklahoma City--as if I have a choice. We spend a little time there, grabbing lunch and playing tourist. Before I know it, we're back in the beast and back on Route 66.
My phone rings as we start to drive again. It's one of my roommates. I start to panic just a little. "I have to take this. Nobody knows where I am."
He doesn't reply, he simply turns the volume down on the stereo. "Where are you?" She nearly screeches into the phone. "We've been worried sick about you all day, waking up and you being gone without a trace!"
I swallow hard. I feel so guilty. So terribly, horribly guilty. But so good at the same time. I am extremely comfortable with Taylor, it seems. At this rate, I'll let him drive me into outer space without a question. "I'm okay," is the only thing I can think of to say. "Everything's fine."
"Where are you? Why didn't you tell any of us you were leaving?"
"Well, I didn't leave. My stuff's still there."
"Yeah, but--"
"I'm with--"
And then I see Taylor's head whip around and he raises a threatening eyebrow at me. I'm nearly offended that he must doubt my intelligence that much. "I'm with a friend," I finish with my original intent.
"I didn't know you had any friends here."
I look at Taylor again. "Apparently I do."
"When should we expect you back?"
"Oh, I'll be back tonight," I assure her."
And then, much to my shock and my fear, Taylor shakes his head. I have to put the phone down. I can't ignore it. "What? What's that for?"
"We're not going back tonight."
My heart pounds. Suddenly I'm nervous, and not in a good way. "What are you talking about, not going back?"
I must be louder than I think, because I can hear my friend calling my name from my lap. I pick up the phone again, nearly fumbling and dropping it. "Uh--" I stop to clear my throat. "This is an overnight trip."
"But--but you're gonna miss sightseeing tomorrow..."
I look around my surroundings outside as we seem to have picked up speed. "I don't think sightseeing is gonna be a problem for me..."
"Where are you?" She presses again.
I grow frustrated and I tell her the truth. "I don't know! I don't--I honestly don't know where I am--"
"Do we need to call someone?" She asks with alarm.
My heart rate escalates at the thought of how far this could actually go. "NO!" I shoot at her. "No. Don't call anyone."
"Hang it up," Taylor hisses in a whisper all of a sudden.
"What?"
"Hang it up!" And then he starts to reach across the vehicle, attempting to take my phone away.
I jerk it out of his reach as the vehicle swerves. "Tay, what the hell are you doing?"
His eyes widen and he starts to hiss incoherent threats at me if I don't hang up the phone. I would be amused if I wasn't annoyed by now and I put the phone back to my ear. "Hey, I gotta get off here--"
"Who are you with? We'll make a code word or something. If you need me to help you, just say...cake."
I have to laugh. I can't help myself. "I promise you, I do not need help. I'm safe. I'm with a friend. Everything is okay. I'll touch base with you later. Promise."
This seems to satisfy her and I drop my phone in my lap as Taylor sweats bullets. "Care to tell me what that little display was all about?" I ask him.
"My wife doesn't know where I am."
This is the part where things are supposed to get uncomfortable. Except, oddly, they're not. They're not uncomfortable, because what I feel for him at this point is nothing more than platonic. This realization relieves me tremendously. Which still makes me question..."Why?"
I watch him furrow his brow as he thumbs the steering wheel to silence. "Because I didn't tell her."
"You just...I mean, do you just have a habit of just skipping town and not telling your wife?"
"No."
"So..." Then I sigh, exasperated. "You gotta put yourself in my shoes right now, Tay. This whole thing is--I've seen a lot of cool stuff today, but this whole thing is pretty bizarre when it gets right down to it."
"Sometimes I just like to drive. That's it. I told her I was visiting a music buddy and that we're seeing a show tonight and that I would be home tomorrow."
"Except that you're not."
He looks over at me and then back at the road. "Well, you like music, don't you?"
He has a point, but it's a desperate one. I can see right through him. "What are you running from? Problems at home?"
"No."
"Wife nagging you? You have a big fight? She putting the pressure on?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I told you. I'm showing you Oklahoma. She wouldn't understand."
"I don't even understand."
"Last night, you told me that the reason you came to Tulsa by yourself was because it would be better appreciated that way."
I furrow my brow in thought. I still don't recall saying it, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks because they're the truth. Did we really get that deep into conversation last night? Those are my personal feelings that I keep to myself. I don't share those feelings, not even with my friends. So why does he know?
"You told me that going on a trip with a person who doesn't appreciate being on one is worse than not going at all. Well, guess what? I live in Oklahoma and I appreciate it. So, who better to show you around, right?"
Tears spring to my eyes and I take a deep breath and blink them away before he can see them. "I, um, I'm pretty sure I didn't mean that quite so literally..."
"I know," he says simply. And then we drop the subject.
And then, speak of the devil, my phone rings. I look over at Taylor again. "It's my husband. I have to tell him. I have to tell him where I am."
He nods quietly and keeps his attention on the road.
"Where are you?" My husband asks. "Your friends are blowing up my phone."
"I don't know what they think you can do from two states away," I retort, a little more gruffly than I mean to.
"Are you okay? Do you need help? Cause your friends aren't convinced."
I look at Taylor again, white-knuckling the steering wheel. I'd hate to be in his position. It must be difficult being him sometimes, always having to watch your back and never knowing who to trust. I lose myself in thought for a moment before my husband's voice brings me back. "Well?"
"If I tell you where I am, you have to promise to keep it between us. Nobody can know. Not my parents, your parents, siblings, family, Facebook, anybody. Nobody."
"That's it. I'm calling the cops--"
"I'm in the middle of Route 66 with Taylor Hanson." I don't realize my eyes are squeezed shut until I open them after speeding the sentence out of my mouth.
"You're what?"
"You can't tell anyone. Not a soul. Just--just tell my friends I'm with a friend. Tell them you know the friend and everything's okay. Just--just keep it between us."
"Would you like to tell me why you're on Route 66 with Taylor Hanson?"
"Sightseeing," I spit out.
My husband is silent. I don't know what he's thinking. I'd like to care, but Taylor's eyes are boring into me as he glances at the road ahead of him. Time to end the call. "I'll call you before I go to sleep tonight. I'll send you some pictures, too. Okay?"
He seems satisfied with this and I'm surprised he's even half interested, though I know the only reason why is because Taylor's a man. If I had been with one of my girlfriends, this conversation would have been over in two seconds.
"I'm sorry," I say to Taylor as I end the call and finally resolve to putting my phone in my pocketbook at my feet. "He really is a trustworthy person. He won't tell anyone anything. But I can't keep secrets from him. You understand."
Taylor simply nods. I can't read him, but I decide that I don't want to. The less I stress over what's going on in his mind, the better.
After another half an hour, we've stopped so that I can finally take a picture of the Route 66 sign on the pavement. Taylor even indulges in a selfie or two of the two of us, with his phone, only to send to me after our little adventure has ended. He still doesn't completely trust me and that's okay. Being in the position he's in, I can't blame him.
We get back in the beast and we drive a little longer now, the late afternoon sun starting to drop, and Taylor merging off of Route 66 and onto another highway that I didn't pay attention to. Landscape and scenery is getting harder to see now with the gold light shining in our eyes, so we go back to my iPod.
After a song or two, I stop singing in the middle of the one we're singing along to and I find my eyes lingering on Taylor, watching him as the thumbs the steering wheel, bobs his head, and gets into the song. A smile creeps across my face at the sight, a memory coming back that likes to creep up on me like a disease, and he catches me. "What?"
I stare at him for a moment longer before I look back at the road ahead, trying to form my words correctly. "Have you ever...had any unfinished business before? Or maybe you didn't get closure or something?"
Who am I kidding? He's been married to the same woman since he was nineteen. What would he know?
"Like...wondering what might have been?" He guesses.
"No," I admit. "Not...no, not really. Just...when you dream about a person you don't love anymore and you don't know why you keep dreaming about them? Or certain things trigger memories that you'd rather not remember because you'd rather not think of them at all...?"
"Well," he says in thought. "Considering my situation...I mean, if we're talking about a relationship, then I guess I can't say I relate all that much."
"If we're talking about a relationship?"
He glances at me and smirks as he works the gear shift. "You think I don't wonder what might have been had we not gotten fucked by our record label?"
I nod and my eyes glance around as I take in his words. He has a point. I never thought of it that way before.
"Anyway, continue," he urges.
Suddenly what I have to say feels unimportant, so I rush through it. "Oh, well, my ex was a musician and what you were just doing reminded me of him. That's all."
"The way you make it sound, it must happen a lot."
"More than I'd like for it to."
"Do you miss your ex?"
I sigh. "No." That's the truth. "I don't miss him...I think I miss our friendship? Maybe? We connected on so many levels and had so much in common it was--almost like we shared a brain. I had a lot of good times with him. And my husband, well--he wouldn't know music if it slapped him in the face. And music is a big part of my life, amongst other things. We just...I love him, but we're polar opposite people. So...I guess, in a way, I kinda miss the companionship."
"I'd imagine you do, with a husband who spends all his time doing everything else but spending it with you."
I jerk my head over at him, finally having enough. "What did we talk about last night?"
"A lot," he admits. "Look. The long and short of it is, I like you. Drunk or not. I don't mean, like...you know, like that, I just think you seem like a good person who's been...you know, dealt a hand you didn't really deserve. And it just so happened that I needed a few minutes to clear my head after this crazy weekend and apparently so did you. I was going on this little trip anyway. Just decided you might want to tag along."
As touched as I am to hear this, I push my shock and awe out of the way for a moment as I screw my face up at him. "Yet, you had to lie to your wife."
"I love my wife. I love my kids. But if I had simply told her, 'I gotta get away and I don't want you guys with me,' it would start World War III in my house."
"But you're not alone. You asked me to come along."
"Yeah. 'Cause after last night, I decided I wanted to show you Oklahoma."
And we're back at that again.
I decide to leave it alone, once and for all. I shouldn't even be questioning this. What goes on in his personal life is none of my business. And whether I fall into the category of his personal life remains to be seen. Though I'm pretty sure I don't.
We had driven though a couple of tiny towns as we'd talked, and now darkness is upon us. It's late. I have no idea where we are and I think Taylor doesn't, either. Both our phones are nearly dead and we're starting to get snippy with each other from exhaustion. It's time to call it a day.
He pulls the beast into the parking lot of a small general store, a chain I'm familiar with, and I try not to be a little surprised, and star struck at the same time, at the fact that Taylor Hanson shops at these places. Truthfully, he probably doesn't, it just happens to be the first place we see.
I meet him at the front of the beast and I ask him what we need here. "Go get whatever you need for the night," he says.
"This is starting to sound worse and worse as the day goes by," I say. "Think about it. You text me in the middle of the night and tell me to meet you behind the hotel and don't tell my friends. You make a creepy display of being paranoid by my talking to them, tell me you're not taking me back tonight, and now you want me to 'get whatever I need?' Are you kidnapping me?"
"I mean, if you wanna sleep in your clothes and stink for the five or six hour drive back to Tulsa tomorrow, be my guest. But you won't be sitting next to me."
Once again, he has a point. Red-faced with embarrassment and slight frustration at this being his idea and not warning me to pack, I go into the store. I know he's milling around somewhere but I try to shop quickly before he sees me. I don't want him watching me shop for my personals. I find a cheap set of pajamas, a package of underwear, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and soap. My clothes aren't dirty, so I can wear them again.
As I rush back out to the beast, which he's already sitting in, I hear my stomach rumble and it makes me remember that it's late and we haven't had dinner. I don't press the dinner issue. Save for my little shopping spree, he's footed the bill for everything today. Kind of makes me feel guilty.
It's when we get to the hotel that I realize we're not even in Oklahoma anymore. We're in Texas. Just over the state line, apparently. And it's pouring rain. I find it funny that he's been harping about showing me Oklahoma all day long, but we end up in Texas. Once again, I decide to keep my mouth shut about it. He's being cranky to the receptionist and I decide to let whatever mood he's in blow over and he can interact with me whenever he feels like it. I'm not about to poke that gorilla.
He gets us two separate rooms, next door to each other. Makes sense to me. It doesn't take him long to come over to mine in his sock feet after we get settled in, however. I discover then that he's starving like me and that's what's been responsible for his mood. So we order a pizza delivery and we get drinks from the vending machine down the hall.
Waiting for the pizza, I check out the view from my balcony. There isn't much of one, but the rain has stopped and a light breeze blows through the air. I decide to crack my balcony door so that the fresh air can flow through my room and a conversation starts about the weather.
Our conversation goes on and on, right through the pizza delivery, right through dinner, and right through our candy bar desserts from another vending machine visit. We talk about everything under the sun, including the sun, and we laugh and we joke and we lose track of the time.
After our bellies are full and our muscles are cramping from laughter, exhaustion kicks in. Taylor says goodnight and adjourns to his own room and I call my husband, as promised. I have an entire day's worth of things to tell him, but I've woken him up and he seems disinterested in what I have to say, so our conversation lasts maybe five minutes. I text my friends to tell them, once more, that I'm okay and that I'll be back tomorrow afternoon sometime. Putting my phone down, I look around the room and sigh, finding myself alone once more in the deafening silence. Taylor and I had been so wrapped up in our conversation that I hadn't even attempted to find the television remote.
I still don't look for it as I head straight for the bath. A good, hot soak is just what the doctor ordered and, even though it's a standard-sized tub, hot water never felt so good.
I bathe and I wash my face free of makeup and I put on the new, poorly-made pajamas I'd bought just for tonight. It's tempting to just leave them in the room tomorrow, but their only saving grace are the cute cartoon giraffes covering the pants. The matching shirt is a black, long-sleeved shirt with a giraffe on the chest and, despite the questionable material, it still feels good to put on something clean after a bath. So I'm instantly comfortable.
I'm attracted to balconies. I've always loved them. There's a kind of magic to a balcony and you instantly feel like Rapunzel or Juliet every time you're on one. The higher the better, I say. We're mid-level in the hotel, so we're not terribly high up. There isn't much of a view, either, most of it is darkness, so I just enjoy standing there and taking in the breeze.
I prop my arms up on the balcony railing, letting the wind blow through my hair and I smile into the night. Opening my nostrils, I breathe in the fresh air, as we don't find ourselves in a downtown area, so the air naturally smells just a little fresher. I contemplate looking through hotel information and Googling where we are, when I feel heat behind me and Taylor's hands are gripping the balcony rail on either side of me.
I don't have time to react to his presence as the front of his body presses into the back of mine and his hot breath on my neck sends chills through my body that feel deliciously unnatural. His lips against my skin are criminal, and I know it, but I let my head fall to the side anyway and I close my eyes as my hand runs lightly up his bare forearm, my fingers trailing through the hair on his arm. Resisting him is futile. It has been all day. So I decide not to over-think it and let my body do whatever it's going to do.
The arm that I'd been caressing leaves the rail and begins to slide around my waist as he pulls me tighter into him. I tense up automatically, suddenly the most self-conscious I've ever been. I don't know what he's doing, I don't know what his intentions are, but I think it would be best to stop him before things go any further.
I turn around to face him, prepared to object, when he goes straight for my mouth, parting my lips with his tongue and melting me completely into him. His kiss is intoxicating, his lips perfect, his tongue with its seductive rhythm. His hips begin to rock into me in time with his tongue and I'm only getting more and more turned on.
He breaks our kiss and he pulls away, his hand drifting down my body and taking my own hand in his. As he pulls me toward the open sliding glass door and into the room, I have to stop him. I just have to, for my own sanity. "Tay," I say quietly. "Tay, wait. I just--I'm not attractive. Okay? I'm not--clothes do wonders if you wear them right. I'm not thin around the middle like the other girls. My breasts look atrocious, my thighs have more stretch marks than an elephant, and let's not even talk about how ghostly pale I am--"
"Stop saying that," he says.
"It's true. It's all true, I just--if this is what your intention is, I don't want you going in with any preconceived notions or disappointments--"
"Nobody's perfect," he whispers, taking both of my hands in his. "I'm not perfect, either. If I was really that shallow, I wouldn't be here. You turn me on because of who you are, not because of your body."
I want to cry. Nobody's ever said that to me before. I've never been God's gift to men. I've never been terribly attractive. And because my marriage has been so passionless for so long, I've become convinced that my husband has merely settled for me, only saying a few sentences to me per day, only touching me maybe once a month.
I watch Taylor pull his t-shirt off over his head and I take his body in in wide wonder. He isn't perfect. Not the way we like to think so. He doesn't have built up pecs, there are gray hairs peppering his chest, and he doesn't have abs or a flat stomach. He has a set of love handles that are kind of adorable and his biceps aren't terribly shapely. He isn't perfect at all. But he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "It's your imperfections that make you perfect," I whisper inaudibly.
A smile creeps across his face as he pulls me close to him by my hips. "Now you understand."
My throat catches in a cross between tears and desire. I look up at him, searching his face for something. Anything beyond that beautiful smile. "Did you--did you take me out today just so you can--?"
"I told you. Time and again. I wanted to show you Oklahoma."
"But we're in Texas," I whisper.
He shakes his head. "No. In this room, we're still in Oklahoma."
And then I belong to him, no questions asked. I am his and he is mine and he makes passionate love to my imperfect body in a way that I've never felt before. As I reach climax after climax, tears roll down my cheeks. It's the best sex I've ever had, and it's strictly because it's between two people who have a mutual understanding and...and appreciation for each other.
When we finish, we don't rush to get dressed. We don't cuddle, but we do shimmy under the covers beside each other. We lay there in silence for a moment, though not an awkward one, before it registers with me that he's in my room at all. "How did you get in here?" I ask.
I watch him smile at the ceiling before he side-glances at me. "You should really be careful where you leave your room key when you have company over."
I roll my eyes and I shake my head, but I'm smiling. He's unbelievable. I like it.
Then Taylor turns over on his side and looks down at me. "I've never done this before," he confesses.
"That makes two of us."
"But I don't regret it. I should. But I don't."
"I didn't think you were attracted to me like that."
"I wasn't. Until my song came on your iPod and you forgot it was mine. That's when I knew that you saw me for me and not as the band. And after that, I hung on to every word you said. So...I guess in a way, you and I both feel under-appreciated in some capacity or another."
"Are you saying...we both needed this?"
Taylor nods his head against the hand he has it propped against. "Yeah. Look, I just--I don't know the details of yours and your husband's relationship and if he seems like a nice enough guy, then that's fine. But he should still appreciate spending time with you. You shouldn't have to feel like taking a trip alone is the only way you won't feel alone. That's not right. But, I just want you to know that whenever you come to Oklahoma, there's someone here who will appreciate it with you. You won't be alone here."
Why is he saying all the right things? Why is he making me feel...appreciated? And worth it? Is it charity? Is it a booty call? What is it? What about his--?
"What about your wife?" I ask cautiously.
He sighs and he drops his eyes, picking imaginary lint from the linen. "She and I haven't slept in the same room for three months now."
I'm stunned. Shocked. Flabbergasted. On the surface, they look like the perfect, happy little family, all smiles and cuddles and such. But that apparently isn't the reality. "Why?" I ask.
"I wish I knew," he mutters. "I try to talk to her about it. She always changes the subject. I think part of it is that the passion has sort of taken a backseat to...well, to our lives, really. We haven't been on the same wavelength for a long time. And now I'm kinda stuck wondering what happens now. Do we go on for the sake of the kids or do we try to make it work for real?"
I don't know what to say. I feel like it's not my place to offer advice. Just like he said, he doesn't know mine and my husband's marriage and I don't know his and his wife's marriage. So I offer him the only thing I know I can truly offer him. "There was no shortage of passion in this room tonight. I know it wasn't...necessarily moral, but there was passion here. And everyone needs that sometimes. And you can know that any time I come to Oklahoma, I will be happy to appreciate it with you."
He looks at me for a moment and then he kisses me again, which I absolutely do not expect. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his body down over mine until I roll him over onto his back and I make love to him one more time before we fall asleep in each other's arms. I'm sure sleeping together, naked and tangled up in each other, isn't intentional either, but we're both past the point of caring.
The next day, after several more stops and hours of more endless conversation, he pulls up behind my Tulsa hotel just before the sun sets. "Thank you," I say to him. "For everything."
"Thank you," he clarifies. Then he glances at the steering wheel and back at me. "So this is probably going to be the last time I see you before you fly out tomorrow."
I nod, understanding this. I try not to be hurt by it, but the truth is, I'm not finished spending time with him, yet. I suppose fate has other ideas.
"Well," I say in an attempt to stay chipper. "If you change your mind, you know where I am."
He nods back. "I know. I think it's just best to leave it here. Um, truth is, I'd rather drop you off in Tulsa than at the airport."
For the past day and a half, his words have done nothing but shoot daggers into my heart. The man is depressed. My heart truly goes out to him. All he needs is a friend. And his wife. I hope they're able to work out their differences.
As I turn to climb out of the beast, he pulls me into the vehicle for one last kiss. I find this kind of surprising, but I don't turn it down. He's a fantastic kisser. Mutual respect and understanding or not, I still have a lustful attraction to him. That will never change.
The next evening on the plane, I cry all the way home. Not for him. Not for Taylor or us or the night we spent together. I didn't fall in love with him and he didn't fall in love with me. I cry because I'm going back home to reality. To a passionless marriage to a man who is good, but takes me for granted. But at least I had one night. I had one night--one whole night--when a man as gorgeous and desirable as Taylor Hanson wanted me and saw me as beautiful and taught me to love myself. And that, I wouldn't trade for the entire world.
I don't expect to hear from Taylor ever again. I don't expect for Hanson Day to negate a hookup every year. I don't expect him to recognize me on tour or online or any other means of connecting. I don't expect any of it. After all, he's a busy man with a reputation to uphold.
That's why I'm completely taken aback when I turn Airplane Mode off on my phone when I land and a text comes through--from Taylor, an our ago: "So. When are you coming back to Oklahoma?"
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe one of us has fallen. I'm just surprised it wasn't me who fell first.