Time and Time Again (Maybe #2.5)(6)

His lip twitches at my lack of graciousness. “Good. Don’t stress, okay? Everything will be alright.”

“Why are you always saving me?” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

“Clara,” he murmurs.

“Hmmm?”

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

They flutter open.

He swallows, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. After a few moments, his gaze lowers, now lingering on my mouth. “You don’t need saving, Clara. You’re not weak. You’re strong.”

Searching every inch of his face, I can see that he means what he says. In his opinion, I’m not weak at all.

He flashes me a panty dropping smile and then pushes off the bed, reaching his hand out to pull me up.

“Shall we?” he asks. “We better get out of here before I beat the shit out of your landlord.”

Probably a good idea.

Taking his hand, I let him pull me up until I’m standing facing him, our bodies almost touching. Reaching his other hand out, he tucks a strand of hair back behind my ear. I realise his hand is still holding mine.

I like it there. A little too much.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod once. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I step away from him, let go of his hand, and pick up my backpack, forgotten on the floor.

Then, I pack up my life.





That evening, I’m unpacking my belongings in Tag’s guest room. Not everything, just the basics to get me through the next week or so. I don’t plan on being here very long, just as long as it takes to find somewhere new. The room is completely white, except for the black bed sheets. It’s a very modern, tidy room, and I find myself liking it. I find myself liking its owner much more. After helping me pack, Tag called his friend. The two of them carried my furniture and disassembled my bed in record time.

“Clara, dinner’s ready,” Tag calls through the closed door.

I tie my damp hair in a knot on top of my head. “Coming!”

Dressed in a pair of track pants and a tank top, I smell something delicious as I walk barefoot into his kitchen “You cook too?” I ask, impressed at his skills.

He closes the oven before he replies, “‘Course I do. I hope you’re hungry.”

I look to the table, all the dishes spread out. Roast chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, and asparagus.

“This looks amazing,” I say, my stomach rumbling. I can’t even remember the last time I had such a meal.

“Take a seat,” he says, pointing to one of the chairs at the dining table. I sit down and wait as he brings me a plate and sets the dishes in the centre. I wait until he begins dishing out mashed potatoes on his own plate before I start to serve my own.

“Do your parents know you were about to get evicted?” he asks, still looking at his plate.

I shift on my chair. “No. I don’t talk to them much.”

Although they try and call me every other day.

“Why not?” he asks, now loading chicken onto his plate. “If they knew and didn’t care, I’d be f*ckin’ pissed.”

Inwardly cringing, I tell him as little as I can get away with. “I didn’t leave on the best terms with them.”

Understatement of the year.

I always thought I had the perfect family—loving parents who always spent time with me and gave me everything I needed and wanted. They doted on me, or so I thought. Really, I was only seeing what I wanted to see, and when I found out the truth, it hit me hard.

Tag nods his head, lifting his fork to his mouth.

I do the same.

Chewing slowly, he studies me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. “You ever need anything, you call me, okay? Right away. If I didn’t walk you to your door tonight, you would have hidden this, wouldn’t you?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“So damn stubborn,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Thanks to that stuffed unicorn, you now don’t have to worry about not having a place to say.”

My lip twitches at that. It’s true. If he didn’t insist on carrying that unicorn to my door, he never would have seen the notice, and I never would have told him or anyone else about it.

“Thank you,” I reply quietly, letting my tone speak my gratefulness.

Tag shrugs it off. “Anytime. I’ll ask Ryan and Reid if you can start at nine thirty instead of nine. That way, I can drop Isabella at school then bring you to work with me.”

“Will they be okay with that?” I ask, frowning. “It’s a little too early in my employment to be asking for favours, isn’t it?”

Tag chuckles. “They’re my friends. Trust me, it won’t be an issue.”

I arch a brow. “How long have you been friends for?”

“Years. Forever.”

“Sounds nice.”

We finish the meal in comfortable silence, and then I help Tag to clean up. Side by side, we stand at the sink. I wash, and he dries.

“Could you wash any slower?” he teases, holding the tea towel in his hand, waiting.

I splash him with a little water. “If I do it faster, they won’t be washed properly.”

“We should watch a movie after this,” he says. “Or are you going to bed?”