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If only she hadn't drunk so much beer...

She should have stopped at two herself.

"No, I don't, but I want to."

"And I'm not perfect."

"Oh yes you are. Don't for one minute pretend you're not."

"I'm not."

"You're the fucking favorite after Brian, Taylor. You're what all of us are supposed to be, so that Mom can show us off to the neighbors."

"I want to be like you, actually."

Andy stared at her, obviously looking for some sign that she was teasing him, or just sucking up. He maintained his stare, waiting for her to crack. She didn't. It was easy not to, feeling as drunk as she very suddenly did. It was as if the wine had been waiting for the right moment and now hit her all at once

"I do, Andy. I'm tired of never fucking up."

As soon as the words came out she almost tried to bite the air to pull them back. Instead she bit her lip, and worried that he'd ignore her from this point on.

Oddly, Andy's expression didn't change, at first. More oddly, when it did, he smiled.

"I can teach you."

He was so cute when he smiled. He really was just cute all the time, even when he was pissed. A guy like Andy would be perfect for her, even one as rebellious and cluelessly irresponsible as him.

In fact kissing him hadn't been at all bad, she had to admit. Not at all.

Andy turned away to look more closely at another painting, bending over to pull it from a stack and hold it up in the light. He had a cute ass, too.

That was only the wine talking, Taylor thought, as she continued to stare at his butt. She felt a wave of dizziness. She leaned on the musty old comfy chair beside her for support, still staring as he turned around abruptly to display the painting.

"What do you think?"

Taylor snapped her eyes up, trying to pretend she hadn't been doing what she had been doing, and knowing that by just thinking about it she was starting to blush. He could certainly read her face, if not her mind. He always could. It was like he was in her head, half the time.

He was showing her a really dumb, impressionist painting of a Victorian couple out in a rowboat on a lily covered pond, near a shore lined with weeping willows. They were joined on the water by a pair of white swans. A part of her knew he'd think it was awful, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Instead she looked dumbly at him, while telling herself that yes, he did have a nice ass.

"It's nice."

"You were thinking something."

"No. Nothing."

"Yes, you were. Tell me."

Taylor bit her lower lip. She kept trying to think of something acceptable to say, when finally, out of options, she settled for a version of the truth.

"I was thinking that you're cute."


He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Yes. You are. I don't know why you're not married yet."

He laughed a laugh that said "not you, too," but said something else.

"Maybe I just haven't met the right girl."

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

Andy stared at her then.

"Do you really want to fuck something up?"

That question caught her off guard. She didn't want him to think she'd just said it, that she had made it up. It really was true. She got so tired of always doing the right thing. She got tired of being bored, boring, and perfect, and it was really getting her nowhere fast.

Mom and Dad and Brian and Mary all said he fucked a lot of things up, but Andy never got into serious trouble as a result. Things always worked out just fine for him, but with a lot less hassle, and a lot less worrying and anxiety, and a whole lot less effort. Taylor wanted to be like that. She hated herself, sometimes, for the excess effort and care she put into everything from earning her doctorate to shopping for groceries. Or even sex, or choosing a partner to have sex with.

"Yes, I do."

He stepped up to her, so close that she could smell the beer on his breath. His eyes suddenly filled her entire field of vision. It was like they had suddenly grown to block out the whole room. They looked just like Dad's, but with a sinister twinkle that Dad had never shown.

"How badly do you want it?"

The way he'd phrased t

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