March, 2016
Taylor was alone in her kitchen, rinsing off the dishes she used to make her pasta. This summer just seemed to be endless tubs of pasta and dishes left in the sink since she was too mentally exhausted to clean them, but today the alcohol in her gave her a sudden boost of energy, and she felt ready to clean her entire house whilst blasting Bon Iver.
A notification pinged on her phone and she curiously put down a soapy bowl to check it.
JFrost played 'jezebel'. 75 points.
Taylor scoffed at the word and immediately typed a response into the little box at the bottom of her screen. Joe had been playing her so slowly today, only sporadically making a move every few hours. Yet here she was, down bad as ever, only making him wait exactly seven seconds. Some might call this behaviour pathetic.
I feel like your word was a direct attack at me, Taylor wrote into the side chat of the Words with Friends app. Seems quite fitting for my current 'phase' this summer.
Taylor put down her phone and continued to do the dishes, but her eyes darted to the screen every few minutes to see if he had responded to her. She took another sip of her merlot, and she was getting slightly miffed by the fact that he wasn't replying to her. Downing the last sip of wine, she impulsively stalked upstairs to her wardrobe, where she changed into a rather transparent midnight blue dress.
She pressed a button on the intercom that sat on her bedside table and heard a crackle of static noise burst through the mic, meaning her call was attended to.
"Brandon? I think I'll be going out for a little outing tonight."
:::
"Yes. This is the place," Taylor confirmed one more time to her bodyguard assertively, who had a slightly puzzled look on his face. "Thank you."
She walked up the red bricked steps and hesitated slightly before ringing the doorbell. Her hair was sensibly tucked into a small ponytail in her neck, and the sheer fabric of her dress was smartly concealed by a light designer jacket.
The door finally opened and a tall blonde man stood behind it. His features were a slight blur to her, but they didn't match the exact ones she had in mind.
"You're not Joe," she finally murmured to herself, feeling the alcohol in her stomach lurch. Maybe coming here was a massive mistake. One she didn't realize until she was standing on someone's front porch, directly facing it.
"Holy shit, you're—" The man stuttered out, realizing what a fool he was making of himself by telling her who she was. "You're looking for Joe? Joseph?"
"Y-Yes. Joe." Taylor exhaled, now slightly anxious. She was trying extremely hard not to bite her fingernails, a habit that recurred whenever she was nervous or her anxiety was at a mercurial high.
"Ah. Joe's here, but he's not exactly... free right now. Do you mind waiting in his room? I swear Mum will chop his leg off if he tries to leave the table before dinner ends. She's too excited about him returning from America." The man replied humourously. What the fuck was Taylor Swift doing on his front porch, calling on his younger brother?
"That would be... ideal. Thanks." Taylor almost whispered.
As she followed him through the foyer of the house, she saw a pile of shoes including numerous pairs of football cleats, and multiple family photos on the walls. Although there were many solo pictures of near identical blond haired and blue eyed toddlers, Taylor knew exactly which ones were of Joe. She snuck by a large room to go up the stairs, and the sound of knives and forks clattering as well as the smell of a homely Sunday roast overcame her senses.
