Tyler (22 page)

‘
You awake?’
I type.

The reply comes seconds later.
‘Yes. Wanna go for a ride?’

‘
A ride where?’
I type and wait.

Two seconds later I get a reply.
‘Anywhere you want.’

Trying not to read more into the simple words, I type back,
‘Sure. When?’

‘
Be there in 5.’

My heart is beating way too fast, and my legs tremble. Joy floods my mind at the thought of seeing him again. I jump up and open my closet. I stare at the sweaters, pants, skirts and blouses, and my mind goes blank.

How will I break the news to him? Just blurt it out? Ask him if he likes children first? Isn’t that lame?

I sigh as I put on my trusty old jeans and long black sweater and pull my hair back in a ponytail.
Dive headfirst, girl.
With Tyler, that’s the only way.

***

The helmet is heavy, and the cold pierces my jacket, but nothing can pry my arms from around Tyler. My gloved hands are splayed on his muscled stomach, and I’m pressed to his broad back as we ride through the night.

He takes us along Waunona Way by the lake and stops right on the shore. The breeze blowing over the water is frigid, and we stand among houses and gardens. He waits until I climb off his bike and take off the helmet before he does the same. Then he grabs my hand and leads me right to the water’s edge.

It’s quite dark out here. The house lights are off. A street lamp gives some light. The sky is relatively clear, full of stars—the real deal, not the fake ones on my bedroom ceiling. I haven’t looked at the sky in years. God, it’s so beautiful.

We stand hand in hand for a while, looking out at the lake.

“Have you been okay?” I finally ask, because it’s been on my mind, despite Rafe’s reassurances.

He nods and turns toward me, pulling on my arms until they rest around his neck. I don’t resist. His presence warms me like the sun, and it feels good to be pressed to his hard body and to see his beloved face.

I wonder why he’s brought us here. I wait for him to speak.

“Ask me,” he says, and it takes me a moment to process his words.

“About what?”

“Anything you want. Enough secrets, enough hiding. Ask and I will answer.”

I stare at him. I didn’t expect this. I’m the one who was supposed to be talking tonight. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

I inhale his scent and turn my head to look at the lake. “Tell me about Marlene.”

His shoulders tense. “I had it coming, huh?” He sighs. “I’ve… been with her a couple of times.”

I try to pull my arms off his neck. “Explain.”

“I’ve been with chicks over the years.” He grabs my forearms, then lets go, so my hands drop to his chest and stay there, splayed on his pecs. “I have rules. I never see them twice. Never kiss them. Never go down on them. Never get their phone number or give them mine.”

“And this one?” I don’t even want to say her name. “She has your number. She feels entitled to send you pics of her boobs.”

His jaw clenches hard. “A mistake. After all these years, I thought I’d relax the rules a little. She seemed nice and insisted. Came around where I worked in Chicago, said she didn’t want a relationship but wanted to sleep with me again.”

“And you said yes?”

A tick starts in his jaw now. He takes a step back. “I was lonely.” Wonder rings in his voice, as if he never realized why he was doing what he was doing until now. “You were gone to me.”

As he’d been to me. “Why didn’t you ever call me, email me?”

He turns back toward the lake. His profile is dark, the light is now behind him giving him a shadow of a halo. “When I left… I was badly hurt. Broken ribs and the long cut in my abdomen. Dad came down to the basement together with another of his buddies and cut the cable ties from my wrists and ankles. ‘I’m a good guy, see?’ he told me. ‘I let you live. Remember that.’

“I remember everything. Can’t forget. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t repeat his threats to keep me from talking, but he didn’t have to. His friend patched me up, sewed up the cut and taped my ribs.

“Then Mom… She kissed my cheek, packed me into a cab and sent me away in the night, with a plane ticket in my pocket and some cash. That was the last time I saw her.”

Holy crap.

“When Uncle Jerry picked me up, he didn’t take me to a doctor. He hated doctors. He lived alone on a sort of farm with chickens running about. He had no internet and no phone. No electronic gadgets whatsoever. He was cut off from the world, and so was I.” Tyler runs his hands through his hair, hunching over. “Jerry was addicted to all sorts of medication, mainly sedatives. Turns out he suffered some pretty bad trauma as a child and never got over it.”

“And he got you addicted, too.” I put a hand on his arm and he lowers his hands.

“He brought a friend to treat my bones and infected wounds. When I couldn’t sleep, or woke up screaming from nightmares, he gave me Valium. When I had panic attacks and couldn’t breathe, he gave me Xanax. For a year he kept me a prisoner in his strange world. When I asked for a phone to make a call, he gave me a pill. When I asked for internet, he gave me a pill. Couldn’t I punch his lights out and run? Sure. But the pills kept me in a sort of trance. I was doped. Drowsy. Slow. I couldn’t think clearly.”

I step closer. He lifts one arm and wraps it around me. I don’t want to hear more—and yet I want to know everything.

“Then what happened? How did you leave?”

He’s still and silent for a long while. A deep crease runs between his dark brows. His story is like a horror movie. “Jerry died. An overdose, a mixture of drugs. I found him in the back yard. The crows had already gotten to him.”

I shudder and burrow closer to him, resting my cheek on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“He left me his bike.”

“This bike means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

He shrugs. “It’s all I own.”

“What happened afterward?”

“After the will was read, and I got the bike and some bucks, I wanted to come back. But by then I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He hesitates. “I was hooked on pills. I had… I
have
ticks. Compulsive behaviors. I… count stuff. I have rituals I need to follow otherwise everything will go to hell. Otherwise I’ll be back in that basement.”

I shiver. “I never noticed any strange habits.”

He doesn’t speak for a long moment. His hand strokes my back. Then he says, “It’s all better when I’m with you.”

I melt. How can I not? “I’m sorry I ran away two days ago, but I it’s not the panic attacks. I was just—”

“Stop.” He brushes hair off my face and gazes down at me, his face serious. “I understand if I freaked you out. You don’t have to explain. Just give me time before you make your decision. Let me try to make it up to you.”

I open my mouth, and he places a finger on my lips.

“Give me a chance. The reason I brought you here was to tell you about my decision.”

“Your decision?” I whisper.

He smiles and his eyes soften. “You asked me what I really want, and I didn’t get a chance to spell it out. So here it is: I want you. I want everything. Not just sex. Though that’s hot.” As if to demonstrate, his arousal pokes me in the belly. “Not just the kissing, though I’d rather kiss you than breathe. Not just the undressing, though I want to have you naked against me every day and night. But all the rest, too.”

“The rest?”

“I want you to be mine.” He says it seriously, his eyes staring down at me.

“Tyler…” My heart is trying to break free of my chest. I blurt the first thought that comes to my mind. “I promised myself I wouldn’t go out with a Devlin again.”

“Well, then you’re in luck.” One side of his mouth lifts in a dark grin. “I’m not a Devlin. I go by Tyler Grayson now.”

I gape at him, speechless.

He strokes my neck, cups the back of my head. “I love you, Erin. Always have. I know I let you down, and I know I’ve hurt you, but it’s always been you. I’ve told you everything, and I’ll do everything it takes to make you trust me again. You have my word.”

And then he kisses me, with tongue and teeth, scattering my thoughts in all directions, until my worries and fears melt away, and he’s the only thing left in the world.

Tyler

What the hell am I doing? After spilling my guts and having my girl in my arms, ready to forgive me, I take her back to her apartment and give her a chaste kiss on the lips—instead of grabbing her and taking her on the spot.

She invited me up, but I said no. Sticking to my plan is hard.

Have I gone fucking nuts? Bring me the straitjacket.

Dating. That’s the idea. I even googled it today to make sure I got the facts right. Movies. Rides. Picnics. There was also mention of roses and sunsets, and goddammit I’ll do that, too, if Erin likes it.

My gaze lingers on her pretty curves as she saunters to her building. Perched on my bike, my arms crossed over my chest, I bite the inside of my cheek not to call her back, take her to my place and do wicked things to her.

Is this a mistake? Have I fucked this up even more than before? Did she want me to take her to bed? I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment when I announced my plan of bringing her back. I thought giving her control of the situation would make her happy. That it would show her I’m serious.

As if I know anything about what women want. I’ve always taken what I needed and never cared. Until now.

I’ve never felt so out of my depth in my life. She does want me, I can see it in the way she looks at me, kisses me, the way her body responds to me. But does she want to
be
with me? I feel as if there’s something she’s not telling me.

The lights go off in the lobby, and after a while, her window lights up. I still can’t make myself leave. I want her with me. Visions flash before my eyes—of myself walking into her room and pressing her against the wall, entering her and pleasuring her until she screams my name.

Fuck.
I could stay here all night, wondering and wanting. So I rev up my bike and ride away before I give in and go up to her room. Full of restless energy, I drive through the streets, desperately looking for a distraction. Trying to remember what she liked when she was fifteen. Wondering if she still likes the same things now.

Well, she still likes me.

I think.

Shit.

Oh, what the hell.
I’ll try. That’s all I can do. I need to bring my A-game and get my girl back.

***

Next morning, early, I’m at the same position I was last night, outside her building, perched on my Ducati. Waiting.

Not sure for what, exactly. A reaction of some kind, I guess. With my luck, a dog may have wandered into the building and eaten the gifts I left on her door mat. Or a mad neighbor trampled all over them.

I rub my face. I’ve shaved and even went and had a haircut. I’ve run my fingers so often through the top since last night that it’s standing up in dark spikes, much like Ash’s. I even bought some new T-shirts, and I’m wearing one without permanent stains. Bright white; a blank slate.

My fingers tap a rhythm on my thigh—
one two three, one two three
. My leg starts to bounce.

What am I doing here? She must think I’m a psychopath, hanging out outside her building. Frowning, I get up, glance one last time at her window and swing my leg over my bike.

My cell beeps in my pocket, and I pull it out.

‘
R u here?’

I glance up at her window, and I think I see a dark silhouette. I type,
‘yes’

‘
Come up.’

She buzzes the heavy entrance door open, and I take the stairs two at a time. She’s standing on the landing, holding the box of mocha cupcakes with espresso frosting in one hand and the DVD of Pacific Rim in the other.

I pause at the top of the stairs, scanning her face. She’s biting her lip, but her eyes are sparkling.

Then she grins widely and launches herself at me, cupcakes and DVD and all, and I grab her and spin her around. I laugh with her.

“You like what I got you?” I mutter as I deposit her on her doorstep.

“Love it.”

She hasn’t changed. She’s still my Erin. With her dark hair loose, dressed in tiny red sleeping shorts and a loose white blouse, she looks good enough to eat. I feel as if I haven’t seen her in weeks, when it’s only been since last night.

“You didn’t have to buy me presents,” she whispers, her eyes with their green and golden flecks bright.

“I wanted to.”

She smiles and lowers her gaze. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

“I should leave.” I glance at the open door, reluctant to go.

“Stay. I’ll make breakfast,” she says, her voice low, unraveling my control fast.

“Breakfast.”

“Pancakes. Come, have a seat.” She turns and walks across the living room toward what has to be the kitchen, her hips swaying. I don’t think she realizes what she does to me.

I take a seat at the table of the small, tidy kitchen, and stare at Erin as she heats the pan and pours the mix. The aroma of pancakes fills the air, and my stomach rumbles. Does she remember it’s my favorite sweet?

Erin snickers, glancing at me over her shoulder.

Even that small gesture serves to make me harder. I shift on the seat and adjust myself under the table. I need relief, or I’ll go crazy. Her every movement ratchets up the heat until I think my blood is boiling in my veins.

The pancakes pile up and when she brings them to the table with a bottle of maple syrup and a pot of coffee, I’m momentarily distracted. I used to love pancakes, and my body suddenly remembers it hasn’t had any fuel since yesterday midday. I inhale pancake after pancake, my mind blissfully blanking.

When I look up a few pancakes later, I find Erin’s amused gaze on me.

“Well, it’s a pleasure feeding someone who enjoys my cooking,” she says, smiling.

She has a smear of syrup on her chin, and I reach over and wipe it off with my thumb.

“You’re just so beautiful,” I whisper, and my dick is rising again without asking for permission. Automatically I reach down and give it a squeeze.
Down.