Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

CRAIG

Sunlight dances through the clouds and drenches the street. I drive along roads dotted by palm trees, my attention captured by the long, lanky, blond man in faded jeans and a gray T-shirt with Supervillain written across the chest at my side. When I'd dived to save Ty from hitting his head on the concrete floor, something like electricity sparked from a place deep within me and crackled to life.

Ty grins, and his smile lights up his face. "Thank you so much for this. I can't get over that I'm driving with Batman in the Batmobile. But now I'm wishing I'd cosplayed as the Joker today. Imagine how fun that would look to the people watching us."

In addition to being the cutest guy I've seen in a long time, Ty is friendly and sweet. The attention he gave to putting the display to rights and how he invited his friends to see the car because it obviously would mean a lot to Slater shows that.

"The perfect couple." Offering the ride in the car had been an impulse decision, spurred by the desire to prolong our connection. But the best things in my life have all come from impulse decisions. Something tells me that Ty will be the same. I slow to a stop for a red light. "Tell me about yourself."

His rich brown gaze roams my face, settling on the scar at my chin before returning to meet my stare. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Let's start with something easy. I know you're staying at a hotel for the convention, but are you local? Where do you live?"

"Buffalo."

"New York?"

"Yeah."

Surprise tickles through me. "I grew up there."

He gapes at me. "Seriously? Small world. What part? I'm from East Amherst."

"South Buffalo." Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. My last visit home, during Christmas, seems so long ago. "I still have family and friends there. I get back a few times a year."

"How long have you lived in LA?" Leaning his hand on the dashboard, Ty peers at the passing palm trees. His long fingers are a distraction. I can easily imagine them grasping a pencil as he brings an image to life on a sketchbook's page.

The light changes to green and I focus again on the road. "I've been out here for close to ten years."

Ty leans back in the seat and lifts his face to the sun. He closes his eyes, smiling as he soaks up the warmth, like he's immersing himself in the experience. "Do you like it? I've never lived anywhere other than Buffalo."

"I did for a while, but lately I'm thinking I might need a change."

"Change is good. I mean, not always, of course, but it can be. And if you're feeling it in here ," voice growing earnest, he lays his hand over his heart, "then you should do it."

His passionate statement hangs in the air. He obviously speaks from experience. I long to touch him, to soothe any roughened places that might still be tender. "Sounds like there's a story there. One I want to hear, but let's wait until we're out of the sweltering heat, and able to be face to face without any barriers between us."

In the corner of my vision, Ty shifts, angling his body in my direction. "What do you do when you're not in a mask and cape?"

Not quite ready to talk about my other career, I turned the car's fan up two notches. "I'm a musician. But the mask and cape gig is my favorite role. I love the way the kids and even their parents light up, excited and happy. It's an escape from the difficult situations they're going through, and being a part of that is really special."

Ty's eyes sparkle and his smile is like sunshine on a cloudy day. My breath catches at how brilliantly he shines. "That's how I feel about the world of comic books. Finding friendships in the fandom, being able to lose yourself within the colorful pages of a story, and characters that people identify with and see in themselves. That's what I want to draw and create and bring to other people."

"I didn't get to see much of the inside of your sketchbook, but I love the reason you want to create things." I pull into the foundation's parking lot. "We're here."

After parking in the private garage, I lead the way indoors. Ty and I take a quick tour of our floor, the bland cubicles and conference rooms brightened by large, colorful posters, then I leave him in the waiting room and head to the locker room so I can change out of the costume. Usually, I'm a little bummed when I have to slip out of a superhero suit, but today, I'm eager to shed it so I can get back to Ty.

Dressed in my regular clothes, I pause by the full length mirror and examine my reflection. Without the mask and cape, will Ty find me lacking, or will he like what he sees?

Nerves spill through me, not unlike the rush I get before every gig. Blowing out a breath, I rake a hand through my hair and then turn away from the mirror. Making my way through the hallways back to Ty, the urge to shove my hands in my pockets or play with the leather strap that encircles my wrist is strong, but I resist and force a facade of calm confidence.

Ty stands when I enter the room. His attention flies to my face and lingers, sparking a jolt to my system when our gazes collide, before journeying to my T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, then up again. He saunters closer, smiling, and closes the distance between us. "I like your tattoo."

The nerves settle to a steady hum of anticipation. I glance at my left forearm. The tattoo of a rose and thorns interwoven with music notes wraps around my skin from my wrist to my elbow. I hold still as Ty traces a finger along the stem. The touch is like tiny sparks of electricity, a live wire that increases in intensity when Ty's chocolate gaze meets mine once again. I lick my dry lips. "I got it when I was eighteen. Creating music is beautiful, but it can be painful too."

Light comes into Ty's eyes and his fingers pause on my skin. "You said you were a musician. What do you play?"

"Guitar, piano, and the drums."

"So, what kind of musician are you? Are you in a band, a solo artist, or something else?"

My immediate thought is of Cody, Patrick, and Devon, my original bandmates and best friends. "I've been in several bands. Right now, I'm mainly a songwriter for other artists, but I play the occasional gig in friends' bands and I still create music with my original band. I moved out here with them, with dreams of being a rock star."

Ty trails his fingers back and forth along the sensitive line of skin. He is close enough for me to see the lighter shade of caramel in his eyes and to smell the fresh scent of his shampoo. Imagining that delicate, teasing touch on other parts of my body is too easy and too tempting. "I'm impressed. A superhero and a rock star. This is my lucky day."

The urge to touch Ty is too strong to ignore. I curl my fingers around the man's warm hand, locking us together. "I feel like the lucky one."

Ty's lips parted. He sucks in a breath and drops his focus to our hands, then takes a slow journey back to my face. "You don't know anything about me yet."

"Not true." I lift my free hand so I can tick off each thing I've learned on my fingers. "I know you were nice enough to stick around and help clean up the display table. And you're a good friend because you made sure your buddy wouldn't miss out on something that obviously meant a lot to him. When we were taking that lap around the parking lot, Slater also told me that you're helping him bring his comic book idea to life. And I know you're an artist from Buffalo. That's a good start."

Laughing, Ty nods. "All right." Then his gaze tracks to my other tattoo, peeking from beneath the shirtsleeve on my right bicep. "Can I look?"

I inwardly cringe, but raise my sleeve to reveal the smiling purple narwhal wearing a blue and yellow striped necktie.

Ty's brows shoot up, then narrow as he studies the ink. "Whoa. That's… not at all what I was expecting."

"Me either, when I woke up and found it on my arm." With a grimace, I elaborate, "I got it after a show, years ago, on my first tour. I was drunk, wasted to the point that I don't remember anything after stumbling through the tattoo parlor's doors with my band. But I guess I asked for this, or one of the other guys talked me into it. No one could remember how it went down. They were all in the same state as me. And we all ended up with tats."

"The tattoo parlor shouldn't have given you anything when you were in that condition." The quiet words accompany a light flexing of his fingers under our joined hands.

"I agree. I don't like the tattoo and occasionally think about getting it removed or covered. For years while I toured, it was an effective reminder to never let myself get in that state again." Worry over what Ty is thinking rushes my words. "Not that I'm in that same place anymore. I'm not. That was all youth and stupidity and trying too hard to live up to an image. That night was the last time I let myself get in that condition. The tattoo was a wake up call I needed. I might make mistakes, but I try my best not to make them twice."

With a gentle smile, Ty strokes the narwhal's horn. "I think it's cute."

"I guess I can live with cute." Happiness warms through me like the sun's rays, bright and beaming as we smile at each other. Craving the feeling of that tempting mouth against my lips, I step the smallest bit closer, intent on eliminating the distance between us.

Ty raises his face, watching me, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Then, in a blink, surprise skips over his features. His free hand latches on to my forearm and those long fingers curl into my skin. "Band? On tour? Wasted? You really are a rock star, aren't you?"

Discomfort at the label rolls through me. I shake my head. " Not the star part so much. As I said, I've been in several bands. Some of them have had success. Others, not so much. But these days, I really am more of a songwriter. I play some shows here and there, and I still create music with my original bandmates, but I haven't lived the life of a touring musician in a few years."

"That's… wow. I don't know what to say. You're probably one of the most interesting people I've ever met." Ty releases his hold and steps back so we're no longer touching, but not so far that I couldn't reach out and hold him. He fidgets with the strap on his bag and his teeth sink into his lower lip. "My life is boring compared to yours."

"I sincerely doubt it." Wanting to ease his worry, I take a step closer, but voices carrying in from the hall are a reminder we're not alone. "Let's get out of here. We need to replace that sketchbook."

"Craig." Ty shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Really, you don't have to do that."

"I insist. If someone spilled something all over my guitar, or my piano… Hell, I've spilled coffee and beer on lyrics I'm writing, so I know what it's like to have your tools messed with or ruined." I don't know if I'll ever be able to erase from my mind the disappointed, deflated look that had crossed Ty's face when he'd held the ruined sketchbook. "Let me do this."

Ty cocks his head to the side and, after a beat where I worry he'll say no, nods. Then he lifts his chin, crosses his arms over his chest, and raises a brow. "All right. But only if after we're done with that, I get to buy you a coffee to replace the one that spilled."

"Deal."

I'm treated to surprise skipping across Ty's features once again and a laugh sputters from his lips. "That was quick. I thought I'd have a fight on my hands. "

The temptation to touch, to reassure, is too strong to ignore. In a few steps, I lay my hand over Ty's heart. It beats strong under my palm and his shirt is so soft, beckoning a caress. "I don't think you'd ever have to work hard to convince me to spend time with you."

The laugh and smile fade as Ty's eyes widen. He seems genuinely stunned. "Oh."

Would Ty wear the same expression after we've kissed? I'm sure his kiss will stagger me. "Let's go. Fair warning, my regular car isn't anywhere as cool."

"As long as it runs, that's all that matters."

Ty stays close as I lead the way outside. My black Corvette has over one hundred thousand miles, and has seen better days. I open the door for Ty, then hurry to climb in the other side. "There's an art supply store across the street from my favorite guitar shop."

As we drive, Ty tells me about the comic book series he and Slater are working on. The way he lights up in excitement and enthusiasm discussing something he loves, is beautiful.

In the store, strolling the aisles, I listen, enrapt as Ty teaches me about paper types and the uses of the different pencils, and points out the pros and cons of various mediums. The fascination has nothing to do with the items, although I'd been curious, and everything to do with the passionate, enthralling man himself. Ty is sparkling, like sunlight on water or a star shooting across the sky.

He selects a sketchbook nearly identical to the ruined one in his bag. I pay, then pocket the receipt, happy I now have knowledge of what he likes to work with.

We leave the store, and Ty pulls me toward a small cafe two shops down. "And now, coffee."

"Think I'll go with iced instead of hot. "

"Me too. Slater laughs about how many sugars I use, but I like it sweet."

"I won't laugh," I promise.

Large coffees in hand, we settle at an outside table protected from the sun by a rainbow-striped umbrella. I wrap my hands around my cup, the welcome chill seeping into my skin. "What do you think you'll draw first in the new book?"

He tips his head as he swirls the ice in his drink. "Probably the scene I sketched this morning. It's one for the series with Slater."

"I'd love to see some of your art."

"I can make that happen. Hold on." Ty pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times, then sets it in front of me. "Here. My portfolio."

Picture after picture reveals dozens of drawings of superheroes, fiery dragons, calm seascapes, mythological creatures, and portraits of several people. I recognize Slater and Noah among the group. "These are unreal. You're really talented."

"I've been drawing since I was a kid." His gaze turns thoughtful. "I never gave serious thought into making it into a career until a few years ago. My twenty-fifth birthday was an eye-opening, mini life crisis. Some family and friends were going through stuff that led me to question what I was doing with my life and what would it take to be happy. Art as a career was the answer."

I hand Ty the phone. "You should definitely be drawing."

He sets it on the table, then withdraws a pencil from his canvas bag along with the fresh sketchbook. The bag from the art supply store crinkles as he stuffs it into his bag. His gaze on my face, he taps the pencil against a blank page a few times, then begins making fast, faint lines, returning his scrutiny to me every few strokes. "I'm still working at a regular office job, handling home and auto insurance claims, but I shifted from full to part time last year. I wanted more time to spend on my art."

"Taking a leap and putting a plan into action is a huge thing. That's amazing."

"Not yet. But someday, it will be." His hand moves quickly over the page. I glimpse strands of wavy hair, similar to my own.

Metal scrapes over concrete as I move my chair beside Ty's to better view the artist in action. "You sound like someone who has plans."

"I do. Big dreams." Determination pours out of his posture and for a moment, his eyes glint with defiance aimed at the paper. Or more likely, a situation or someone who hadn't supported his dreams. "And I'll do whatever it takes to chase them."

I take a long pull of the sweetened brew. "Sounds like the change you mentioned earlier."

With a sigh, Ty stops sketching. He lifts his coffee to his mouth. The condensation on the outside of the cup drips over his fingers. "A lot has changed for me, compared to how things were a few years ago. Switching to part time meant I had to downsize a lot and cut back on things. Make sacrifices, some easy, some not. This is the first vacation I've taken in three years. Instead of having my own place, I'm sharing a house with two roommates."

"Slater and Noah?"

Ty shakes his head, smiles, and resumes sketching. "With how often I'm over there, it seems like I'm living with them, but no. I wish. My roommates are two guys who work odd hours and aren't interested in being friends. One uses up all the hot water when taking showers, and the other plays music at top volume and leaves stuff everywhere. Even so, I'm much happier than I used to be."

"Being happy is the most important thing." I lean back in my chair, watching my own likeness form on the page. Memories surface of my early days in LA. "I moved out here at eighteen with my three best friends, and money was so tight, we were scrounging for change, working whatever jobs we could around band practices and gigs. Bartender, bike messenger, you name it, I did it. All the sacrifices were worth it."

"Are your friends still here?"

"I wish. Only one out of the three. Cody's dad got sick early on and he went back home to help out. Devon followed two years later. Patrick, the last member of our group, is still here. He's a studio musician. We get together as often as we can. The last time the four of us were all together was back in Buffalo at Christmas. We recorded a few songs, had a great time doing it. Whenever we're all together, it's like no time has passed at all."

He bumps his knee against mine. "You sound a little wistful."

"I miss them, and how we all were together, but I guess we ended up where we were supposed to be." That's what I tell myself, but I wonder if it's true. Lately, I've been missing them more and more. Thinking about those early days and how much happier I was back then. Wishing they were still here. Maybe it's time for another trip back home.

Ty's pencil stills over the sketch and then he signs his name with a flourish and tears the page from the book. "Here."

I'm staring at myself, in shades of gray and white. It looks like me, but kinder maybe. And definitely happier. Is that how Ty sees me? "Wow. Can I keep it? "

The corners of Ty's lips lift into a smile. He looks up from sliding the supplies into his bag and nods. "Of course."

I tuck the paper under my sunglasses and keys so it won't blow away. A thrill skips through me when Ty's fingers brush along my hand. Not an accidental brush, but a deliberate, slow caress. Little strikes of lightning flare along my skin as the fingers flex and shift, exploring the back of my hand.

When they slip under to play against my palm and fingers, I tense, but Ty doesn't pause or recoil when he encounters the callouses on my fingertips, earned from years of playing guitar. The light touches raise more nerve endings in their wake. Aroused beyond anything I've dreamed from such soft contact, I suck in a breath, rotate my hand, and return the gentle grazes over Ty's talented fingers.

Lips parting, eyes heavy-lidded, expression full of yearning, Ty shifts closer. "Craig."

My pulse pounding with a steady beat of desire, I bend my head and close the distance, watching Ty's eyes darken, and breathe in the scent of coffee and the hint of mocha he added to his order. I pause, the scantest of spaces from Ty's mouth, savoring the anticipation. Every single thing about the man by my side is wonderful and surprising in the best possible way.

"Please." Ty's soft word puffs across my skin and spurs me into action.

I touch my lips to Ty's. Something shifts inside of me, like my heart is waking up. Maybe waking up for the first time. I can't remember ever having such a huge reaction to something as simple as the beginning of a kiss.

Our lips brush, then linger. Ty is soft and warm and sweet. I link our fingers together and deepen the kiss, tasting and teasing, my body humming for more. Sliding a hand into my hair and angling his head, he takes control. The slight bite of pain when he fists his hand stokes the flames of want and need. Slipping my tongue into Ty's mouth causes us both to groan. The licks and strokes of tentative exploration grow bolder.

Fighting to control the flame, I force myself to gentle the kiss, to remember that we're in broad daylight, in public, and that climbing onto the table with Ty to take things further isn't a smart idea. For that, I want privacy and zero distractions.

Ty releases the hold he has on my hair and drags his lips away with a sigh. Eyes closed, he keeps his head bent close to mine, like he needs a minute for his system to settle. I can relate because I do too. Too soon, he leans back. "That was nice."

More shaken than I'd expected, I draw in a breath. Hurricane Ty, as Slater had said. I'm not ready for our day to end. "Can I take you to dinner?"

"How about I take you to dinner?" Ty traces a circle over my palm with his thumb and unleashes a fresh wave of desire.

"We can wrestle for the check later." Joking, of course. I have no intention of letting Ty pay. But the idea of wrestling leads to thoughts of the two of us tangled together in a much more sensuous way.

As physically attracted as I am to Ty, the person beneath the handsome features and soulful eyes is just as intriguing and interesting and I want to know everything about him.

Sultry sounds play from the speakers. We sit tucked away at a tiny table under a neon sign in a dimly lit West Hollywood bar frequented by musicians. It's well past midnight and we've been here for hours, since we left the steakhouse. One drink turned into two, then three. We've traded stories and kisses. At Ty's prompting, I've shared a list of the songs I've written for other artists, and another of the bands I've been in. His promise to put together a playlist makes me smile.

Glass in hand, Ty gestures toward the empty stage at the back of the room. The movement sloshes the liquid close to the rim. "I can picture you on a stage, a guitar strapped across your chest, rocking out. I'm definitely looking up videos of you and your old bands when I get back to the hotel tonight."

"If you want a live version, I'm filling in for a friend at a show tomorrow night." Attempting to keep my voice casual, I trail my fingers over Ty's back. The soft material of his shirt moves as he leans into the touch. My hand meets the belt loop on the side of his jeans. I hook my finger through it and draw him more securely against my chest. "If you want to come."

Ty's hand traces a path up and down my side. His pupils are wide, leaving a thin ring of brown. Licking his lips, he drops his gaze to my mouth. Lingering for a long moment before returning it to my eyes. "Yeah? I'd get to see you in action?"

That questing hand journeys higher and a fingertip brushes over my nipple. Goosebumps dot my skin. I swallow the rest of my drink and set the glass on the table with a clink. My last sentence to Ty came out more like a question, filled with all the hope swirling in my system. Hopefully, the next words will carry more confidence. "You can bring Slater and Noah. I'll put your names on the list."

"I wouldn't miss it." Ty slides his hand up to frame my cheek. The statement is an exhilarating promise of continued time together.

My stumbling nerves over issuing the invitation settle. "Can I kiss you again?"

A smile worthy of a supervillain spreads across Ty's face. He takes a sip of amber liquid. Wet, tempting lips glisten under the lights. Watching me, he traces his tongue over his lips. "What do you think?"

Unable to hold back, I lean in and lick the same path, tasting alcohol and Ty, heady and rich. He winds his arm around my neck and pulls me in close. The kiss deepens, dragging us into a tidal wave of desire.

The fingers tugging in my hair send frissons of pleasure straight to my cock. I push out of my seat, shifting until I stand between Ty's thighs, and give into need, alternating between grabbing fistfuls of that soft shirt and sliding my fingers along exposed stretches of skin. The kiss changes tempo from soft and slow to hard and fast. On a moan, Ty opens for me, letting me take control.

I have another flash of how we'd be together, in a darkened room, with Ty open and giving under my hands. Letting my thoughts wander too far in that direction isn't smart, not with the way our bodies are brushing together, not with how very much I want the man in my arms, and not with how close I already am to the edge.

Swamped in sensations, I slow the pace to savor once more. Ty's nearness is far more intoxicating than any drink we've consumed. After only half a day, the man has become a craving.

A loud group enters the bar, laughing and celebrating, shattering the sexy private world that included only Ty and me. I pull back and smooth Ty's shirt. "It's pretty late. I should get you back to the hotel. We both need some sleep so you're ready for a full day of comic collecting and I can be functional and alert when manning the foundation's booth in the morning."

He takes a final sip of his drink. "Will you be dressed in a costume again? "

"Not tomorrow. I'll just be me, a non-costumed volunteer, handing out pamphlets and telling people about what we do. As for which superheroes will be there, well, I'll let that be a surprise. Maybe you'll come and find me."

Ty stands and tugs me close once again. "Count on it."

Smiling, I fall into another of his addicting kisses.

I want to count on it—badly. But I've been burned before. Just because someone says one thing doesn't mean they won't end up doing another.

Teasing his lips over mine, Ty slowly raises his head. "I already can't wait for tomorrow."

Hope, sometimes so foreign, settles deep in my bones. Far from being a one hit wonder, the magical day we've spent together is just the beginning.