Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

LAKE

63 bobas left until we both die … (the same day)

I cannot believe that Tam Eyre is in my living room.

Even more so, I can’t believe that Tam Eyre is lowering his face down to the hot, empty space between my legs. I almost choke when he puts his mouth right over the denim crotch of my shorts, flicks his green eyes up to mine, and then drags his teeth over the rough seam.

The scrape of ivory on denim breaks my brain, and I collapse back into the seat. My hands remain like claws, fingernails digging into the fabric of the chair.

Tam has nice hands, gently used and big enough to engulf my hips on either side as he assumes a possessive grip on my pelvis. My body yields to him as he turns his head, running his tongue up the length of my thigh until he gets to the leg of my shorts. And then he goes underneath it, tracing around my leg as I moan and let my head fall back.

I’ve never been touched like this by anyone. And this isn’t just anyone. This is Tam.

The Tam that I’ve been chasing for months is on his knees literally returning the favor.

He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee that makes my mouth ache. I want to kiss him so badly that I have to roll my lips inward to keep from asking him to stop. I’m afraid that if I do ask him to stop and kiss me, that we might not get back to where we are now.

I really like where we are now.

Tam slides his hands underneath me and takes my ass like it belongs to him, pulling me even closer to him. He encourages me to put my legs over his shoulders and then he returns to dragging his teeth over the fly of my jean shorts. It’s just enough electric energy that I quiver, that I grip onto his hair with one hand and find my other sliding up my own body to my breast.

I give myself a squeeze as Tam licks me through my shorts, and I groan when the warmth of his saliva sinks through the fabric. My underwear are wet now, maybe from him, maybe from me, maybe both.

Either way, they’re uncomfortable, and I want him to take them off.

Tam leans back and then looks up to see me touching my breast. He wraps his arms around my thighs and watches me, but I can’t touch myself while he’s looking. I stop, and he smiles.

“Unbutton it,” he whispers, his voice husky and low but confident. He expects that I’ll do it because he asked me to. I don’t even need to admit that I was going to do it anyway. He doesn’t have to know.

I reach up with shaking hands, unbuttoning my top until the blue-green lace of my bra is exposed. With a deep breath, I use my fingers to drag the fabric over my nipple, exposing myself.

Tam’s eyes are so dark that I can’t breathe. His pupils are dilated and swollen, obliterating the bright green and leaving him with an edgier cast to his features. He leans in and presses a kiss to my soft belly the way I did to his hard muscles.

When he gently pushes my legs off and then goes about unbuttoning my jeans with sure fingers, I don’t stop him. I don’t help him either. I wait there, panting, one breast exposed, sunlight slanting over my skin and his strawberry blonde hair. In this light, it’s basically pink. And his mouth—swollen and wet—is essentially pornographic.

It’s not appropriate for a spring afternoon at my parents’ house.

My gaze drifts to my left wrist, but the mark is still there.

“Tam,” I breathe out when he grabs onto my shorts and panties at the same time. He gives them a rough tug, and my body goes liquid in that chair. I’m simmering and boneless, the illicit scratch of cotton and denim down my naked legs, over my sneakers.

Tam tosses them aside and then he curls his fingers against the insides of my knees.

I can barely believe it when he pushes them open to look at me. I don’t stop him. Don’t cover myself up. I sit there, panting and wondering. Anticipating. What is he going to do? How far is he going to go?

Tam looks at the center of me, and then he lets his gaze shift up. We stare at each other again, and then without a word, he starts to kiss his way from my knee to my exposed folds. Kisses once over soft curls, kisses his way down, licks his way up.

My inner muscles are squeezing so hard that they hurt, almost like cramps. I grab onto the armrests of the chair as my hips move on their own, seeking friction and heat. Tam makes another soft, helpless sound, and then he’s whispering something like a curse or a promise under his breath. His tongue washes over my clit, hot and wet, offering pleasure and taking nothing but taste.

Tam moans anyway, like this is getting him off, like he needs to touch me, or he won’t be able to breathe. I’m not just a want now, but a basic need. Air or water or food. I’m that essential to him in that sunny living room with the sheers pulled, but the curtains open.

My legs are spread as wide as they can go, Tam’s pink-tinted hair like silken frosting between my thighs. I remember how good it felt when he stroked my scalp with tender fingers, so I do the same, starting with my palm on the back of his neck, letting my fingertips drift gently into his hair.

He shudders against me, and then moves his right hand down to the wet core of me. He lifts his head, I grab his hair, and then he pushes one finger into me.

I’ve only ever done this to myself.

I shake as he slides out with a sound that makes us both flush. Pushes back in. Out.

Tam leans down again and warms my clit with his tongue, circling lazily around it as I cup my own breast, squeezing and kneading. My thumb brushes featherlight against my nipple, and my hips buck into Tam’s face. He adds a second finger, increases the speed, presses harder with his tongue—

“Wait, wait, stop,” I groan as my body crescendos and then ebbs, crescendos, ebbs. I’m done. I can’t take anymore. “Please, Tam. I’m done.”

“You’re okay?” he asks, fingers still inside of me, and I nod at him.

“I’ve just … this is far as I can go.”

He seems a little confused, but he draws his fingers all the way out and sits back on his calves. I slide off the chair, still not wearing pants, my top undone, and Tam catches me. He lowers me to the floor in front of him, my legs on either side of his body. When he drops his forehead down to mine, I get the idea that this isn’t just a single favor that he’s giving to me.

We might … this could happen.

We could work on breaking the curse together.

Tam is breathing as hard as I am, his arm wrapping my waist. He scoots back and then falls into a seated position with his back against the side of the couch. I’m straddling his lap now, my naked lower body on his clothed one. I can feel his hard-on beneath me, and my hips rock a little on accident.

He moans and puts his nose up against the side of my neck, sliding his arms around me. This is the most that we’ve ever touched each other, the first time that he’s ever held me like this.

“I want to stay, but I’m going to have to leave soon. If I don’t start driving, I won’t make it back in time for filming.” Tam sounds apologetic, like he truly wishes he could stay. Like maybe he wants me to go with him? I’m not sure. He doesn’t ask.

“Wait,” I whisper, afraid to move too much and break this spell. He’s been cagey and hard to catch since moment one. I can’t spook him and send him running. But then his arms tighten around me, and I get this warm surge in my lower belly.

This doesn’t feel like the embrace of a man who wants to run.

Somehow, I feel like I have just been caught.

“I’ll wait,” Tam murmurs against my skin, and my body spasms a little against him. I didn’t come, but I’ve never had an orgasm in my life, so it’s not a big deal. I’ll … we’ll … I don’t know if Tam is setting us up for more, but if he is, we’ll have to learn how to do that together.

I swallow down the thought.

“I meant to say, wait, you drove here.” I know he only flew into Atlanta yesterday. For him to be here now, that means he did a whole day of filming for the drama, hopped into a car, and drove straight here with no sleep. That scares me. What if he’d gotten into an accident? “I’m not letting you drive back by yourself. I already told you that you need sleep, Tam.”

“Mm.” He draws his head back, sitting up so that he can look at me. I’m still in his arms, straddling his erection, my lower body bare, my breast exposed. Tam’s attention drifts down to it, and he licks his lips again. I feel him shift underneath me, and I do the same.

I think we’re about to have sex, maybe, but we should both clarify our intentions first.

“I’ll drive you back,” I whisper when it seems that he’s at a loss for words. When I look at him this time, he just looks right back at me. I don’t see him trying to hide, to deflect, to push me away. I test him by taking his face in my hands, sliding my fingers into his hair.

His eyelids droop, and he breathes in nice and deep, out like he’s releasing tension.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him as his hands drift down to my lower back and then over my ass. I make a sound that has him smiling at me in that way of his, the smile that’s in every music video, on his face at every concert. He looks like he wants me, but I don’t know if he truly does or if he’s just … Tam. This is what Tam does.

“Chasing you,” he replies, and I startle a little.

In a good way.

Tam’s left hand works its way back up, sliding my unbuttoned shirt over my shoulder, cupping my breast. I melt into him, leaning toward his touch.

“I need a sports bra, Tam,” he whispers, and I clutch at his head like I’m going to fall forever if I don’t. That’s what I feel like right now, like I’m falling off a building with nothing but concrete down below me. My stomach is in my throat. “Say it for me.”

Is that why he was acting so strange in the gym? Did that sentence do something for him that I didn’t expect?

“I … do need a sports bra, Tam,” I tell him, and he groans, taking me with him to the floor so that he’s lying between my legs, propped over me on his elbows.

“You’ll go to Atlanta with me?” he asks, and I nod. I won’t tell him that I plan on taking a bus right back. At least for now. I have to be here on Tuesday; it’s my birthday. “Okay, then.”

Tam’s hips are cradled in mine, and we both realize that. It wouldn’t take much for … but we don’t. He pushes off of me with a groan, and then another as he gets to his feet with his pants tented painfully. I roll over to collect my shorts, pulling them over my sneakers and up my legs. I lift my hips up to tug them into place, and Tam watches, running a shaky hand through his hair.

I adjust my bra, button my top, and then I accept the hand that Tam offers so that I can get to my feet.

The magic fades a little, and then we’re both just standing there awkwardly with three melting bobas and a house that won’t be empty for long.

“There wasn’t any watermelon flavor at the place I went …” Tam trails off, gaze shifting over to the drinks. I nod in understanding, take two straws and stab them into the drinks. I pass one to Tam and keep the other for myself. “These are all for you,” he reminds me, but I just shake my head, gesturing for him to sip his own drink.

It’s silent there for several minutes.

“Why are you here?” I ask him again, and he nods, like he expected it wasn’t going to be that easy. “This isn’t even a day off for you. I saw on your website that you’re scheduled to film more scenes this evening.”

“Which is unfortunately why I have to leave …” He checks his phone and sighs, but then he looks up at me and some of the fatigue in his face seems to slough off. “In twenty minutes or less. I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

He steps up beside me, facing the table while I face away from it, hip to hip. Tam picks up my phone, holds it out so that I can unlock it, and then he unblocks his own number. He takes his own phone and sends me a ton of screenshots and a couple of pictures from the last two weeks. His entire chat history with me that I know nothing about.

“Read those when you have time. Say whatever you want to say to me. I deserve it.” He moves away from the table to stand in front of me again, dressed in a loose white T-shirt and jeans. He has pale blue sneakers on with a hint of bright red sock visible at the ankle. Tam ruffles up his hair with his fingers and slants a look in my direction. “Mostly, I’m sorry for what happened between us. I didn’t want you to feel used. I wasn’t using you, even if it came across that way.”

“You let your bodyguard beat my brother up …” I start, but Tam is already shaking his head.

“That was a mistake. It won’t happen again. I … I’ll talk to Joules. Alone. In person.” Tam takes another drink of his boba—I think it’s a peach fruit tea with popping boba—and opens his mouth like there are a million other things he wants to say to me. “Can I see your room while I’m here?” he asks me, and I’m a bit startled by the question.

My room?

“You live here, right?” he asks, and I nod. It’s still surreal, to see him standing in the same living room where I announced to my family that he was my Match and that I was going to die. Right here. This is where my mom was standing when she nearly collapsed. The TV behind Tam is the one that I took over to play his music videos for the family.

I nod, and then I turn to head toward the foyer.

“This way.”

My legs are shaky as I climb the steps to the second floor and then up another flight to the third. I’m surprised that I can even walk after what just happened. I’m aware of Tam moving behind me in a way that I’ve never been aware of anyone else in my entire life.

My body responds to every little sound he makes, and my heart pounds when he steps on the creaky floorboard outside my bedroom door.

“Here we are.” I open the door to reveal an attic bedroom that’s a little too hot, but that I love because I can open all the windows and feel the breeze at night. Half of the Christmas lights on the ceiling have gone out, but the ones woven through the footboard of my bed are still nice and bright. I have that blanket on my bed that my great grandma never finished but that my grandma did. There’s a shrine to Joe on a shelf hanging from chains by the rafters, a lumpy couch that used to belong to my parents, and a desk with the legs sawed off so that it can sit on the floor against the slanted roof-wall.

I step aside so that Tam can observe my natural habitat.

He wanders in slowly, eyes taking in everything. Yep. Clever and shrewd and so fucking smart. He plays dumb, but that’s only because he thinks that’s what people want from him. I want to know what he’s really thinking.

Tam pauses by the whiteboard hanging on the wall. Because of the shape of the ceiling, he has to lean down to read what’s written on it. Something like Tam Eyre is a grumpy jerk. I think Lynn wrote that. Tam stands back up and looks over his shoulder at me, and I shrug.

“I have no privacy,” I admit again, and he nods, and then he walks over to my bed and sits down on the surface of it.

Tam Eyre.

In my bedroom.

On my bed.

Tam Eyre, who has more than one-hundred-and-seventy-million TikTok followers. He has as many people following him as live in all of Canada, South Korea, and Australia combined. More than that. And there he is, just sitting on my bed with a boba tea in hand.

When I walk over to him, he sets it down on my nightstand, takes my tea and does the same. When his hand reaches for mine, I let him have it, and I sit down beside him.

Our thighs are touching.

I exhale.

“What does this mean?” I ask him without looking his way. I stay facing forward, staring at the exposed beams in the wall. “You coming here. I get that you’re sorry, but I need to know if there’s anything else. I want to drive you back to Atlanta because I’m genuinely worried about you, but if that’s all you need from me, then that’s okay, too.”

Tam turns to look at me, even if I don’t look back.

“I want you to meet me in San Francisco for the concert. I want you to ride with me in the jet to Los Angeles and go to that concert, too. If you want, I’d even like it if you came over and visited my house.”

I can’t breathe.

“What happened to if you want me, you can have me?” I ask softly.

“I meant what I said, but I just didn’t say it the right way or at the right time.” He reaches out and takes my left wrist, drawing it over my lap and in his direction. His thumb pets the curse mark, and it burns oddly in my skin, a bit of a crackled gold edge shimmering in the red stain of it. Tam notices, and blinks in surprise. Yeah, he still doesn’t believe me, but that’s alright. “I’m having trouble not touching you right now,” he admits, and I shiver violently. His grip tightens on my wrist, but then he abruptly releases me and stands up.

He’s so tall that he has to stoop down to get out of the nook where my bed is.

Tam pauses next to my desk and then squints at something, bending down to fish some of the discarded Tam Eyre flashcards from the small metal trash can next to it. They’re the only things in it, left there all this time.

He picks one up and smiles at the messy handwriting, the way I crossed out what I wrote three times, and finally gave up. There are only a few cards in there, just the ones I ruined. The rest, Joules threw away just a few days into our initial road trip.

“Do you want to see the archives?” I blurt, because that always helps. Tam hesitates, but then he looks over his shoulder and nods at me.

It’s awkward as hell between us, especially since he hasn’t even washed his hand …

“Do you want to wash your hands first?’ I ask, surprising him. I noticed that he wasn’t touching anything with his right hand, just with his left. His right hand has been mostly tucked into his pocket.

“Um, sure?” It sounds like a question. I grab his wrist and drag him into a bathroom on the second floor. I’m a little embarrassed since my mom decorated it with a Paris theme. It’s very … not original or exciting. Tam doesn’t seem to notice, focused more on the water as I put his hands under it, placing a bar of soap in the shape of the Eiffel Tower in his palms.

He washes his hands as I wait beside him, butt tucked up against the edge of the counter.

“I was hoping to not wash my hand at all,” he murmurs just before he turns the tap off, but I pretend not to hear him.

We head to the archive room next, with its stupid No Food or Drinks! sign, the one with the bad clip art that my mom made. I open the door, and the smell of paper and ink rolls out, the electric fireplace shut off, and a portable dehumidifier/air conditioner situated in the center of the room. It’s stopped working, so maybe I need to empty the water tray on the bottom.

Tam runs his now-dry fingers along the edges of the books and then slides one out at random.

His lips part as his eyes scan the words. I creep forward to see what he’s got. Ah. This one’s from one of Samuel Frost’s daughters (the Samuel Frost, originator of the curse).

Tam. Tall, handsome, talented, nervous, grumpy Tam. Right here. In my house.

He clears his throat and then reads one of the pages aloud.

“I had not believed my father’s ramblings at first. Who would ever believe such nonsense—even from such an upright and formidable figure as he. But then the curse came to visit my eldest sister, and the birthmarks upon our wrists—odd certainly, but not inexplicable by means of modern science—were no longer congruent. Hers burned with a fire and the taint of unwanted ink. Within a year, she was dead, and the man she had claimed as the cure to her sudden ailment was also dead.

“I take it upon myself to listen to my father’s advice, and to write it all down.”

Tam pauses, and I know he’s scanning the rules of the curse, the ones that I rewrote in my own Frost family journal. With each generation, it’s important to update the language so that fortuitous meetings of happenstance can be read as random meet-cutes. Or, a prior acquaintance shall not be removed from the pool of possible curse-adjacent suitors but rather included amongst them and revealed in the most inopportune of times, such as through a recently received correspondence. I changed that one to: You can be matched to someone you have met before, even if you’ve met them many times.

See how much simpler that is?

Tam closes the journal, slips it back into its place on the shelf, and grabs another.

I stand in the doorway, watching dust motes float in the light around his face like lost fairies. My breath is stilted and strange, and I don’t seem to know what to do with my hands. I rub my palms on my shorts, but … they’re wet. They’re wet, and I’m walking around with a big damp spot on my crotch.

“I’ll be right back!” I turn and flee the room, pound my way up the stairs.

I shove my shorts and panties to the ground without closing my bedroom door because … why would Tam follow me?

And then I turn around, and he’s standing right there, holding one of my relative’s journals in his hands. His full mouth is parted, and his eyes … they’re not the eyes of a pop star. They’re not the eyes of a friend. They’re the eyes of a man, and I feel them like a ray of hot sunshine on all the naked parts of me.

“Close the door!” I yell at him, and he walks inside before closing it. “Tam, not like that.” I snatch a blanket from the end of my bed and wrap it around my hips. He looks so confused right now, the journal pressed between his palms, his mouth in a flat line.

And his eyes …

“Please turn around, so that I can change,” I tell him, and he nods before doing as I asked. But he doesn’t open the journal. He stands there with tense shoulders, and an aura of want that permeates my room like a fog. I can’t see my hand in front of my face because the want has obscured my entire reality.

I drag on some fresh underwear and a pair of sweatpants that are in no way sexy or appealing.

“Okay, all good,” I tell him, and he turns around. His eyes haven’t changed. The way he’s looking at me hasn’t changed.

“Your whole family keeps journals?” he asks, voice cracking. I nod and tuck some hair behind my ears.

“Yeah, if you get matched, you’re supposed to record your entire journey so that others can learn from it.”

His smile hitches up, and my heart goes right with it, soaring up into my head like a helium balloon. I don’t have a brain anymore. I’m making all of my decisions with a shiny red mylar balloon shaped like a heart. The string is tangled somewhere in my throat, and I can’t make words happen.

“So, that means you’ve been writing about me?” Tam asks, flipping open to a random page in the journal. This one isn’t leather with wrinkled, yellowing pages, so it must be newer. “I am only going to write one entry, and then I am going to let it rest. I’ve lived a good life with a good man, raised beautiful children, raised even more beautiful grandchildren, spent more time with my great grandchildren than I ever imagined possible. My Match is my doctor, a man thirty years my junior. I will not waste the last year of my life chasing …” Tam trails off and then looks up at me. “Chasing an impossibility.” He slams the cover shut, and my heart thumps in time with it.

“Great-grandma Louise,” I whisper, wishing she were here right now to help me out with this. No matter how old she got, she never lost sight of what it meant to be a certain age. My mom would forget all about what it was like when she was seventeen, and she’d come at my problems like a mom. Louise—we called her GG—always knew just what to say to make us kids feel better.

“Why did you choose to chase me instead of … a bucket list?” Tam asks, hesitating slightly in the middle of his sentence. The way he says the word chase reminds me of his words downstairs, when I asked what he was doing and he said that he was chasing me.

Him. Chasing me. Not the other way around.

“I considered it,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. I know then that no matter what happens with the curse, I made the right decision. Being honest with Tam from the start was the only way this could ever work. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life lying to my partner, the way my other relatives do. “But in the end, it felt like giving up, and I just couldn’t do it.”

I move over to the couch where my bag is sitting, and I draw out my journal. I walk up to Tam and offer it out to him, my hands shaking. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around my left wrist, turning it so that he can see the curse mark with his own eyes.

“Read that,” I tell him, choking a little on the words, on the rough brush of fingers on a tender pulse. “There’s not a lot because I’m really bad about remembering to do it, but this isn’t just my journey, it’s our journey. Tam, if we don’t break the curse together, we will both die.”

He looks up at me, and I wonder if he isn’t starting to believe that I’m telling the truth. It’s too much to hope for, so I don’t press him on it.

“We’re going to live past August,” he tells me, and his voice is strong and steady enough that I almost believe it. “I don’t know if the curse is real, but I’m going to work with you to break it anyway.”

He drags his thumb along my vein and into my palm, rubbing a little circle before he releases me. When he tries to crack my journal, I slap my hand over the top to close it.

“You can read it later—when I’m not around.”

Tam lifts his gaze up to my face, and his smile is sharp-edged and private.

“What did you write in here?” he whispers, like he thinks it’s going to be X-rated or something.

“You’ll see.” I take the other journal from him and head back downstairs, putting it back where it goes, and wondering if I should take Tam outside to meet Joe. But I can’t. Still not ready for that. “We need to get you out of here before Joules shows up.”

I turn to see Tam waiting in the doorway to the archives, studying me.

“Give me your keys, and let’s go.” I walk right up to him, holding out a hand, and he passes the keys over without complaint. Doesn’t move though. Just stands there, staring down at me. I shift a bit from foot to foot, waiting for him to move or say something.

Waiting.

Waiting.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing over my cheek and into my hair. He gathers it up like he did when I was on my knees in front of him, and then lets it go, strands kissing my neck. I shiver all over as he lets his hand fall to his side.

And yet … he’s here, and he’s lovely, but he was a fucking asshole to me. A horrible, inconsiderate asshole.

“If it weren’t for the curse, I would have made you wait another week. Maybe three. No, a whole month.”

“I would’ve waited,” Tam says simply, and I honestly feel like I’m being sucker-punched. What happened to him over the last two weeks?

“Are you possessed?” I ask, and he laughs at me, letting his head fall back. He has the decency to blush, and then turns away from me, meandering down the hallway with his hands in his pockets.

“Too much?” he asks, tossing a look over his shoulder that I think few in this world would be able to resist. I move up to stand beside him, and his eyes track my every footfall. He looks up and into my face. “Because I can tone it down.” His smile shifts a little, and I shiver again. He knows that I like it. But I should be honest, too.

“I’m wondering if you’re charming me the way you charm everyone else.”

“I’m telling you that this is only for you,” Tam says, and then he turns away, unlocks and opens the front door. He steps outside before I can stop him, but I do wrap my arms around myself and give a brief squeeze before I chase after him.

No matter what he says, or how beautiful he looks, I have a literal magic mark on my wrist that tells me everything I need to know about him.

I head outside not paying attention whatsoever, caught up in memories of my mouth on Tam or of his mouth on me. And yet, we’ve never kissed each other. I stop suddenly at the edge of the driveway and lift my head up, eyes widening.

“Sorry, what is this?” I whisper, gaping at the beautiful red car in the driveway. A Pontiac? A Pontiac Firebird. “Seventies?” I ask, pointing at it before Tam can even answer my previous question. “Seventy … three?”

“Seventy-two,” Tam replies warily, leaning away from me. He looks me up and down before getting that little crease of confusion between his brows. “And here I was, about to ask you if you could drive a stick.”

“You didn’t think I could drive a … Wow. My God, you’re such a city boy.” I laugh as he turns on me with the edge of a feral tease tracing his lips.

“You don’t think this is a city?” He points up at the airplane overhead, the one that’s a little too loud because we’re kind of close to the airport. Not close-close, but like close enough … My thoughts are spiraling because of Tam. Just a half hour ago, I was lying on the couch wondering if I should book a sky diving lesson. You know, because of the whole about to die thing. “Who’s delusional now?”

“Can I touch you without asking permission every time?” I ask him suddenly, and he blinks in surprise, looking across the street to where my neighbors are standing. All four of the Lane family’s daughters are staring at Tam. The oldest gives me a look, but I offer the most minute shake of my head.

No, you cannot come over here and see him. Go away. The oldest—her name is Deanna—flips me off. Tam looks back to me, a hint of stubbornness flashing in his eyes. He’s fighting something off, a reservation about me maybe.

“Yes.”

Just that one word.

“Good.” I reach up and smooth that crease between his eyebrows with my thumb, sighing in relief. Tam just stares at me. “That’s been driving me nuts for a while.”

“Same.” Tam reaches out with his thumb and then pauses. “Can I touch you without permission, too?” I nod at him, and then he rubs his thumb over the dimple I know that I get in my right cheek. Just the one side. “That was driving me crazy, too.”

He turns and opens the driver’s side door for me.

“Hop in. They were out of rental cars in Atlanta, so I bought this.” Tam shrugs and then closes the door behind me before I even register what he’s just said. When he gets into the passenger side, I turn to look at him, and a surge of joy shoots through me. From head to curled toes inside my sneakers, this might be the most exciting moment of my entire life.

I might live.

I might actually live through this.

Tam might actually like me.

I’m about to drive a vintage muscle car with a pop star in the passenger seat.

“I really like “Break Up With Me”,” is what I tell him, and he shifts his laser-focused attention over to me. I had no idea what it was going to be like to stand in Tam Eyre’s spotlight, but I never imagined anything like this. “Your song, obviously.”

“If you dare?” he asks, lifting a brow, and I’m shook. If you dare, is the second line of the song I just mentioned. So it goes something like this: break up with me, if you dare. But I know you won’t, and you can’t resist. Why lie to me?

Fuck.

“This is honestly cool. I wanted to deny it, but it is. I’m getting off on the Tam Eyre thing.”

“Well,” he says, looking out the windshield at the driveway. “You told me before that I was Tam Eyre. Thomas is Tam, and vice versa. So, I’m okay with that.” His mouth shifts prettily, and I exhale, starting the car before he can make me forget what I’m doing in here.

We’re not going on a road trip together; I’m taking him back to the filming location for a fucking TV show. A Netflix original that’s already broken previous records for most added to watchlist.

“Wait. What about a bag?” Tam asks me, because I haven’t told him that I’m not coming yet. I was afraid he’d stop me, but we’re already in the car, so it should be fine.

“I can’t stay with you. I’m going to drop you off and come right back. I can’t miss having my birthday here.” Could be my last birthday. Also, I want to spend it as close to Joe as possible. I sweep my hair back, nerves tingling.

Tam’s eyes are on my neck. Tam’s eyes are lower, at the top edge of my shirt. They’re on my eyes, and I can’t breathe. I shift into reverse and glide the beautiful car right out of the driveway.

“That’s okay. The merch manager told me that you asked for more shifts, so I knew that no matter what, I’d get to see you then.” A pause. “What if I added you to my team instead?”

“Your team?” I ask absently, but I know what he’s getting at, and my nerves are shot with anticipation. “Can you get directions to wherever it is that we’re going? Or even just to Atlanta in general. I’m not sure what highway to get on.”

Tam takes his phone out, doing what I asked with his thumb, but continuing the previous conversation.

“My team. Work for me. Be one of my assistants. I had eight at one point. There are only three left, so nobody would even question it.”

Huh. So … he hasn’t mentioned Kaycee. My stomach turns. He. Hasn’t. Mentioned. Kaycee. Did he cheat on her? Oh my God. He definitely cheated on her when he let me— When I— Shit. I want to ask, but I can’t have that question hanging over us in the car for ten hours. I’ll text him about it tomorrow.

“Jacob might,” I offer as Tam hooks his phone to the clip on the vintage dashboard. Okay. Only nine hours and fifty-seven minutes to our destination. I can do this. I can be trapped in a small car with this guy, and everything will be relaxed and easy.

Relaxed and easy.

Breathe.

“Jacob isn’t speaking to me in a non-professional capacity any longer,” Tam states, slouching back against the door in a way that I think is inherent and well-trained. He doesn’t even know he’s posing, but he does it anyway. Because he’s always being filmed. At restaurants. On the street. In the airport. Every moment is a performance. “He only calls me Mr. Eyre and phrases things like a duke from the sixteenth century. Would his lordship prefer the carriage be brought ‘round, Mr. Eyre? Things like that.”

I’m laughing too hard, hand over my mouth. I can hear it now. I feel like Jacob and I might really get along if he’d stop looking at me like a she-devil come for his master’s bloody heart.

Only … I did. I did come looking for his heart, and I was willing to do anything to access it. Maybe not the same motivations as a typical fangirl, but the same intent nonetheless. I drop my hand back to the wheel.

Tam reaches out to adjust the air conditioner, and then it’s blowing his pretty hair around his face. He shifts his gaze to mine, and I look back at the road.

“I’m taking you to In-N-Out. I’m just assuming you haven’t eaten since before you arrived in Atlanta yesterday?” I don’t even know why I’m asking. We both know he hasn’t.

“I’m going to get a milkshake,” Tam murmurs, letting his head fall back, a smile on his face. “Don’t tell Jacob, okay?”

And then he’s asleep.

He’s asleep.

I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time, but God. He looks so exhausted that I’m worried about him. He pushes himself too hard, and I’m a difficult extra to add into his life. Instead of working out and sleeping, he came to me after he was done with work.

I let him sleep, and I order for him at the drive-thru. I only shake him awake to eat, and when he falls asleep again, I leave him alone.

I keep the music off, too, and just listen to the sound of the wheels gripping the asphalt, the shift of Tam’s jeans against the leather seat, the soft exhalation of a tired sigh.

I should text Joules, I realize shortly after that, but I don’t want to pull over yet. I’ll do it later.

I make it three hours before I need the rest stop, parking in the front and doing my best not to wake Tam. Doesn’t work. He blinks awake as soon as the car stops, stretching his arms and bumping them into the low roof. He yawns and folds both arms behind his head, strawberry blonde hair tufted around his face in a wavy muss.

Shiver.

“I just need to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tam says, climbing out with me. He escorts me up the walkway and then waits at the spot where the path to the women’s restroom splits off from the path to the men’s. “I’ll wait for you here after,” he says, and then he takes off without any disguise whatsoever.

I just assume he knows what he’s doing.

When I get out of the bathroom, I see that Tam is already waiting, and surrounded by people. He’s signing things with a Sharpie and letting fans take pictures of him.

I frown.

I march right up to the group, and I push my way between them until I get in front of Tam.

“I’m sorry, but could you please leave him alone?” I’m not even being mean. I just don’t think it’s fair to him to be swarmed and trapped like this. He should be able to move around the world like a normal person.

In just a few minutes, we’re alone again. Tam appears stunned by either the reaction of the crowd or … me. Did I overstep?

“Nice work. Better than Jacob even,” Tam says with a raised brow, taking the keys from my hoodie pocket. “I’ll drive for a little while.”

“You need to sleep,” I warn him, but he’s already walking away from me, swinging them on his finger.

“If I drive, I won’t fall asleep, and we can talk. Just for an hour or two, okay?” He asks me this before climbing in, both of us poised by the doors on either side.

I nod, and Tam takes over for a bit.

“Shit, I forgot to message Joules. One second.” I put my drink back in the cupholder and call my brother. I don’t want to look at the twenty texts that he’s already sent me.

“What the fuck, Lake?” Joules breathes, clearly furious with me. He doesn’t usually ask for details about what I’m doing when he checks in, just wants me to let him know I’m safe. It’s a simple, easy ask. I get it. When he disappears for hours on end and doesn’t tell me where he’s going or what he’s doing, I get nervous, too.

“I’m with Tam,” I blurt, because if this is curse-related, I won’t get as much flak from my family for pulling a disappearing act. I left my car in the driveway, and then ignored my phone. “He stopped by on his way to a job, and I ended up driving with him.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

I look over to see that Tam has an elbow parked on the door, head in his hand. He briefly shifts his gaze to me before turning to the road again.

“Tam.” That’s Joules on the other end of the line. I put him on speakerphone. “You’re with Tam.”

“Why are you just repeating what I said? Yes, I’m with Tam. I’m safe. I’m sorry that I didn’t—”

“Tell him that if he wants to see you, he needs to come and see me first.”

I howl at that. It’s too stupid for me to even acknowledge, so I pretend he didn’t even say it.

“Joules, I’m twenty-three the day after tomorrow. Legal adult. Leave us alone.”

“This isn’t about you anymore, Lake. He stood like a quivering child behind his bodyguard when he knew that he’d mistreated you. He should make this right.”

“You’re an idiot.” I hang up on Joules and turn my phone to silent, putting it into my pocket.

“If I want him to like me, am I going to have to let him punch me in the face?” Tam asks absently, and I give him a sharp look.

“Who cares if he likes you? He’ll get over it. Besides, I know he was trying to save my life, but he did go after your girlfriend with every available ounce of charm. I don’t see it, but I hear from girls who aren’t related to him that he’s hard to resist. He knew what would happen if he pursued Kaycee.”

Your girlfriend. Correct me, Tam. I want him to correct me, to say that he broke up with her.

“If it’ll help, I’ll just let him punch me,” Tam says, and I roll my eyes.

“You might end up liking each other if you’d both relax.” I sigh and close my eyes, trying not to think about Tam rubbing my dimple with his thumb. “That was driving me crazy, too.”

“What are you going to do after you drop me off?” Tam asks, and I get the idea that this is an important question for him. “Fly back? Do you want me to buy you a plane ticket?”

“I’ll get back on my own, no worries,” I tell him. I forgot my wallet at home, so I can’t fly back. No ID. What I can do is buy a bus ticket on my phone, and scan that at the station. So … that’s what I’ll do. I just have a feeling that if Tam knows I’m riding the bus, that he’ll try to stop me.

I have to be home for my birthday.

Also, I want a minute to think. I can’t think with him staring at me like that. A week apart between now and San Francisco won’t kill me. Though it feels like that somehow. I ask myself why I don’t have a bag with me, why I’m not just staying with him. If I do, can I break the curse and a single missed birthday won’t mean anything in the long run? Or … Tam and I could try and try together for the next few months and still not fall in love.

I’ve seen it before.

Joe and Marla. They were falling in love when the curse ended. They were right fucking there, but it wasn’t enough. I rub at my wrist. No, I will go home for my birthday. Plus … it seems like Tam is sort of hot for me? Like, really hot for me. I’m panting a little bit, and I can feel the knowledge of that in every cell of my body. I don’t get it because he is objectively much more handsome than I am beautiful.

But … it’s there.

It was sexual tension that I was feeling.

Anyway, I didn’t see him for two weeks and he went from pushing my hand off his leg to offering me oral sex in my living room. That’s a good upgrade. Another week will be just fine.

“About the job thing, I’ll put you on the schedule, and you’ll get an email from Jacob telling you where to go and when. Usually, that means meeting us at the airport and then staying with the team until the next break.” Tam thinks for a minute. “If you meet us in San Francisco, you can ride in my car with me.”

“Should I try to book rooms at the same hotels you’re staying at?” I ask, wondering if we can afford that. However it needs to happen, we’ll make it happen. Tam said travel expenses were included, but I’m not sure what that means.

“You’ll have your own room near mine,” he says, and I seriously doubt that’s a perk afforded to any of his other assistants. Or … maybe it is? I have no idea.

“When we’re in San Francisco, let’s go to Japantown and eat ramen,” I say, turning to look out the front window. “That’s what I had on my to-do list for when we visited.”

“Thank you for the zoodles. I cried when I ate them, if that’s any consolation.” I think Tam is joking, but … only half-joking. Like, maybe he didn’t actually cry, but he was upset that I was gone.

“You ate them?” I ask, feeling pleased.

“I did. I made the alfredo sauce, too. And I also kept your spiralizer. I have it in my hotel room.”

I laugh at that and shake my head; the thought of Tam Eyre lugging a cheap plastic spiralizer around with him is too funny.

“Well, you can ship it back to me if you want,” is what I say, and he laughs, low and raspy. See what I mean? We can’t speak two sentences without getting back to this, the tension. “About the sex—”

“You can’t say that to me in this small space,” he teases when I abruptly stop talking. “Let’s talk about it in San Francisco?”

I nod, settling back into my seat and tapping on the screenshots that Tam sent me, an entire conversation that he had with me while he was blocked.

“No.” He reaches out and puts his hand over the screen. “I’ll read your journal later, and you can read that.”

I turn my phone off and leave it in my lap.

“Fair enough.”

Companionable but awkward silence.

For nearly an hour.

Tam exhales and runs his fingers through his hair.

“What do you want for your birthday?” he asks eventually, and I give him an odd look.

“You don’t have to get me anything for my birthday,” I assure him. I don’t want him to get resentful because he feels like I’m trying to access his money. I’m not here for that, and it’s important to me that he understands that. “Okay, actually, can I get a fifty-dollar gift card to my favorite boba place?”

Tam laughs at that, and then he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, and he … pulls out a gift card to the boba tea shop that’s on campus. I saw that the drinks he’d brought me were from there, but …

“I was going to leave that with your family or in the mailbox if you weren’t there, and the bobas were no good to drink by the time you got them. So … there you go. It’s a hundred bucks though.”

I hug the card to my chest and sigh happily.

“I can buy so much liquid sunshine with this,” I whisper, and Tam makes this sound. It’s a laugh, but it’s a little bit of an exhale, too.

“You’re so much fun to be around,” he tells me, and I almost drop the gift card on the floor. “I’ll be looking forward to San Francisco every day this week.”

“Me, too,” I admit, and the tension in the car softens a little, gets us closer to where we were at the rental house. He was great when we played in the pool together, fun and helpful in the kitchen, a doll on the hike. I see all of that in him now, but we’re not in his usual spaces.

If I date Tam Eyre, I’m either going to have to get used to not seeing him much or … I’m going to have to rethink everything.

Constant travel, crowds, packed schedules, long days and short nights.

I let him drive until he’s yawning more than he’s talking, and then we pull over, switch seats, and he sleeps for the rest of the drive to the hotel parking garage in Atlanta.