Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

I’m not ready to face Ty again yet, now that I’ve seen the fence, the bra, the letters.

After mentally falling apart.

I go to the I Prevail gig with Shane the next night, and he finds himself a shiny, new toy while I’m in the bathroom. A freshman, American history major named Gemma.

Well, at least he’s off my back now.

Time drags painfully slowly all week. Izzy is still working abroad, and I spend my days lonely as a cloud. Everyone around me seems to be busy with life, with planning their summer, with living, while I go back to floating through life aimlessly, with only school to keep me going. If you really need a description of what my life looks like right now, I’ll keep it short and simple: meh.

I study during the days and work at night. Ty calls once, the day after the interview while I was at the concert with Shane, but I didn’t pick up. A pile of text messages he left remains unanswered.

Sunday:Feel like catching a movie or something?

Monday: So I tried listening to Neck Deep, that band I saw on your playlist. What’s their deal? They sound like Blink-182, but they’re British.

Tuesday: Hey gorgeous, your music sucks

Wednesday: Have I been humped and dumped, Barbie? I’m shocked and hurt

Thursday: Okay, the shock and hurt just turned into anger. WTF, Blaire?

Friday:Fine.

This was his last word. Fine. Only it isn’t fine, because I keep thinking about him. I just can’t give in and date him. Rottweilers don’t turn into neutered Chihuahuas. I don’t want to get hurt, but my days without him seem empty, boring, lacking. I’m desperate to stay away. I need to stay away. But I’m no longer sure which will hurt more—staying away or seeing him.

So on Saturday, when I know I’m ahead of my game with the MMA assignment and well prepared for an upcoming exam, have already finished scrubbing the apartment clean and have ticked every single to-do-list box I have hanging on my fridge, I text him back.

Sorry, had a busy week. What’s up?

The ball is in his court, but what if he’s already headed to a different court, playing with someone not as uptight?

He doesn’t answer. I know for a fact that Saturday is not a busy day for him. I learned his training schedule by heart back when I hung around The Grind.

To make matters worse, I have the weekend off from Ned’s. I booked it in advance long ago so I can concentrate on my assignment. Now I have nothing to do but sit around and think about the fact I might have lost him. Lost him because I’m a coward. The one guy I actually liked in a very long time.

I barely get any sleep between Saturday and Sunday.

In the morning, I wash my face, examine the dark circles underneath my eyes and throw on a red plaid shirt, black leggings and deep-red chucks to match my bloodshot eyes.

Before I have the time to regret it, I make my way to Ty’s place in my pink Mini. Sunday is a relatively free day for him, with a sparring session at noon and nothing else. He may not be home—or worse, may be home with someone else—but something in me can’t seem to stay away.

I pull to the curb in front of his house and slam my car door, still debating whether to do this or not.

I breathe hard, my chest hurting from excitement and fear, when I notice the fence. I blink the surprised sting out of my eyes.

The fan mementos? Gone. Everything, from undies to bikinis. The mailbox has been emptied. I rush forward, peeking through the slightly ajar gate, and I take it as an invitation to walk in.

The bra on the Harley is gone.

Everything I hated, vanished.

I can stand here for forever and study it in wonder. The fence, so clean, so pure, its gate so inviting for me to walk through. My feet hurry into his front yard, and I rap on his door twice.

"Yeah?" Ty opens the door and stares down at me, aloof. I expect his expression to defrost into one of those smiles he saves especially for me.

When it doesn’t happen, I bounce on the balls of my feet nervously and look down. "Hey." I’ve missed his face. "Your fence looks nice."

His jaw is still tense. I get it. I get him. I disappeared for a week. So why can’t he get how intimidating it is to date a guy like him when you’re so used to being alone, so used to the nickname Boring Blaire? MMA fighters don’t exactly have a reputation for being the best boyfriends.

"Guess I’m not the slob you thought I was, after all."

Touché.

"Wanna hang out or something?" I shoot him a hopeful glance.

He folds his arms on his chest, still unimpressed. "You want more stuff for your interview, huh?" he asks coldly.

Double touché. This is turning out to be more painful than I thought, but I guess I deserve this. "No."

"What do you want?"

I lift up my iPod with one hand and flash him an apologetic grin. "To educate you about good music. You badmouthing Neck Deep was seriously out of line, and I won’t take this kind of attitude from a guy who listens to Soulja Boy."

And that’s all it takes for him to fight that cute grin of his. Heart starts beating normally again.

"Unless you have other plans, of course," I say.

"My plans can wait." He doesn’t budge from the door, though. I’m standing on the threshold, peeking inside, hoping that he’ll get the hint.

"Can I come in?"

He clears the path for me. Was he just staring at me without talking or moving for ten seconds straight?

"Mi casa, es su casa, Barbie. Just don’t bring any boys here if you want them to get outta here in one piece.”

I order pizza while he eats steamed broccoli and salmon. I sit on his floor and browse through my YouTube playlists on his laptop. We’ve been doing this for nearly two hours, and so far, he hasn’t kicked me out yet, even when I played him the really abstract stuff no one seems to like but me. Now I ease back into familiar territories to wrap up the session.

"And that was ‘Jumpers’ by Sleater-Kinney." I look up from the screen, awaiting his verdict.

He taps his chin with his finger, hmmphing with one arched brow. "Play the local band again, the one from Sacramento. I dig their stuff."

"‘My Soul is Empty and Full of White Girls’ by Slaves." I double click on the song. "Good choice."

"So you’re serious about your music, then." He stands up, sauntering across the room to sit beside me after keeping his distance, both physically and mentally, for the past two hours. I immediately feel a flush of heat. Hot-Guy-Smell alert. Hormones are waking up from their week-long hibernation.

"Yeah, it’s a huge thing for me. I listen to podcasts, follow music blogs, go to shitload of gigs, then of course there’s the Warped tours every summer. I mean, Coachella is a freaking joke, you know..."

Tyler shifts closer to me, our knees almost touching. He reaches over, brushing a lock of hair from my collarbone, and by the intensity in his dark eyes, I gather we’re done talking about music.

"What are you doing to me, Blaire?" His voice is gruff and throaty.

"I’m not sure, but you did it first to me." I’m unable to swallow the lump in my throat. "Why me?" I hear myself asking, and hate myself for it too, because why the hell not, you know? "It doesn’t look like you’re short on groupies and I don’t exactly make things easy for you."

"I dig your cool." He leans forward, his lips almost touching mine, his breath on my skin.

Damn, I’ve missed those lips. My tummy dips.

"There’s something real and unapologetic about you,” he says. “You’re funny and engaging. In other words, you have a fully human range. Sure, a hot girl can keep me busy for an hour. You? I want more of what you got. I’m not sure what exactly, but a whole lot more than just an hour of your time."

I let out a soft, unintentional moan when his unbelievably rough palm cups my cheek. Blood roars through my veins when his lips touch mine. This time, Ty shows zero patience and I have zero doubts. After a week of withdrawal symptoms, I just want to eat his face. We kiss passionately, gotta-have-you-now kisses while his hands move to the small of my back, pressing me harder against him.

I arch my back, my hips searching for his groin until they find what they were looking for. Just the thought of me being responsible for his hard-on makes my head spin. I fist his black tee until my knuckles go white and he takes the hint. Ty climbs on top of me, his legs straddling my waist and pinning me to his floor. And I’m gone. Completely, and utterly gone while our bodies grind together in perfect harmony.

I’m done resisting. I want this. Want him.

His hand cups my right boob and I immediately stiffen involuntarily. Cupping leads to touching other body parts, and I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him if he finds out how unbelievably uneducated I am in bed.

"Is this okay?" He unglues his mouth from mine. It’s ripping me apart emotionally, knowing that he really cares, that he notices every tiny reaction I have to him.

I nod, pressing my lips to his tattooed neck, and he groans his delight. His hand quickly disappears under my shirt and underneath my bra. He’s tugging and teasing my nipple. This time he doesn’t ask for permission. I think it’s pretty clear that I’m minutes away from coming just from feeling his bulge against my groin.

In the middle of this make-out session, I feel his thumb stroking my cheekbone intimately. He pulls away, catching my eyes while still on top of me. He leans on his elbows, careful not to crush me under his weight. I’m panting like crazy, while his athletic stamina allows him to stay collected and so much cooler than me in this situation.

"No more running, got it?"

I nod, breathless.

"No more running."

After we dry hump on the floor like two teenagers, he somehow convinces me to watch Rocky with him. Maybe it’s because he let me talk about music for hours, because I feel privileged to return a favor. But something changes in me. I suddenly become more self-aware than I ever was around a guy. I’m super careful not to breath too loud, and I wonder if I still smell like citrus and coconut from the shower I took before getting here and what my hair looks like.

What the hell? I never pay attention to what my hair looks like.

I’m lying on top of him, my head pressed to his chest. He tickles my back as we watch the classic movie. I catch him mouthing the words, his eyes glued to the screen, like a five-year-old.

Heart aches like its been broken, which is ironic, because for the first time in forever, I feel truly happy. With every kiss he plants on me, I taste more of his emotions and less of his rage. I’m shell-peeling a delicate soul, so I try to tiptoe my way into his heart. We end up falling asleep on the sofa, arms tangled, legs entwined. Tied.

***

I think I have a boyfriend. I mean, I may have a boyfriend. We haven’t discussed it yet, though. Tyler and I are always together. When we’re not together, we text each other. When we’re not texting and not together, I think about him. All the time.

Sometimes I ask him to help me out with my assignment. To read a new paragraph I wrote, to explain things I didn’t quite get about the XWL or about the differences between the martial arts. What I adore about him is how he takes this so seriously. How he acts like my work and my school matter.

On the day I ask him to go over the first draft of the whole article I wrote, he shows up at Ned’s unannounced, orders a Bud Light and takes out the article that he printed from his duffel bag.

"Can I get you anything else, cutie? It’s on the house." I wink at him while he sits at the bar.

He lifts one finger, gesturing for me to wait, his eyes skimming through the text. "I’m reading this fascinating article a chick I know wrote. I think she may be talented on top of being seriously hot. Lethal combination."

"Tell me when you’re done." I walk toward the other side of the bar so he won’t see how incredibly pink my face is every time he gives me a compliment. What am I, like, five now?

Bree shoves a finger down her throat in amusement when I inch closer to her, far enough from Ty, and points at me with a superior smile. "Doomed, girl. You’re doomed."

I offer her an exaggerated bow, confirming she is right. Maybe I am. Hell, maybe I want to be. Just because he looks like a bad boy, is rumored to be one and acted like one when we first met, doesn’t mean that he is. He’s been nothing but amazing so far, even when I wasn’t, and I definitely wasn’t anywhere near amazing to him when I ran away from that date and then proceeded to disappear for a week.

"You still think he’s trouble?" I smirk, trying to look entertained by the conversation. Actually, I’m kind of hoping Bree will give me the green light.

"It’s way too late for you to care about what I think." She squeezes my arm warmly, then wiggles her finger directly in my face. "Make him wear a rubber. No exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Ten minutes later, Ty slaps the paper on the wooden bar and announces loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Yeah, definitely boyfriend material.

***

We watch his favorite movies (The Terminator, The Bourne Ultimatum, First Blood, Mad Max) and listen to my kick-ass music.

We go to The Grind together. He works out with Dawson and his teammates and I take classes.

We make healthy dinners together.

We accidentally make out in front of a kindergarten (no judging, remember?).

Three weeks in...we have sex.

It’s actually pretty spontaneous. There’s no set-up, and no candles, roses, dim lights or Champagne. We get back to his place after a night out and start out with a casual make-out session on the couch. I’ve had a few beers and he had one Bud Light and a soda, so the mood is right. Since I’m in charge of the music (damn right I am), I introduce him to Youth In Revolt. I think he appreciates the fast-paced music, because things get steamy within seconds of Ty kicking the door shut behind us.

We fool around as usual, only this time, he raises my shirt over my head at some point, leaning back down to unhook my bra. It’s cool. I’m so freaking hot and ready for him right now I’m down with whatever it is he wants to do, and in-between kisses and little bites, I manage to strip him out of his shirt too.

Oh, Jesus Christ, his abs. And tattoos. Having this guy on top of me is like getting all my Christmas presents in one go. Almost too good to take.

He buries his face in my neck, biting, teasing and hitting all the right spots with his tongue, proving that he knows exactly what he’s doing, that he mastered the art of pleasuring a woman long ago. Then it happens. His hand reaches down to my jeans, releasing two buttons and pulling them with his pointer fingers in one go.

I lay there in my underwear and nothing more, and I know exactly where this is going.

"I’m scared." I bite my lower lip, desperate to read his expression. I’m trying to downplay my nervousness, because I’m like, level eight hysterical right now. Normally I walk around a mellow two, even when I face stressful situations.

He flashes me a dimpled smile. "That’s either the most flattering…" His gaze drops to his crotch. "Or disturbing…" He sends a slanted look toward his MMA gear at the far corner of the room. "Thing I’ve ever heard in bed. Why are you scared? You’re not...?" He trails off.

I quickly backpedal. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No virgins in this room, unless you have a huge surprise for me." I feign laughter. "But I don’t have a lot of experience and I..."

Ugh, this is so hard. Though it really shouldn’t be, because Tyler is great. Scratch that—super-awesome, more like. He is so respectful and really, and I mean really, dragged it until the very last minute before he initiated sex.

I’m sure that if it were up to him, he wouldn’t have spent our dates rearranging himself in restaurants, bars and movie theatre seats so that his junk wouldn’t break his zipper. Dude is seriously rocking the sexual appetite of a seventeen-year-old with those constant hard-ons. I know he’s been blue-balled to the max these last few weeks. But I think he knew I had my issues with going all the way, and I’m one hundred percent sure that he’d still be cool if we waited even longer.

"I don’t need you to have experience. I just need... you." He twists uncomfortably, as if this makes him feel vulnerable. "But this can wait."

Is he kidding me? It’s not like I’m happy with our current arrangement. I’m a little hesitant, but I am also human, and he is also un-freaking-believably sexy.

"No, I’m good. Let’s do this," I reassure. Great. Now I sound like a Girl Scout.

His shoulders shake. He’s laughing at me, or with me, but either way, he is laughing, which is not something you’re supposed to do during foreplay. Even I know that.

"Fuck sex, Barbie." His lips touch mine as he speaks. His breath sends a ball of heat straight to my groin. "We can watch a movie or something."

I pull away from him, so he can look me in the eye. "I really enjoy spending time with you, hottie, but I’m ready. Like, really ready." I shimmy my hips to make a point.

"You don’t have to tell me twice." His hand dives directly into my underwear, and I don’t even have time to digest the fact that his thumb presses my clit before he dips a finger in. "Yup. You’re ready for me," he says.

I groan and roll my hips up to maximize his touch, but hell, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he is going for a slow buildup of playful strokes.

I feel him smiling into my neck, and my heart swells. Damn, I’m crushing on this guy so hard. Going into this with eyes wide open, and yet, somehow I feel completely blind. He takes my hand and slowly presses it against his crotch. I try not to freeze. I stroke him, knowing this could be so much better if he didn’t have his jeans on, and he must be a mind reader because he stops the kissing and tugging to come up for a gulp of air and a plea.

"I really want out of these jeans." His voice is thick and full of lust.

"Go for it." I nod eagerly.

I’ve seen his boxers before on YouTube. Every time he goes on the scale during weigh-ins, he wears nothing but boxers. But hell if it isn’t more exciting to watch him first hand. I want to reach down and literally do just that—touch the only part of him I didn’t kiss or lick yet, but he’s moved south, his mouth exploring my nipples with urgency. Every time he licks or bites them, my eyes glaze over and I feel closer to climaxing.

"Don’t stop," I pant. "I’m close."

He doesn’t. If anything, he speeds up the pace, his fingers working incredibly hard to make me come. And I do, I come on his fingers, swallowing back the loud moan that’s tickling my throat.

Holy hell.

Ty kneels down for a few seconds, reaching for his jeans on the floor and plucking out his wallet, from which he produces a condom. He rips the wrapper with his teeth.

And just like that, all the pressure I thought I released earlier builds up again in my lower belly.

He pushes in slowly, testing the water, making eye contact the whole time.

"Does it hurt?" His voice sounds gruff and slightly concerned, like he is genuinely worried.

"It’s amazing," I murmur. Because it is amazing, even if it does hurt a little. He thrusts deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and I shiver with pleasure, ready for the second wave of orgasm to wash over my body any minute now. We come together and I cover my mouth so I don’t scream my ass off. I’m losing it. I can’t even determine whether it was the best sex that ever happened to me or if it simply was the best thing that ever happened to me.

He stays on top of me, his whole weight crushing me, and aside from the croaky groan coming out of his throat, he is completely motionless.

"Thank you," he says after a few seconds, leaving me puzzled and surprised. He doesn’t budge, milking the last of his climax and the intimacy of just being close to me.

"Thank you?" I echo.

He nods into my collarbone. "Yeah, I kinda needed that. Thank you so fucking much."

***

My friendship with Shane may have taken a backseat, but I still feel guilty about his car. After class one day, while I send him to get us coffee, I slip an envelope with a few hundred dollars into his backpack. It’s stupid, since this is pretty much confessing that Ty’s to blame and because I, myself, don’t have a penny to my name. But I do it anyway, to scrub off at least some of the guilt. I haven’t asked Ty because I know the answer. He totally did it.

I hope Shane doesn’t notice the money in there for a while. Luckily, he is busy with his assignment. The assignment I pretty much worked my ass off on, because he’s transmitted all of his interview questions to Izzy through me. I guided her, pressed and pestered her until she came up with the good stuff. I also took it upon myself to gather all the phone numbers and e-mails for the PR agents, lingerie designers and other key players he wanted to interview.

In short, after giving him the money and doing his assignment for him, my conscience should be clear. And by clear, I mean spotless.

"Want some pot?" Shane enquires with a sinister grin as he hands me my coffee.

We sit on our red bench. It’s a hectic day, full of classes, an exam, a study group and on top of things, a shift at Ned’s.

I shake my head firmly. "No, dude, thanks. I’m done with that stuff. I started working out and I think the pot really messed with my body. I’m in bad shape."

Plus, Ty loathes the fact that I smoke, and as much as I’d hate to admit it, his opinion matters to me.

Shane almost chokes on his laughter, but he still tucks the blunt back into his special cigarette pack. Good, he’s put off too.

"Sure, okay. Don’t want to be a bad influence."

"I take it Gemma doesn’t mind?" I bump my thigh into his.

Shane wrinkles his nose, like he is trying to remember who the hell Gemma is. "She knows the score." He lifts his gaze back to my face. "What’s up with you, B? Seeing anyone?"

This subject is explosive, but I don’t want to lie to Shane. Whether he still wants me or not, lying will only make matters worse.

"I’m kind of dating someone, but I still don’t know where it’s going." Maybe I’m downplaying it, and maybe it’s the truth. After all, Ty and I are not officially together. We haven’t discussed it yet.

"Do I know him?"

I take a big gulp of my tasteless coffee, then clear my throat. "The MMA guy." I reduce Ty to what he does, and hate myself for it.

He is not the MMA guy. He’s the guy who makes me laugh and giggle and see the world with more vivid colors. Oh, yeah, and come twice in twenty minutes, which no one has ever done before.

"Wilder?" Shane’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Dawson is married and Jesse has a girlfriend, and Shane is freaking good at math, so he gets it quickly. He snorts. "Well, that’s a random hookup."

Okay, that’s good. He is taking it like it’s a joke, not like he wants to kill me, or unfriend me, for that matter.

"I get what you’re saying,” I say. “We’re pretty different."

Shane offers a grim smile. "Ain’t that the fucking truth. So you chose him over me?"

I shake my head. "No. Never. You’re my best friend." My voice is high-pitched as I hide behind my coffee cup.

There’s an awkward silence before he gets to his feet, offering me his hand, which I take and jump up beside him.

"I don’t like what I’m hearing here, at all. This conversation isn’t over, Blaire. When is Izzy coming back?" he asks out of nowhere, his voice still laced with annoyance.

"Next Sunday. Why?"

Shane takes a few long strides, walking ahead of me. "Just wanna make sure I never bump into her when we hang out. Thanks for the heads up."

***

It’s five weeks into my relationship with Ty, and Izzy is due to come back from her world tour as an Elizabeth’s Passion Fairy. She’s even gotten her wings and is now one of the signature models of the lingerie label. She’s as proud of her new wings as if she had won a Nobel Peace Prize.

I arrange to pick her up from the airport with Ty, because the drive into SFA is a bitch. I text her a few hours beforehand, warning her not to bring the volatile subject of Shane up.

Hey. So, just so you know, Ty has a weird thing with Shane. He thinks he’s hitting on me, and with Shane’s weird-ass behavior lately, he’s probably right too. So please don’t mention Shane when we pick you up. It’s bad enough to get groped by your BFF out of nowhere. Don’t need to deal with more mess than necessary. Thanks, scrawny ass. x.

Ty double-parks outside baggage claim and yanks me by the collar into an eager make-out session. Ever since we had sex, we’ve been going at it like bunnies. Sex is a new world to me, and I’m eager to explore it from all angles (and positions). It’s epic, it’s soothing, and it’s absolutely mind-blowing. Ty must share my feelings about our sex life, because I almost lose my top, and only come to my senses when I realize his hand is rubbing my sweet spots and I’m about to climax.

“We need to stop before we get arrested.” I let out a moan.

“Tinted windows.” He raps one finger on his side window, his tongue swirling on my earlobe. “Remember?”

How can I forget? It’s so mafia I feel like dying every time I drive in this shiny toy.

My phone rings, and I peel Ty off reluctantly. “Izzy.”

“Babe!”

“Where’s your skinny ass today?”

My sister’s voice pipes triumphantly. “Home.”

I bite back a smile.

“So where the hell are you?” Izzy brings me back to planet earth, showering me with a stream of shouts. “I’m freezing this ass in here! You know I’m too skinny to handle San Fran’s summer drizzle!”

“Huh?” I guess my hearing is impaired since all my blood went straight to my crotch from that earlier make-out session. “What do you mean you can’t see me? I’m right here.”

Ty, who is sitting in the driver’s seat, lifts one eyebrow, as if to say Well, she is a model, so she ought to be dumb as dirt, right?

“Hey Blaire, I’m pretty sure I would have seen you if you were out here. Our pink car stands out like a liberal in Mississippi.”

I smack my forehead. “Sorry, Izz. Ty’s ride is a black Hummer.” I cringe as I give her further description. "With...skulls and flames and stuff."

“What the…” Her voice trails off. I spot my thinner, taller look-alike twin from the rearview mirror. She is wearing black leggings, an oversized gray sweater and a hat she stole either from Blake Lively or a seventeenth-century widow. She pushes her luggage fast, waving frantically at the car.

I flash her my widest smile, while wondering if I possess the same eccentric qualities that make her so quirky. Ty unlatches his seatbelt and reads my mind instantaneously.

“Clearly, I chose the hotter twin.” He leans in to steal one last kiss before we have company, swirling his tongue seductively in my mouth and releasing my lower lip from his bite.

My mouth remains wide open and my horniness level is sky high as Ty gets out of the car nonchalantly and heads toward Izzy. He takes the mountain-sized suitcase from her hand and shoves it into the trunk. I catch a glimpse of her from the mirror watching his veiny, muscular arm as he flings the suitcase into the car like it’s nothing more than a shoebox.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She hurls herself at him and hooks her arms around his neck. My blood boils to an unhealthy temperature when I watch Ty returning the gesture and hugging my twin sister awkwardly, like a child posing with a giant snake in the zoo. He just wants out of the situation as fast as he can.

“God, Blaire wasn’t kidding. Anyone told you you’re yummy?” my sister purrs.

Can’t blame her. From experience, I know seeing Ty for the first time is a groin-tickling experience.

“Missed you, sissy!" she squeals as I get out of the car to hug and kiss her. She pinches my ass, not in a friendly way but in a lay-off-the-mac-and-cheese way. "So, is he your boyfriend or can your cute sister have a go, too?"

"Yeah, this one is not for sharing, I guess.” I try to keep it light, sliding back into my seat. I love my sister dearly, but I’m also self-conscious as hell around her. She’s the successful, gorgeous one. I’ve had trouble believing Ty thinks I’m special in the first place, and the idea of a lust triangle with Isabelle is my biggest, scariest nightmare.

Izzy’s eyes are glued to her cell phone, her face glowing from its screen. "Haven’t seen your text yet, sissy. Reading it now."

Ty pulls away from the curb like a maniac, picking up speed and driving in his usual, guy-way. Elbow slung out the window, head against the headrest, he holds the steering wheel in one hand and distractingly runs his other hand over his head.

I watch Izzy intently from the rearview mirror. Her face falls when she reads my text, and when she lifts her face, her eyes meet mine in the reflection. My blood freezes. I don’t know what those blue eyes say, but whatever it is, she’s screaming it like a wounded animal.

"Everything okay?" I fish for a bottle of water and hand it to her. She reluctantly accepts, taking off her hat and tossing it angrily next to her.

"A lot has changed while I was gone," she spits. I’m not even sure why she’s mad. Because I asked her not to talk about Shane? She’s been avoiding him like the plague. I didn’t think it’d be a problem.

"Not a lot," I correct her. "Maybe a little."

"Sucks to stay out of the loop. Right, Ty?" Izzy snaps.

“Sure.” He puts his forefinger to his temple and pretends to shoot himself, eyes rolling.

Izzy can’t see it, but I can, and it’s making me wince. He doesn’t get her bitchy attitude. Frankly, neither do I. It’s unlike her.

I fist my shirt’s fabric into a ball, biting my lower lip so hard the salty taste of blood fills my mouth. Izzy and Ty are engaged in a semi-civil conversation, but I’m nowhere near focused enough to listen to what they’re saying.

I hear Izzy’s dangerously high-pitched voice slicing the air again. “So, Ty, have you noticed how Blaire looks a little like me?”

“That tends to happen when you’re twins.” Ty arches one eyebrow and, very casually, illegally passes the five cars ahead of us in a speed that would smoke a fighter jet. I need to kill this conversation before Ty kills us all. He is obviously struggling with my sister.

I steer the conversation to Nana Marty’s wedding. That’s when I discover that the owner of the venue they had booked cancelled their reservation at the last minute and refunded their deposit, after he realized the renovations on the venue wouldn’t be completed in time for their wedding. This means a June 13th wedding is pretty much impossible and that we’ll have to call everyone who received an invitation to notify them of the change of plans.

Only, there is no plan.

"I feel bad for Nana," I tell Izzy.

"I feel bad for me!" she retorts. She’s not even slightly apologetic about her little, uncalled for tantrum. Though I have a strange feeling it has to do with my message about Shane.

I take a deep breath and let her pout. My only solace is that we are nearing our apartment complex and about to get rid of her ass faster than a dead body in a bad detective movie.

Other than hurling Izzy out of the tinted windows, Ty is doing everything he can to get rid of her. He drives so fast my eyeballs roll into my throat. The wheels squeal like Izzy as he comes to a full stop in front of our underground parking lot. He quickly darts out of the car to get her suitcase.

Izzy gets out of the car too, sulking into the night with her pissed-off face in full display.

"Dude," I say, pulling her into a forced hug, "are you okay? What happened in the car?"

She waves her hand dismissively, refusing to make eye contact. "Nothing. It’s just...has Shane really tried to hook up with you?"

My eyes widen in disbelief. Christ on a cracker, that’s the one subject I asked her not to bring up in front of Ty...and sure enough, there he is, about two feet away from us, holding Izzy’s suitcase and looking just about ready to destroy it.

"The fucking asshole." I hear his gruff voice behind me.

I shake my head. "He didn’t try..."

"But you said so yourself." Izzy’s voice sounds desperate and...is she crying? It’s hard to tell in the dark, but she seems genuinely upset. All thoughts of Ty are thrown out the window once I realize that my sister is hurt.

"I said he groped me. Once!" Yup, that doesn’t sound any better. "It was weeks ago. And I made it clear that I have no interest in him whatsoever. Anyway, he is dating a girl named Gemma nowadays, so..."

Oh.Oh shit. The writing was on the wall, but I refused to see it. Izzy and Shane. Shane and Izzy. Something happened between these two...a date? A kiss? A one-night stand? An affair?! Brain is just about ready to explode.

Wide eyed, I rush to my sister, who has already taken the suitcase from Ty and is now making her way to the entrance of the apartment complex.

"Izz, I didn’t know..."

But she pivots on her heel and rests one flattened palm on my ribcage. "Sorry for doing this in front of Ty. I couldn’t help it, sissy." She maintains the space between us like it would kill her if I got any closer, and hell if I even care anymore. She’s so hurt, the only thing I care about is her.

"Let’s go upstairs and talk about it."

She shakes her head violently. Ty’s done being the good guy, obviously, since I can hear him behind me climbing back into the Hummer and slamming the door with force. I don’t even blame him this time. Dude, I lied.

"Go with your boyfriend."

"No way, Izzy. I’m coming with. Come on, let’s—"

"No." She practically pushes me in the car’s direction. "I haven’t been home in weeks. I want to take a bath, I want to have a glass of wine, I want to walk around naked and have my me-time. Shane’s an old story. Go with your boyfriend. Have fun. I’ll still be here when you get back."

I search her face to see if it’s really okay. Izzy sees the doubt in my eyes and almost throws her suitcase at me.

"Oh my God, just go, sissy. Go!"

***

We drive silently. After we roll onto the highway to Concord , Ty turns down the volume of the music playing out of the speakers. It’s my playlist, and I bet you anything it’s also one helluva statement.

"I’m sorry," I blurt into the deafening silence. I wish he’d say something, anything. "I didn’t mean to lie to you. I thought Shane was just trying his luck with me. But now I see that he was just trying to hook up with me to get back at Izzy for whatever it is between them."

Ty arches one eyebrow, looking thoroughly pissed off. "You think your best friend is trying to tap you to get back at your sister?" He scowls.

“Yeah. Not that I’m mad or anything. I mean, she’s gorgeous and successful and..."

“And lonely and detached and no matter what, she’ll always be the less cool, less independent— and if you ask anyone with a dick—less sexy sister.”

“Come on, Ty.”

“Coming on, Blaire. You don’t need an army of PR people coming out of your ass and million-dollar contracts to be awesome. Izzy can spread her legs in every magazine under the sun and she still won’t be half the woman you are. The worst part is you have no clue. You really think you don’t matter, that Izzy is better. But I see you.” He parks in front of his place.

I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

"I see you," he repeats, whispering. "I see what you don’t see about yourself, and it pisses me off that Shane sees it too."

I can’t believe he doesn’t give me shit for not telling him about Shane. Unless... is he is planning on paying another visit to Shane’s place? No. That was a one off, I tell myself. And besides, there’s still a chance it wasn’t Ty.

I listen to his heartbeat, slow and steady, and snuggle into his delicious, singular scent. No one else smells like him. I kind of like that.

"Whatever this thing between us is, I won’t tolerate any lies." He growls.

"I swear to God," I answer, and I mean it.

But when the words come out, I realize that I don’t actually believe that what we have is secrets-free. I may have nothing to hide, but Ty is full of mystery. He has a pretty bad reputation, judging from the Internet and The Grind, and he’s never even mentioned his family around me. I have a nagging feeling his whole life is pretty much his work and teammates.

"This is the only tiny secret I had,” I say. “Hey, question—you think your mom will like me?” It may sound random, but I hate that he already knows so much about my family, and I still don’t know anything about his.

The only thing I do know is that Ty’s dad isn’t in the picture and that he has no siblings. I stumbled upon an interview of his a few years back and found out he was raised solely by his mother.

“I don’t think my mom likes anyone, including me.” He laughs bitterly. “Na, you got lucky. I have no family that you need to suck up to. Just Dawson and his wife and kids. Maybe Jesse, but that’s it.”

My mouth curves downwards as I run my index finger over his lips. If I show him pity, he’ll hate me. Forever. “Thank you for not giving me shit about Shane. You’re awesome.”

He presses his warm, moist lips into my finger, staring into my eyes. “You bet your hot ass I am.”

Heart’s throbs are piercing my ears, Brain swirls in a pool of sticky goo, and Hormones are dry-humping Ty’s leg. I take a deep breath and get out of the car, walking toward his house and stopping just as I reach his fence. One, new pair of underwear is tucked in the links. Oddly, I don’t go ballistic this time. I placed my trust in his hands a few weeks ago, and he’s yet to let me down.

Ty is by my side, and the next thing I know he’s slamming his body into mine and his hands are roaming my waist and thighs. It’s late at night, but people are still walking past us, cars passing by. Ty doesn’t care. He nudges my thighs apart, grabs my ass forcefully and raises me up. I knot my legs around his tight abdomen and we mold into each other.

My fingers curl into the holes of the fence when he fists my top into a ball behind my back. His warm tongue finds mine. Ty tastes good. Fresh and sweet and manly. He sends his free hand behind one of my knees, caressing the spot through my jeans. I didn’t even know I was sensitive there. I’m about to explode into a loud scream, my core quivering against his body, and I dig my nails into his back to signal I’m ready for the homerun. He bites my neck, his teeth sending a shiver down my spine.

He whispers into my collarbone, "You are mine, and you better tell that to Shane, or I will. And I won’t be nice."

It’s a good thing I’m about half his size, because I’m tempted to punch him. I just nod my agreement. Yeah, whatever. I’ll deliver the message. My fingers caress Ty’s tight abs, exploring the hills and valleys of his six-pack.

“Fuck,” he whispers into my mouth, tugging my head back. He sucks on my throat, my hair in his fist. His other hand, still clutching my top from behind, rips the fabric in one go. I hear the material tear and feel the chill of the metallic fence against my bare back.

Ladies and gents, I’m officially half-naked.

Quick recap to those of you who haven’t paid attention: I’m in my bra, thighs wrapped around an XWL fighter, dry humping him in the middle of a city street.

Yes, I need to take a long, hard look at my life.

No, tonight is not the time for it.

“I should be mad at you, but I can’t, and that annoys the hell outta me.” He lowers his head, letting out a frustrated groan. His eyes are trained on my lips. They are dark, full of want, and holding dirty promises. “Come on, baby. Let’s just get you inside.”

I moan into his mouth. He holds me by my ass and carries me into his house swiftly. When he kicks the door open, it rattles on its hinges. He takes me to his bedroom and drops me right next to his bed. We stand in front of each other, panting like two marathon runners on their last few hundred yards. My knees are wobbly. There’s a warm vortex in my pelvic region. I’m flushed, I’m devastated,

I fucking need him.

“I meant what I said. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep things from you.” My voice is barely audible.

“I know.” His fingers vanish in my hair, kneading my head, making me feel dizzy, drunk, crazy. "It’s a weird-ass thing, though. I get mad so easily, but I can’t stay mad at you, even for a minute."

His forehead collapses onto mine. Join the club, I want to tell him. I know I’m totally ignoring crucial things, like the fact that he had enough fuck-buddies for a lifetime. Countless Nicoles, remember? Or Shane’s vandalized car. I’m a pathetic mess.

"We should probably talk about Shane," I suggest. But I’m hoping talking is not on his agenda right now.

“Okay. I just need one…” His lips crush mine hungrily. “Small…” He bites my lower lip. “Taste.”

He stares down at me for a second before thrusting me with a gentle push back onto his mattress and rumpled sheets. We never spend enough time out of bed to find time to make it. He kneels before me. His mouth runs all over my stomach, his fingers unhooking my bra, and then his face dips lower.

“From one to ten, how much do you like these jeans?” His warm breath is tracing a path below my belly button…lower…lower…and melting every functional brain cell I still possess. And there aren’t that many left after the last few weeks.

How the hell am I supposed to recall what pair of jeans I’m wearing? I can barely remember my own name.

“Minus eleven,” I grunt, firming my grip on the sheets.

Plink, plink, plink. I hear what I think are the buttons of my jeans hitting the hardwood floor. Jesus Christ, he actually shredded my jeans from my body. I look down to confirm my suspicion.

My jeans are now a heap of fabric, resting near the foot of the bed, buttons nowhere to be seen. Ty inspects my underwear, a baby-blue cotton pair, nowhere near as interesting as the bimbo thongs that hung on his fence. He rips my panties from my body with his teeth. His mouth grazes my sex, making every hair on my body stand. He grabs the pillow next to my head and shoves it underneath my butt, tucking his huge shoulders between my thighs.

“Oh, God!” I yelp as his tongue runs over my entrance, top to bottom. My thighs are trembling and my core is about to explode. Ty sends one hand to stroke my nipples, and digs in, his mouth and tongue giving me no escape. He picks up intensity and speed gradually, sucking on my clit and using his fingers with his free hand.

“This is what I have on my mind twenty-four-fucking-seven, Barbie.” His voice touches everything inside me.

My teeth are chattering. Everything, and I mean everything, tingles. I stifle a moan into my forearm, worried my screams will make his roof fly sky high. I feel high. I have zero control of my mouth, my legs, yet strangely I’ve never felt more connected to my body.

My orgasm comes crashing in waves. It washes over me from the top of my head to my curling toes. A scream escapes my mouth and Ty rushes back up to shut me up with a rapturous kiss before the neighbors call the cops on us. He forces me into tasting myself. I pant heavily as his weight crushes against me and he grazes my chin teasingly.

“Shhhhh.” He plants feathery kisses over my lower face. “You’ll wake the dead.”

Well, for once, I’m actually speechless. Sex with Ty is like nothing I ever imagined. It keeps getting better and better. And it’s made me realize some not-so-fun facts:

1. No matter what I previously thought, I never had an orgasm before I hooked up with him.

2. Every guy I dated previously had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

3. I, myself, had no idea what I was doing.

4. Selfishness aside, Ty Wilder should totally give out orgasms for a living.

He is lying on the other side of the bed, lips glistening sexily. I want all of him, so badly. There’ll never be enough of him to keep me satisfied. I want to drink him in, to gorge on him, to have him every second of the day. Hell, I want to know that he is mine.

I shoot him a glance, digging up my courage. “You make me happy, Tyler. Which is weird, because you’re not even my type!”

Ty smiles his blazing hot smile, half his face still smashed against the pillow. “Yet you’re here.”

“Yet I’m here,” I agree. “Guess you had me at ‘I won’t hit you, but I’ll hurt you’.”

“You had me at ‘Keep walking, cowboy,’” he rasps.

The room is so hot my eyes are burning like I’m standing too close to a bonfire that’s about to get out of control. Beads of sweat glue my hair to my back and both our bodies shine under the yellow light in a caramel hue.

“Really?” I laugh, repositioning myself on his bed so I can lean and watch him closely.

He nods, picks up a bottle of water from underneath his bed and takes a swig. “When I first met you, I thought you were pointblank crazy. You’re less than half my size. I could have killed you just by blowing air in your direction. But I liked how feisty you were. Also, you were pretty funny.”

"Thank you."

"And sexy. I wanted you before I even knew your name."

"Buttering me up, are you?" I grin and crawl my way to his side of the bed, shamelessly nuzzling. "So, do we still need to have that talk about me not telling you about Shane?"

“No, but you really need to work on that honesty thing."

"Are you one hundred percent honest with me?" I ask. He exhales sharply, the mist of his body heat and luscious scent prickling my face.

To my surprise, he shakes his head. My heart plummets when he stops the caressing and straightens up against the headboard. "I need time to sort some shit out,” he says. “I got myself into a sticky situation before I met you. I guess I need to share this...I just don’t want to do it right this second.”

I knew this was too good to be true. This is not a love story. This is a Blaire-story. Happiness doesn’t live here.

Then he looks straight into my eyes. “I need to know that you’ll stick around ‘till shit blows over, that you won’t bail on me.”

Brain shuts down. Hormones have their backs against the wall, and Heart is taking over mouth before I have time to think it through.

“I love you, Ty,” I hear myself saying, and feel the flow of panic pumping through my veins.

Shit. What the hell? What made me put myself in such a vulnerable position? I run my hand over my face, acting as if my confession was HIV positive related and not a love declaration. It’s not even declaration, though. More of a fact. I just do. I love him.

He pulls me into his strong shoulder and kisses my forehead. No. No, no, no, no, no. I did not just say that after dating him for less than two months. This is crazy talk.

“So stick around.” He shoots me a dimpled smile.

And he doesn’t say it back. Why would he? He’s had a longer relationship with his freaking mail lady.

“Yes,” I say gruffly, deflated. “Yes, I will.”