Maybe (11 page)

“Because I won’t let you be another Addie.”

I nod, disgusted. “But you’ll be another Tim. Don’t come in here and tell me that I help you sleep and write, that you need me but don’t want me. This is insane and . . . what I want right now is for you to leave. I can’t go over this again, and I won’t go through it. You’ve said what you want to say, so just go. This isn’t one of your games.”

I’m halfway to my bed when I call out to him. “I won’t be here for your show. I have another assignment.” When I turn to see if he’s heard me, the kitchen is empty, and the door is wide open. Passing by the living room table on my way to shut the door, I realize that the right side of the table is clear.

He’s taken the picture of us.

Chapter Sixteen

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

This is the best decision I ever made.

And I am a liar.

—M

Chapter Seventeen

The last thing I have to do before I can leave this place is attend the welcome dinner for the musicians. The film festival has wrapped, and the entire town seems to be gearing up for the music festival and conferences. I’m gearing up to get on a plane. Everything that I can pack, I do.

I don’t ask for my barre to be sent to me. I’m apathetic toward the entire thing, and I think maybe it’s time I give up the ghost and let those things go. There’s always yoga, and Seattle
has
to have a class or two.

My nerves are shot by the time I finish getting dressed. Laura and Grier are waiting for me so we can all drive over, but I don’t want to talk. I just want to get this over with. My dress is too tight, and the heels are too high, and frankly I hate everything about the night already.

We step inside, and Laura grips my hand, squeezing a bit when we’re spotted by Hollis. My band—no, not my band. They’re standing by a table, drinking and laughing, like everything is fine, which I’m sure it is for them. For me, though? I’m over it, and I’m off the clock.

“Wine.”

The little bartending stations set on the outskirts of the party are a godsend. A glass of Riesling takes me less than a couple of minutes to drink. The second only a little longer.

“Hey, slow down.” Grier wraps his arm around my shoulders and leans over to my ear. “Are you okay?”

“Stellar.”

I want to stop being so anxious. I have to get my shit together so I can leave with what little dignity I have left. Mr. and Mrs. Deets will go sit with their respective bands, and I’ll have to sit with mine, which sounds worse than water torture. Or being put into a room where they play “Panama” on repeat.

“You look nice. I like your dress.” Hollis seems glad to see me, though I can’t say the same for Tyler when he walks away from the table for a few minutes.

“Thanks. It’s almost the last thing I have to pack.”

She presses her lips together and looks at her husband, who can’t hold her gaze. “It was nice of you to show up since you’re leaving in the morning. We have a going-away gift for you.” She reaches down next to her chair and holds up a bottle of that terrible peach wine she once mentioned. It has curled silver ribbons hanging off the neck, and it looks so out of place here that I can’t help but laugh.

There’s dinner and drinks, but the conversation isn’t flowing on my side of the table, so I play with my phone for a bit before I decide to check in on my flight. It feels like that will make it final.

“Em, do you agree?”

I look up to see Shawn bent toward me in his chair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you asking?”

“Is it easier for a guy to get a girl’s number or for a girl to get a drink?”

The table is all but vibrating from the way Tyler is drumming all ten fingers and not looking at me. I glance his way and tilt my chin. “What did Mace say?”

“Numbers.”

“Then I say drinks.”

When he finally turns to acknowledge me, I almost wish he hadn’t. “You want to make a bet on it?”

I tip my almost empty glass in his direction. “Why the hell not, Tyler? One for the road?” I’m on my feet faster than he can speak, a little tipsy in my heels but warm enough not to care. “Which side of the room do you want?”

His eyes are narrowed, and that mouth I was once so attracted to pulls into a thin line. He stands and pulls a sucker from his pocket before rolling his sleeves up to the elbow and makes a motion toward the left side of the room. “Meet you back here in an hour. I’ll have the numbers.”

I have no doubt that he will, but he’s being a smug bastard, and my dress is short, so it seems like a brilliant idea. The heat from his stare could catch my legs on fire, and I know he’s watching when I cross to one of the bars and lean between two businessmen, raising my butt a little and waving the bartender over. “I’m so sorry. I just needed a refill.”

My first drink of the night is courtesy of the man checking out my ass. When I turn to see if Tyler is watching, he’s halfway across the room. For an hour, I ask the band what they’d like to drink and get someone to buy it for me before dropping it off with a forced smile. My buzz starts to wear off, and my shoes are killing me, so I take my seat at the table and wait for Tyler to show up.

Jon is watching me nervously. “How many was that?”

“Twelve.”

Hollis clears her throat like she’s going to say something, but I hold up my hand to quiet her when I see Tyler walking toward the table with measured steps. In one hand he holds folded papers and in the other . . .

Shawn reaches out and takes the numbers from Tyler while this guy, this man who told me to leave, pulls on the hand of a tiny blond girl who is excitedly swaying behind him. There’s a moment, just one glance between us while he lifts his jacket off the chair. Neither of us is smiling when he takes her out the door.

“Thirteen,” Shawn calls quietly, waving the numbers before putting them on the table.

I straighten my shoulders and reach for my purse and that stupid bottle of wine. Getting to my feet, I regard the rest of the people at the table. “He wins.” Without another word, I leave the building. I don’t care that Laura and Grier don’t know I left. I don’t care that I’m a mile away from the apartments. I have a pair of flats in my purse that I carry for nights like these, and I’ll be just fine.

I take the time to think. I take the time to get a little angrier. Then I take the time to open the screw top off the peach wine I’m carrying down the street.

The silver ribbons are long forgotten by the time I’m facing the front of the building. I have a choice. There are two ways this can go. To the second floor where everything is packed and I’m ready to leave. Or . . .

I don’t think I’ve ever hit a door so hard in my life. The bottle is left somewhere in the hallway, and both my hands are on fire from slapping the surface so hard. When it finally opens, I almost fall inside his apartment. He’s holding the door open, his eyes filled with anger, wearing the same clothes from the dinner, and he smells like a cigarette factory has been lit on fire.

I step forward and push both hands into his chest, shoving him as hard as I can. “You’re a bastard. Why would you do that? Is she still here? Did I interrupt you?” I’m still pushing, shoving him into the living room with every ounce of anger I have inside.

“God, you’re a sore loser.” He steps away, out of my reach. “I didn’t bring her back here. She was part of the bet, remember? That girl gave me her number, and I took her outside and hailed her a cab because she was wasted. Kinda like
you
right now.”

“Shut up. You’re such an asshole to make me think you were going to bring her back here. That made me feel like shit. I’m not good enough for you, but some random from a dinner is?”

He’s on me in an instant, pressing my spine into the wall. “Jesus, will you listen to yourself? You think you’re not good enough for me, and you know that’s not the case.”

“I hate you,” I whisper when his eyes meet mine. They’re burning, and I’m surrounded by the smell of cigarettes, which makes me close my eyes and breathe out of my mouth.

“I know you do, and you should keep hating me. It makes this easier.”

His hands are pinning mine to my sides, and I push against him, my anger still rushing out. “Let me go.”

He leans in close and presses his face to my neck. “I’m trying to.”

His breathing is irregular, and he finally lets my hands go but doesn’t move. He’s exhaling against my skin, his lips barely touching where my dress dips across my shoulders. “What should I say? That I’ll miss this? I will. You’ve barely been here. And you’re so soft.” His voice is a low murmur in my ear, and I can’t open my eyes because he’s so close. “You smell good, too. And when I touch your skin, it drives me crazy because I want it so much.”

“Then stop pushing me away.” My voice is small, my lips covered by his shoulder.

“I have to. Don’t you get it?” When he pulls back so that I can see him, his eyes are filled with worry and shadows of things I don’t understand. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and he sucks in a deep breath, his eyes traveling from his finger up to my eyes. He stares and holds the skin, rolling my lower lip open while I breathe shaky breaths. His tongue peeks out from between his lips, the red hue so familiar even though I know he doesn’t taste the same.

Then he whispers, “Fuck it,” and grips my face in his hands to kiss me with more force than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

I don’t care that his mouth tastes different or that his hands aren’t gentle. His entire body is enveloping mine, and I can’t hold on to him tight enough, strong enough—enough in general. I have to breathe, so I pull away, and his face is buried in my hair, his hands reaching to cup my ass when he lifts me to carry me to the bed.

There is no sane reason why I want this so much. What makes him different than anyone else? If I knew, I would turn it off.

My shoes are gone, dress discarded, bra half off when he sits up and opens his hand across my bare stomach. I watch his eyes drift closed and lips press together for a second before his mouth descends, littering my hip bone with soft kisses, humming quietly while he does. It’s throaty, like he can’t quite let it leave his lips, and the feel of it on my skin makes me shiver.

“It’s so loud,” he whispers while he rolls my underwear down my legs with one hand and feels along my thigh with the other. His touch is so featherlight I can hardly stand it, and I’m arching into him, gripping his hair in my fist.

I wonder if what he’s hearing is the same as what I’m feeling, and the thought makes my chest grow tight while my heart begins to ache.

I’ve done this. I’ve asked for it. For a moment, I think maybe he’ll stop and I’ll be rejected all over again, but then his lips press against tender skin and his tongue flicks so light and fast against my clit that it’s a beautiful kind of torture. It reminds me of watching him drum—the way he plays with wild abandon but never falters in his rhythm. His face, what I can see of it, has that same concentration, and when my thighs begin to quake, he slips in a finger and presses warm, wet lips to my bent knee.

This is my favorite part. The tightness in my stomach. How my hips rise while I chase the white heat, heavy and low. He’s whispering, but I can’t focus because I’m pulled so tight, shoulders digging and head angled upward before the loudest sound comes out of my mouth. I have no control over it.

My nails have left red crescent moons on his shoulder, my fingers aching from the force. He’s watching my breasts rise and fall with each rough gasp of air I’m taking in. Lust is there, but wonder is embedded in the deep blue as well.

“Was that what you wanted?” he whispers against my ribcage, eyes downcast while his body rises to hover over mine. Tyler’s knees part my thighs wider, and my entire body is tense with anticipation. His arms flex when he stretches, reaching for a black box on his bookshelf. I know what’s in there and why it’s in such a convenient place.

Once he’s made it safe, his face appears above mine. “Are you sure you want this?”

Sliding my fingers up his jaw and higher, trailing over tiny round steel, I take a deep breath. “Don’t you want to find out what will happen?”

He kisses me again, and so many flavors fill my mouth when he slips his tongue inside. His fingers spread me, and he nudges so I open more and reach to help him. Our fingers brush when he presses forward and I pull him down, gasping as his cock begins to enter so slowly.

This vibration in my body is all-consuming, and I cling to his hips while he continues, one aching inch at a time. He’s been fighting this, and right now he’s figuring out that he made a mistake. I can see it in the way his lips part and his forehead creases. I grip his arm, touch his chest, push up on my elbows to reach his mouth, and he fills me so completely that I want to cry.

The tiny undulations of his hips are enough to make me wetter, and I’m kissing him slow, but the desperation for him is building. Tyler holds my knees and anchors them to the bed, but I let out a small muffled cry at the sharp pain that courses through me.

“Sorry.” He’s breathing so hard when he says it, letting go of my legs to brace himself on the mattress beside my hips.

Closer. More. Deeper. It’s all my brain keeps repeating while I lock my legs around his waist and force him to sink in even more until he can’t go any farther. His hips begin to move, but it’s a smooth, slow rhythm, sliding out and in with a slight roll of his hips when we connect. I’m moaning, and high-pitched staccato breaths are filling the apartment while he stares at me through half open eyes and lets out soft sounds.