Maybe (14 page)

“Dammit. I can’t . . .”

Minutes pass, and people start to file out again. Smokers. Drinkers. Tyler’s parents leaving. I watch them go and try again to button my coat so I can follow. When I get back to the hotel, I’ll call Rynn and explain.

“Let me help you.” Tyler’s hands are on my shoulders, turning me until I’m facing his chest. “Leaving again? Do I not get a goodbye this time either?”

“Don’t. You don’t get to do this to me.”

His long fingers slip the buttons into the openings with ease. “I’ve heard writing a song about a girl can be pretty flattering, but you look like you want to spray me in the face with some pepper spray again.”

It makes me chuckle even though my eyes are filling with tears. “I really do.” The laugh mixes with a sob, and I hate that he’s making me cry. On a New York sidewalk, no less.

He takes my freezing hand and leads me to the alley between two buildings. “You can’t hate me forever, Emily. I asked you to stay. And did you see? I sang, and you weren’t even within five feet of the stage.” I inhale sharply when he presses my back to the bricks. “I want you. Do you hear me?”

“Tyler.” It’s nothing but an airy gasp when he places one palm on my cheek and the other on my neck.

“There it is.” He hums and leans his forehead against my hair, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply between his teeth before his nose brushes mine. “Don’t move, okay? Just let me touch you.” I feel his thumbs trailing over my cheek, close to my parted lips. “I didn’t think I’d miss you this much.”

Our lips hover just out of reach, and I’m gripping the front of his coat so tight my fingers are aching. I go to speak, but no words come out because my mouth brushes his and my resolve goes up in flames around us. His mouth is so familiar and causes my hips to angle up to meet his body while he steps forward once more to trap me against the building. He tugs and nips with his teeth along my lips, and they’re no longer cold. My body has broken out in a light sweat beneath the layers of my clothing.

“Say you missed me.” He speaks against my lips, his tongue slipping out to touch mine lightly. “Tell me you thought about me.”

I can feel his hands sliding down my face and over the lapels of the coat, resting against the buttons he’s just fixed. The first one pops open, and I grip his neck, digging my cold fingers into the hair at the nape. It’s grown longer since I last touched him.

“You look so beautiful tonight.” One more button slips free. “All I wanted to do was kiss you.” He does while another button is undone. The anticipation is torturous, and his fingers slip beneath the fabric, skimming my breasts when each palm runs over my sweater to grip and squeeze. I mimic him with my own hands across his warm flesh beneath the shirt he’s wearing.

“I did miss you. And I hated you for it.”

His fingers scramble beneath my sweater, and he lets out a satisfied sigh against my neck. “I wish you could hear this. But you can
feel
what you do to me, right?”

My right hand passes over his zipper, and I choke on a moan. He pulses into my palm and digs his fingers into my side, while his other fingers slip lower, gripping onto the loops on my jeans. He turns us a bit so that his back is to the street, and I can see over his shoulder for the smallest of seconds.

“There are people out there.”

“No one can see. And if they’re looking, then they’ll think we’re talking.” His fingers have reached the zipper, and he hooks his thumb in my waistband. I’m fisting his coat tighter while he speaks. “Fuck. I want to be inside you again. I want you to stay.”

“I am. I am.” The words are a whisper when he presses against me harder, and I feel what the months between us couldn’t damage. “I’m staying, Tyler. I’m . . . oh, God.”

He kisses me sweet, deep, and lingering while he pulls his hand from between us. “Say it again.”

The truth sits bitter on my tongue, but I push it back to taste the sweetness of his words. “I’m staying. But it’s not . . . it’s . . .” My eyes search his because his expression is pure confusion. I smile as brightly as I can. “I’m coming on tour with you.”

His eyebrows rise and come together. He holds me to his chest with his arms wrapped around my waist. “What? I don’t get it.”

“It’s my new assignment. I’m going to follow your band for your North American tour. Blogging.” I pull away and hold my hands out, waving them with happy fingers. “Surprise.”

“What does this mean, Emily?”

“It means we have two weeks before I’m working with you again.”

Chapter Twenty

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

It’s been almost one year since Jon tricked me into singing for the South by Southwest performance. He claimed Shawn had ruined his throat with too much practice. I did it because I thought she’d be there, and when I found out she left, I didn’t believe it. I’ve never run so fast in my entire life, but her apartment was bare except for that damn mirror.

It’s not in one piece anymore.

Yes. I stole her shirt.

Yes. I wrote songs about her.

Yes. I named an album after her.

For a year she was indifferent, and now she’s here. She’s staying, but it’s for work, and I have no idea what that means for us.

If there even is an us.

It’s unnerving to not have an answer.

—M

Chapter Twenty-One

The air conditioner is freezing, but I’m a furnace beneath the covers with Tyler kissing me so slowly. “I’m worn out,” I whisper when he pulls away. His hands are anything but lazy, and they seek me out again, resting my leg on his hip while his fingers touch where he’s been for hours.

It’s six o’clock in the morning, and we haven’t slept longer than ten minutes because a year is a long time to be apart and two weeks isn’t enough to get more of each other.

“You’re not that tired.” He chuckles when a long digit enters slowly. Mouth to my skin, he kisses softly, teeth pressing, gentle but firm. He rises to get what he needs, and even though I’m exhausted and spent, I can’t stop the way my shoulders shiver when he rolls me onto my back again.

I’m not usually selfish. I don’t lie back and let it happen, but he takes a nipple between his teeth and then blows across it. “Relax. I’ve got this.” His hands raise my legs to rest against his ribs, and he anchors them with his arms. I don’t have to move an inch when he slides into me again. My body has no tension left, and every limb feels heavy but in the best way, like he’s the gravity that’s holding me in place.

He’s gentle and slow, and I let him lead, let him angle my hips to meet his thrusts, accepting each of his movements. I won’t come again, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve chased the release so many times in the past few hours that I’m beyond satisfied. His hand slides beneath my butt, guiding up until his palm is pressed at the base of my spine, fingers splayed open to push my pelvis higher.

Our hips roll, and I have to move. My hands are fisting the pillows where my head was just laying, and I can’t get sufficient breath in my lungs. My head is angled back so that if I open my eyes, the only thing I’ll see is the headboard. His other hand is busy wandering my stomach and lower, tracing the outline of my hip while he begins to breathe deeper, push farther. It’s the soft pad of his thumb on my clit that makes those sounds come from my mouth that he whispers about so affectionately in the dark.

I’m going to fall apart at any second. My eyes are squeezed shut, and there’s white around the edges of my closed lids. He’s telling me softly that he’s got me, and I know it’s true, so I let go one last time, gasping through his last thrusts before he lays his head on my chest.

Quiet and exhausted, he lifts off my frame and presses tired kisses to my chin and neck. He disappears into the bathroom before crawling in the bed with me again. It’s imperative that I do the same, but my legs are barely functioning when I try to walk. I’m sure he’s proud of this. When I join him beneath the covers, he lays his forehead against my temple and traces a finger across my hip bones.

“You’re skinnier.”

“There’s a lot of coffee in Seattle. More coffee than food.”

He sits up a little and cradles his head in his hand. “Tell the truth.”

I want to lie, but I stare up at the ceiling instead. “You know why.”

The feel of his kiss on my cheek makes my eyes fall closed, and I’m right on the edge of sleep when he whispers that he’ll buy me a big breakfast when we wake up.

We don’t leave the hotel at all on Sunday. There’s food and his body, so I can’t think of another thing we could possibly need until I have to show up at the office to talk with Rynn. We talk, and we don’t talk. Silence is just that, and we’re comfortable through it, like nothing ever happened in the first place. We make up for lost time and the days we have left because I know in the back of my mind that once I get on that bus there’s no more of this.

We can’t let anyone know.

He’s kissing the inside of my thigh when he asks a question that I knew was coming. “Has anyone else tasted you like this in the past year, Peach?”

I’m concentrating on where his chin is brushing against my swollen flesh. “What? Why are you asking this right now?” Trying to sit up is next to impossible since his forearm is pressing my knee against my chest.

He blows cool air across wet skin, and I’m shivering when his eyes appear from below. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“God, Tyler. Would it matter? It’s not like we . . .”

Rising to brush my nose with his, he blinks and sighs. He rests heavy between my thighs, and I fight the want that’s been there for more days, weeks, and months than I care to admit.

“You tell me first.” It’s my only line of defense.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Not for a second, Tyler Macy, up-and-coming rock star. Photo spread god in magazines. Honeybadger annihilator.”

He grips my hair while pressing against my opening. “Not one.”

It’s not a lie when I tell him, “Same.”

“Why?”

He knows, but I’ll say it to feed his ego and tame this flickering anger in his eyes. “You.”

The way his knees nudge to spread my thighs makes my arms tighten, and I pull on his hair in turn. The head of his cock presses a little against my entrance, and I’m excited by the prospect of not having the latex between us. I wonder what it will do to his head if we’re together that way. He’s breathing heavy and holding himself above me, eyes drifting closed for a second when he pushes forward just a little and slides in half an inch.

His left hand is gripping the side of my neck while his right tightens on my hair, and then he kind of laughs. “I’m out of condoms.”

“It’s okay.” I feel like I’ve told him this a hundred times, but he’s adamant.

The weight of his body leaves mine so quickly, I’m left confused. “It’s not, though.”

I want to ask what his problem is. Why he’s like this, so hot and cold. Passionate and closed off. Maybe we’re too alike in that way.

Instead, I reach for the menu and ask if he’s hungry for lunch.

Monday morning I’m filled with dread, my bags are packed, and a cab waits for me outside the hotel. Tyler says goodbye in the lobby because I ask him not to walk me out. For some reason, I have this weird feeling that someone will see us, even though he’s just begun to be noticed. This entire thing will only work if we aren’t public. If no one else knows.