Maybe (9 page)

“Thanks.” He pats my knee and squeezes.

“Must have been one helluva dry hump to get that out of you.”

“One of the better ones.”

He’s teasing, but suddenly the thought of him with anyone else in his bed causes my smile to fade a bit. “We should get going.”

Everyone is waiting for us when we finally get there, and Tyler holds my hand the entire way, pulls my chair out for me, and when the waitress asks about splitting checks, he says he’ll cover mine, too.

Shawn rests his elbows on the table and eyes Tyler with a smirk. “First date?”

“Not a date,” we both say at the same time.

Even though I’m not working, I still want to stay sober because this wager, this bet I’ve been dragged into, is going to have to be executed while I have full mental capacity. We make eye contact, and our thighs press together or hands brush every once in a while. But we’re careful not to do anything in front of the rest of the band, even though Hollis clearly knows and is keeping an eye on things.

The band playing is pretty good, but I know that GatB is better, so it’s not hard to turn to Tyler when they break and ask him the question everyone has been waiting for me to deliver.

“I have a wager I’d like to place with you, Tyler Macy.” His face goes blank, and I smile, tilting my head to see his reaction. “I want to see you sing on stage.”

He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “We’ve talked about this. No.”

“I’ll give you a prize . . .”

That right eyebrow raises, and he angles his body toward me, eyes scouring my face before he responds. “What do I win?”

I take my cue from Jonathan and just answer, “Anything you want.”

“The band isn’t going to let me get up there.”

“Hollis already asked.”

The look of determination on his face makes me lightheaded. “Any song I want?”

“I think she asked them to do a cover song. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ or something.”

“Never in my life would I do that song. Every good guitarist should know Jeff Buckley, though.”

“You
cannot
sing a version of ‘Hallelujah’. I won’t allow it. I can’t . . .”

“It’s a stipulation. Do you want to back down?”

I don’t. There’s no way I’m going to deny him or his friends this moment. “Fine, but you have to tell me what you want your prize to be.”

When he leans forward, I hold my breath. “I want to see you dance.”

It’s slow motion, watching him walk away and leap onto the stage. The smile Jon shoots my way is bright and hopeful, and even Hollis gives an encouraging grin, like maybe I owe her one for whatever has happened between her friend and me. Like maybe this will make things okay.

When he starts to sing, I have the briefest glimpse into what his future is going to look like. His voice? His voice is what contracts and sold-out amphitheaters are made of. It’s what girls cry to in their bedrooms and sing in their showers. His voice is the reason I am here.

I don’t care that this song makes me want to cry and makes my chest feel tight. His face while he sings is a sight to behold, and when he closes his eyes and grips the microphone, I’m bombarded with thoughts about his fingers and mouth until I have to lean forward and cross my legs. When the song ends, the place erupts in applause before the other band starts their music again. Tyler’s swagger when he walks back to the table is upped a notch. His friends are patting him on the shoulders, but his full focus is on me. Leaning over with one hand on the table and the other on the booth seat, he lowers his face to look into my eyes.

“I win again.”

I shrug and keep his gaze. “I don’t mind.”

My apartment is quiet, save for the steady rush of my breathing while I change clothes in the bathroom. I secure my hair and take one last look at my reflection before I gather the courage to step out the door. He’s in a chair in the middle of the loft, legs splayed out and a sucker in his mouth, facing the mirror and waiting for me. I go sit at his feet and begin to tie the worn satin ribbons up my left leg before starting on the right. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s staring.

“What happened to your leg?”

The question isn’t one I am expecting, and my hands falter a bit. I continue to look down while I answer. “Blew my knee out. It ended my career, and I never had the chance to make it to prima, which was my dream for a really long time.” I crane my neck to glance up at him. “Some dreams are just dreams, though. Not all of them come true.”

“And the guy?” The way he says it conveys that he doesn’t want to know, but he does, and I can’t blame him because I brought it up in his interview.

I lean back and point my toes, stretching out. “The
guy
. My fiancé. It’s funny, I guess. When you’re nineteen and you’ve loved someone for years, you think that life is planned out. You meet at the ballet school his mom owns. You date and plan for the future, which involves you onstage and him in the wings and his mother finally approving of you. But things happen.”

I wait for him to say something—anything—but all he does is bend forward like he wants to hear better.

“Look. You know how there are girls who only date musicians or guys in the military? There are some guys who are into certain things. Tim had grown up believing he’d marry a ballerina, so when that wasn’t in my future anymore, neither was he.” I finally look up at Tyler to find his face scrunched, the lollipop stick between his pursed lips.

“He’s a fucking idiot.”

I laugh and lean back more to point and flex my toes. “I won’t disagree with that, but I’ve had six years to get over it.”

His fingers trail slowly over my right calf, and he sighs softly.

“Are you ready?” I ask, slipping away from his touch and getting up on my feet.

I want music, but I know this will be short, so I step up to the barre, avoiding my own reflection and watching him instead. The combination is not something I complete from start to finish. I do as much as I can on any given day, and though he’s asked to see me dance, it’s mostly just barre work that begins with pliés and moves into tendus. I strive to make it through to the adagio most days, but tonight I feel light and electric because he’s watching.

“That’s beautiful.” It’s not loud when he says it, but I blush anyway.

“I’m not even doing anything.” Coming to rest, I turn and watch his body language.

His eyes scour my figure, starting at my legs and moving higher until we’re looking at one another in the silence. My chest feels so full staring at his face that I raise my arms and leg and spin out in front of him, coming to a dead stop just shy of his knees.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” He asks like he’s pissed, but he doesn’t need to worry about me.

Leaning into him farther, I smile and pull the sucker from his lips before I pop it into my own mouth. “I know my limits, Tyler. The question is, do you know yours?” For one fleeting second, I think maybe I’ve made a mistake, but when his hands grip my waist and he pulls me to his lap, every last fear is gone. I rest my wrists on his shoulders while he runs his hands over my arms and higher to sweep his thumbs along my jaw, tilting my head back before his mouth descends. His kisses are so soft, so featherlight that my toes instinctively flex and point, legs rigid and pressing into his. He stops, brings my head toward him, and removes the sucker from my mouth to drop it on the floor next to my feet.

When I realize that his attention is focused behind me, I turn to look over my shoulder to see him watching us in the mirror. He kisses my shoulder and secures my hips with his arm wrapped like a vise over my spine, holding me against him while he begins to rock slowly. I can’t watch anymore when his mouth breathes hot and thick through my tank top, and he nudges my breast with his nose before lightly biting my nipple through the shirt.

“God, that feels good. You feel so good. I want you to touch me like the first night. You haven’t even kissed me in almost a week.” My hips roll into him, and he buries his face in my neck, letting out a deep groan. Yet he kisses me there and on my jaw, across my cheek, until his nose brushes mine and my lips part waiting for him.

He doesn’t disappoint, and this attraction, this thing I’m not supposed to feel, overcomes me. Even though it shouldn’t be this, it’s all I want.

“Turn around,” he whispers, and I do. With slow restraint, he lifts his hand to my arm and pulls me onto his lap, turning so that my back is against his chest. My eyes flick to the mirror and watch his hands move from my arms to my hips and settle onto my thighs. He breathes into my ear while his fingers dig in and pull my legs to either side of the chair.

My toes instinctively flex, and I point them, balancing with the support of my shoes. Tyler’s head lifts, and he catches my eye in the mirror, a slow grin forming on his lips. His thumbs are running circles along the inside of my thighs, and I breathe out loudly from the sensations.

He lifts a hand to my nipple, and I shift against him in response.

“I think I know my limits, but maybe I should check.” His chin nudges my head to the side, and I crane my neck to give him better access to kiss and run his teeth over my skin. Instinctively, I reach an arm up to wrap around his neck.

“Show me how you like to be touched.” His words are soft but demanding, and my body shakes at the request. His hand rests just at the crease of my thigh and pelvis, waiting for instruction. I drop my hand onto his and move it in between my legs.

Tyler shakes his head and rests his chin on my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the mirror once more. Over my clothes, pressing harder, he runs circles across the barrier between his palm and my softest skin.

Taking the initiative, he slides his hand higher until his fingers are resting lightly above the waistband of my shorts. I urge him on with a shift of my hips. He presses against my back and grips my other hip with his hand tightly, while his fingers disappear beneath the fabric. They stop mere millimeters away from where I want them the most.

“Here?”

I nod at his question and whimper slightly.

“Or here?” His hand drops lower as my legs spread wider and his fingertips brush against me.

Tyler begins a slow circuit, running his middle finger in between my swollen lips. I watch his hand move within my shorts and try to focus on what he’s doing to me.

“Now what?” he whispers, his breath ragged against my cheek.

I slip my hand over his inside my shorts, pressing against his fingers firmly and moving them in a slow circle and then lower, until they rest at my entrance. With a simple push, I show him exactly where I want his fingers—inside me.

Our hands move in time with each other, and he follows my lead, causing me to writhe against his lap. He responds by shifting his hips to meet my movements. My head is thrown back against his shoulder, and my eyes are shut, just feeling him. I need the complete experience, so I wrench his other hand free from my hip and guide it under my shirt, telling him silently where to go—how to knead and squeeze roughly until I’m moaning.

“You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop moving in my lap like that.”

“You started it.”

My hand is slick and warm on his, and in a moment of bravado, I yank it free from my shorts and shift my hips upward to snake it around and inside his pants.

“Slow down,” he whispers, pushing me off his lap so that I have to let him go. I’m turned once more to face him, and I straddle his legs, my forehead against his while I try to breathe.

His hands are on my knees, up my thighs, squeezing and kneading, spreading me wider until he’s flush between my legs. With one push upward, he’s hard and warm, getting to his feet to carry me to the bed, where he lays me down gently. Tyler raises my right leg up to his chest. He kisses my ankle and unwraps old silk, letting the ribbons fall and brush against skin. When he repeats the process with my left leg, I don’t think I can want him any more than I do right now.

When he lowers himself, I clutch his neck and wrap my legs around his hips, anchoring and pulling his hair while we kiss, both tongues sweet like candy. He pulls back to tug up my shirt with one hand and lower my shorts with the other. I’m arched, letting him undress me, but he doesn’t hurry. He breathes and licks, presses and rolls, and I’m caught up in it, too far gone.