Tyler (8 page)

After classes in the afternoon, I redial Tyler’s number, but he still doesn’t answer. Can’t he hear his phone ring? Or did Zane give me the wrong number?

I’m about to try again when Dad calls me. Frowning, I stare at his cell number flashing, complete with the word ‘Dad’ and his picture. He calls me precisely twice a year—on my birthday and Christmas. My Mom is the one who calls all the time to check on me.

I connect the call. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Erin, hey. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Dad doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in his veins, but he normally likes using Spanish words when he talks to me. The fact that he doesn’t, and the stiffness in the way he speaks tells me there are unfamiliar people around him.

“Then why are you calling? Where’s Mom?”

A pause in which my heart pounds in my ears like a war drum. “She’s feeling a little unwell, and asked me to—”

“Unwell? What do you mean? What’s wrong?” The room tilts sharply, and I stagger until I knock into a wall and slide down. I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Dad, you have to tell me what is going on.”

“She just got dizzy and fell. I brought her to the ER. The doctors are checking her out now. Jax is with her. They’re saying it’s just a lack of vitamins and iron…”

My ears buzz. I’m glad I’m sitting down because my whole body shakes. “Oh God. I’m coming there right now.”

“Honey, it’s nothing. Your mom’s saying she doesn’t want you coming over. You can’t miss any more classes, and—”

“Erin?” Mom’s sweet voice, and I close my eyes, fighting tears. “
Mamita
, I’m fine. I told your dad not to call, but the big oaf won’t listen to me. Then again, what’s new?” She huffs. “I forgot to take my pills for a while. That’s all.”

“Mom, why?” She’s got an ulcer and when it flares, she becomes anemic and has to have blood transfusions when it gets bad. “Why aren’t you careful?”

“Sorry, baby. Had a lot on my mind—with you and Jax. I want you to be happy.”

“I
am
happy!”

“I know, I know. Won’t happen again,” she mumbles and I hear the remorse in her voice.

I sigh, and a rustling in the phone heralds the return of my father.

“Honey, your mom will be fine. I just wanted to let you know. No need to do anything for now, but if we can’t handle it, I’ll call you again, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, my voice small. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me know if you need help, yes?”

“Sure thing, honey.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “This is nothing, just a bump in the road. We’ve been through much worse and come out stronger.”

Yeah. I remember my time at the clinic. How scared I was. How worried they were for me. We made it through.

“Love you, Dad.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Keep an eye on Mom for me.”

“Will do.”

He disconnects, and I suck air into my lungs. Mom will be fine. She worries too much about me. Then again, I’ve given her good reason over the years. Why won’t she believe I’m happy the way things are? She’s worse than Tessa, pushing me to find someone, always talking about love.

I loved once and look what it cost me: I lost my faith in love and my trust in others. Even in myself.

***

Evening settles over the town like a veil. The snow has melted, leaving dirty puddles on the sidewalks of the campus. I call Tyler again. His phone rings and rings. No reply.

This is ridiculous.

Perhaps it’s the frustration with Mom collapsing and the whole bad month I’ve had, but my patience is at an end. I call Zane, who picks up after the third ring.

“What’s up?” he rumbles into the phone.

“I think Tyler’s number you sent me is wrong. That, or he doesn’t want to talk to me, so maybe your infernal radar was wrong for once.”

“Shit. Just a sec.” Then he shouts, “Hey, Tyler, got your cell with you, fucker?”

I frown. “He’s there, at Damage Control?”

Zane mutters something under his breath, then says, “He says he left his cell at home.”

“Okay… What is he doing there?”

Zane tsks. “He works here.”

“He what?” My mouth falls open. I force myself to move, unlock my car and slip inside. “Since when?”

“Couple days. Front desk. Why don’t you come over and talk to him in person? Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Wouldn’t hurt whom?” I ask bitterly, one hand clenching on the steering wheel. Talking to Tyler is one thing, but talking to him while looking into those dark eyes of his… Totally different story.

“Just come over, girl,” Zane mutters. “Stop fighting it.”

I press my lips together and disconnect the call. I throw the cell into the passenger seat and bow my head. I thought I’d stopped fighting it. I thought I was over him.

I
am
over him.

I drive over to Damage Control, and the closer I get, the clammier my palms become, slipping on the steering wheel. I’m afraid of what he might say—of the excuses he might give for leaving, for never writing. But I will do this. I won’t chicken out. I need the closure—for me, for Jax. For Mom, so she’ll stop worrying about me. For Dad, so he won’t have to keep picking up the pieces.

I park outside the shop and sit still for a long moment, gathering my courage. This time I won’t freeze with shock or run off crying. I’ll face Tyler and talk this out, adult to adult. It’s about time we did.

Zipping up my jacket, I step out. The wind is rising as darkness falls, whipping my ponytail across my neck, lashing my face with loose strands of hair. My short skirt flutters around my legs, and I’m glad for my knee-high boots.

The sign over the door flickers in neon blue and light spills through the store front, seeping between the tattoo designs stuck inside the glass.

With a fortifying breath, I step inside. Soft music is playing for the customers—soft vocals, quite unlike Zane’s taste in music, which leans more toward punk rock and metal. Two men are standing in front of the desk, hiding it from view—wide shoulders, leather biker jackets, shaved heads and silver studs on the shells of their ears. The usual type of customers at Damage Control. I wait until they’re done and then take their place in front of the desk.

Tyler is standing there, typing something at the computer. His dark head is bowed, silky strands brushing his square jaw and falling in his face. He’s wearing a light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and broad chest and faded jeans hanging low on his narrow hips.

Whoa, Tessa’s right. Boy’s smokin’ hot. My face feels warm, the heat creeping up my neck. I tug on the collar of my jacket, suddenly breathless.

I must have made a noise, because he looks up from the computer, a hand poised over the keyboard.

“I’ll be right with you…” His eyes widen, dark like the night, and his jaw slackens. “Erin?”

I wipe my palms on my pants and struggle to formulate words. His lips look soft like satin, and when he licks them it’s all I can do not to grab and kiss him.

Good job, Erin. Losing your mind the moment he looks at you.

“I, um,” I say intelligently and shift my weight.
Focus, Erin. On something other than his lips, that is.
“Can we talk?”

His gaze drops, and he heaves a quiet sigh. “Sure.”

“Where can we go?” I’m suddenly aware of the buzz of the tattoo guns and voices.

His jaw clenches, and his gaze slides sideways. I turn and see Zane watching us, his slanted eyes narrowed.

“Come with me,” Tyler says and steps around the desk. He grabs my hand and drags me behind him. I don’t even think twice as I follow him to the back of the shop, to the customers’ bathroom, my resolutions and my list forgotten.

***

As he opens the door, I tug on his hand, and he lets go. His dark eyes shift to me, uncertainty flickering in their depths.

Good.
Let him be uncertain.

He hangs back, and I step inside the spacious bathroom. The black granite counter where the white sink rests is cool under my hands as I lean back against it. A floral air-freshener scent wafts around me.

Then Tyler steps inside and locks the door behind him. He turns toward me, running a big hand through his longish hair, and steps closer. His presence fills the room. His shoulders seem impossibly wide, his gaze growing darker by the second. The room is growing smaller.

I suck in a sharp breath and press back against the counter, the granite edge digging into my palms. He looms over me, and my heart thumps too fast in my chest. My demands, my questions, every word in my vocabulary flees at the sight of him. From close up, he doesn’t look so much like Asher. His mouth is wider, his cheekbones high, and that gaze… It glides over my skin like liquid fire.

Another scent overlays the floral air freshener now. It’s musky and deep, layers of masculine, clean sweat and a whiff of pinewood. I draw it into my lungs as if it’s oxygen before I realize it’s all him, the scent awakening memories I thought buried and dead—of Tyler kissing me, holding me. Our bodies pressed together, skin to skin, our limbs tangled.

“Why?” I blurt out, to break the spell.

“Why what?” his voice rumbles, low and deep, sending shivers skittering over my skin.

God.
I can’t let his face, his scent, his body take away my reason. I came here to talk. “Why did you leave four years ago?”

His mouth flattens, and he shoves his fingers through his unruly hair. Those broad shoulders roll in a shrug.

That’s it? He thinks he’s off the hook that easily? No way. I push off the counter and get into his face—well, I crane my neck and almost rise on my tiptoes, but it’ll have to do—and grab a fistful of his T-shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? Why didn’t you ever call? Where were you, for chrissakes?”

“What do you care?” he says, so quietly I’m only sure he spoke because I’m looking right at his beautiful mouth.

My grip on his T-shirt tightens. “Are you seriously asking me this?”

“You told me I should go and never come back.” His eyes close briefly, and a pang goes through my chest. “That I was a bastard and an asshole and wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Christ.
I let go of him and take a faltering step back. I did say those things, didn’t I? “I’m sorry.” My hormones played havoc with my feelings back then, intensifying every feeling. “What about you? Why did you leave instead of talking this out? I never got a chance to tell you I’m sorry, you just…” I bite my lip and let out a long breath, but it catches in my throat.

Maybe he hears it because he reaches for me and trails his thumb down the line of my jaw. The gesture stills me completely as his dark eyes nail me. I see sadness there, and fear. What is he afraid of?

“I had to go,” he whispers, and his hand drops away.

“You left town, Tyler. Left everyone and everything, and nobody knew where you were. God, I was so worried.” My throat constricts; I can barely swallow.

“You were?” There’s a hitch in his voice, as if he doesn’t believe it.

“Yes, I was.” I’ve been so afraid for him for so long, I can hardly believe he’s here, alive and well. I reach up and slide my hand over his chest. It’s hard, solid. “Why, Tyler? Tell me why you left.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grinds out.

I want to bang my fist on his chest and slap his face. My fingers curl against the soft fabric of his T-shirt, and I feel his muscles clench underneath.

“Screw you,” I whisper, and I hope my voice won’t break and betray me. “That’s all you have to say to me? I’m not going to—”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

Shocked into silence, I stare at him. His gaze is moving over my body, a hot, silky glide that steals my breath. His pupils are dilated, making his eyes look black.

I try again. “After all this time, I just want to know—”

His hand hooks around my back, pressing me to his body, and he bends his head toward me, dark hair falling in his eyes. His mouth descends on mine, sealing the words inside.

The world falls away with a murmur as he kisses me. I gasp and his tongue pushes inside, tangling with mine. He licks at my mouth, and he tastes so good—like dark chocolate and pepper. Familiar. Thrilling. Sexy.

I want more. I slide my arms around his hips and kiss him back. His chest vibrates against me as he moans, and then he drags me closer, until my breasts are crushed against his firm abs.

A tiny voice at the back of my mind is screeching in protest—
this shouldn’t be happening, we should be talking, explaining, finishing this off
—but it’s drowned in the rushing of blood in my ears, the thundering beat of my heart. His smell, his taste, the feel of his muscular body, it sends waves of scalding heat over my skin, through me, tightening the tips of my breasts, starting a pulse between my legs. I cling to him as I burn from the inside out; I desperately need him—need to feel him around me, against me, inside me. Everywhere where he’s been missing for so long.

His hands move down to the small of my back, then lower, lifting my skirt. He swallows my moan of protest and slips a hand round the front, inside my panties. I gasp as his callused fingers touch me, slide inside me.

Oh God, oh crap.
It feels so good. He strokes me, rough and tender, soft and hard, until my body starts to shake. Pleasure rips through me, tearing me apart.

“No,” I whisper, panting harshly.

“Erin?” Tyler’s soft voice focuses me.

I open my eyes—can’t remember closing them. And the voice of reason that I ignored while he was touching me is suddenly screeching in my ears.

Big mistake. Huge.
What am I doing? Am I mad? What about Jax? What about my decision?

He’s breathing hard, saying nothing. The bulge in his jeans is a blatant proof of how much this has affected him. Just seeing the evidence of his arousal, so long and thick, outlined in the fabric of his pants, make me throb again and sends heat up to my face.

No. Enough.
I adjust my panties. I bite my lip as I catch his gaze following my every move, and as his hand reaches down to cup his erection.

I wonder when things got so much out of control. I’m wet; I want him inside me. If this is what he can do to me with just his fingers, I can’t even imagine…