Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) (11 page)

“Nothing yet. You want to come with me to yoga?” That’s my escape, a few times a week, when I can just breathe and move my body and things feel like they fall in order.

Instead of doing yoga this weekend, I was running all over Manhattan after Craigslist ads for shared housing, each of them too good to be true.

I am
so
screwed on Thursday. But on Wednesday? I’m wide open.

“I thought you might want to come to a last-minute show for Tattoo Thief,” Beryl says, and my breath catches at the band’s name. Images of Tyler invade my brain: working the bass on stage, his tapered fingers reaching across the fretboard to hit the chords, his arms glowing with sweat under the stage lights.

Considering that
homeless
trumps
he loves me not
, Tyler isn’t even at the top of my list of Things That Suck.

I’ve paused too long before answering so Beryl continues. “It’s just a small gig they picked up at Rockwood Music Hall. They’re going to play ‘Wilderness’ and do a bunch of their older stuff acoustic. What do you think?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to face Tyler again, especially after his latest rejection. He’ll probably think I’m stalking him. But Heath’s breathing down my neck for another story and my relationship with Beryl is so fragile that I don’t feel like I can say no.

“Sure. Thanks for inviting me.” I could take off as soon as the set’s over to avoid Tyler.

“Great.” I hear relief in Beryl’s voice. Maybe she’s as nervous about inviting me as I am about accepting. “Stella? Did something happen with you and Tyler?”

“What did you hear?” Instantly, I’m on alert.

“Tyler didn’t say anything except he ran into you at the Indie Day concert. But he was funny about it, like there was more to the story. What happened?”

I shake my head. There’s no good way to tell her, especially after she’d warned me not to hurt him. But I didn’t hurt him—he hurt me with each rejection. “Let’s talk about it later. I got knocked down and Tyler helped me up, but then things got weird. But I promise I won’t make it weird at the show.”

Beryl pauses and I can tell she’s debating whether to press me for more. Instead, she promises to leave a ticket for me at will-call.

***

I arrive at the club a few minutes before show time and my ticket makes the beefy guy at the door do a second take. He points me to a corridor and I find Beryl in a handful of seats tucked behind the stage curtains.

“You’re just in time. I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

I give Beryl a side-hug and sit, relating the subway snafu that delayed me. I recognize Dave’s girlfriend, Kristina, but she either doesn’t see me or ignores me.

Three heavily made-up girls with boobs spilling over their low-cut tops fill the other chairs. Compared to their getups, I look like I could teach Sunday school.

I incline my head slightly toward them, giving Beryl a questioning look. She shakes her head. Now is not the time.

The music shifts and the backstage lights dim. The members of Tattoo Thief take their places in center stage behind the closed curtains and I’m relieved to be out of Tyler’s sightline. He fingers his instrument, fine-tunes a string, and shoves his hands in his hair to push it off his forehead.

When the curtains part and light floods the stage, the busty girls next to me squeal and shriek and the crowd roars, everyone eager for a close-up view of one of the hottest bands in America.

They are smoldering—raw, sex-charged and intense. I lose myself in Tyler’s performance as the cords of his neck tense and he leans into the microphone. Gavin’s up front as usual, his hips swiveling and his posture loose as he coaxes reactions from the crowd.

Jayce is nearest Gavin and his eyes flick back to where we’re sitting, prompting more squeals from the girls near me. They must be with him. Dave and Tyler bring up the rear, controlling each song with careful syncopation, a driving rhythm I feel through my whole body.

I follow Tyler through each transition, in awe of the power of his body and the way he moves. His instrument is a part of him, and as I watch, I imagine his fingers on me. He could be holding my neck the way he holds the neck of his bass, grasping my hair, pulling my face back for a kiss.

***

I spring from my chair as soon as the performance ends, my body aching with need. Beryl senses my urge to escape and I follow her through the dim backstage corridor to a green room where the roar of the crowd finally recedes. I scan the room for drinks but all I see is an ice bucket with bottles of water and beer.

No hard liquor. Damn.

Beryl twists the top off a water bottle and offers it to me, but I grab a beer, slamming it on the side of a dressing table with my fist to pop the top. I tip it up and glug it down, feeling cold liquid rush down my throat.

It’s not enough to get my buzz back, but it’s a start.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” Beryl gushes, kicking off her flats (Flats! Where are the sexy shoes I helped her buy?) and tucking her feet beneath her on the couch.

I leave my platform Mary Jane heels on and park my butt on the other end of the couch, offering a noncommittal nod. I’m afraid I’ll betray how deeply Tyler rocked me. “Uh, yeah, it was good.”

“Seriously? That’s all you thought of it? They did an acoustic set and you’ve got the best seat in the house, and all you can say is
good?”
Beryl narrows her eyes at me. “Something’s up. Spill it, sister.”

I
so
don’t want to have this conversation right now. The specter of being out on my ass tomorrow frightens me. “I’m just distracted. You know, other stuff.”

“I
don’t
know. You won’t tell me, but I know something happened. I heard Tyler had to pull you out of a crowd.”

My face burns hot at the memory of his strong arms hoisting me out of the chaos. I remember how he sandwiched my body between himself and the stage to protect me.

And I remember the way his arms encircled me later that night, pulling me close for the kiss on the bridge.

“Who told you? Tyler or Gavin?”

“Gav. But there’s more, right? Gav says Tyler’s been weird about it, too. What’s got you all sideways?”

Beryl’s sweet face is open and gentle, and I cringe at the memory of what I did to her. And yet here she is, worried about
me
. I don’t deserve this. The least I can give her is the truth, but I sidestep what’s really bothering me.

“Tomorrow I have to move out of the room I’ve been staying in. Neil’s roommate is coming back from her trip and I haven’t found a new place yet.” I’m lucky my interim apartment lasted as long as it did.

“Oh, Stella. I’m sorry.”

I shrug, trying to force down my building panic because a crappy hotel will probably be my new address and I can’t afford to live that way for long. “I didn’t look that hard for a roommate at first because I thought July would shake new housing options loose with the end of the school year. I was wrong.”

The band bursts into the green room, sweaty and laughing, high from applause at their first concert in more than two months. The girls trail them, tittering and fawning over Jayce.

“We’ve got our mojo back!” Gavin shouts triumphantly and he pulls Beryl from the couch for a deep, lingering kiss.

“Get a room!” Dave wolf-whistles to them and hands around drinks, pressing a cold beer to Gavin’s cheek to get them to knock it off. Gavin bounces on the couch beside Beryl and she snuggles into him, oblivious to his sweat-slicked arms and soaked shirt.

Tyler crosses the room and whips his sweaty T-shirt over his head, drawing a gasp from one of the girls who instantly moves in his direction. He rummages in his backpack and my eyes are glued to his skin.

When he pulls a green T-shirt from his backpack and puts it on, my face heats in recognition. It’s the same shirt I wore at his loft last week.

Maybe Tyler feels my eyes on his body because he turns and skewers me with his gaze. I feel it piercing my chest, a direct hit that could easily take me down.

“You came.” His voice is soft but it carries across the room. The girl edging toward Tyler slows and her eyes narrow, a possessive glance flicking to me.

I can’t tell if Tyler thinks my presence is a good thing or a bad thing. Even though Beryl and I had backstage passes, we were hidden from the band’s sightline throughout the show. I should have gone home after the final number, but I wanted to see him again.

I had to. His kiss lingers on me like a brand, and I touch my lips with my fingertips, remembering the electricity that passed between us.

Tyler sees me do this and turns away. I curse myself for my unintended gesture.

Gavin boosts himself off the couch and regroups with the guys, talking set lists and packing up instruments as they drain their beers. The girls cluster on another couch. My beer bottle sits empty in my lap and I pick at the label, desperate for a distraction.

“So what are you going to do?” Beryl asks, taking up our conversation from where the boys interrupted us. “You can’t just go live in a hotel for more than a night or two. Have you tried Craigslist? Did you post something at NYU?”

“Yes and yes. But everything was either out of my price range or pretty freaking scary. I’m not trying to be picky. I just need somewhere clean that isn’t too far from the music venues. I can’t blow fifty bucks a night on cab fare after a show.”

“You need a place?” Jayce asks, his sharp eyes on me. “Tyler’s got room.”

I don’t know whose head snaps up faster, Tyler’s or mine.

“I lived with him for a while before I got my place.” Jayce turns to Tyler and grins. “You’re always taking in strays.”

“I couldn’t impose,” I backpedal, firing off excuses as soon as they form in my brain. “I wouldn’t want to be in the way. There’s no privacy in that big loft. I—I’ll keep looking. Something will turn up.”

Tyler tilts his head. “What do you need?” His voice is hoarse from the performance.

“I’m just looking for shared housing. Somewhere in the city. I’ve been borrowing a room and the girl who lives there is coming back from her trip.”

“Somewhere safe.” Tyler is nodding and it’s freaking me out. Why should he care? Especially after everything that happened between us on the Fourth of July, why should my stupid housing predicament matter to him?

“It sounds like you had a crazy time while we were in Oregon,” Gavin says, shifting the conversation. “Tyler told me about how the fence collapsed on you at Indie Day. How he played doctor.”

“Playing doctor?” Jayce chuckles at the innuendo. One of the girls rubs against him and I can tell she’s got plans for him tonight.

“No. It was nothing like that.” Tyler holds up his hands. “It was strictly platonic.”

His omission stings, discounting the kisses we shared on the bridge and at his loft.

“Don’t worry about it, Beryl,” I say, but I mean it for Tyler. “I’m a big girl. I can find something.”

Gavin reclaims his spot on the couch next to Beryl and she beckons me closer. “Do it, Stella. Let him help,” she whispers, and only Gavin and I hear her. “Don’t be too proud to accept.”

I scrunch up my face, my back to Tyler so he can’t see my reaction. It’s too embarrassing to let him help me like this. Also:
why
is he helping me? I don’t want to be the person who asks for handouts.

“You’re a friend of the band now. We stick together,” Gavin adds.

“I—I can’t.”

I feel my pocket vibrate and pull out my phone, surprised to see two voicemails and six new texts since I last checked before the concert started. I excuse myself to a corner of the green room to retrieve them. They’re all from Neil.

The voicemails are fairly polite, but the texts get progressively more desperate:

Neil
[8:02 p.m.]: Have you found a place yet?

Neil
[8:27 p.m.]: I need to know for sure when you’re moving.

Neil
[8:44 p.m.]: Violet is coming home a day early. Where the hell are you?

Neil
[8:51 p.m.]: You’d better get here and get your shit out of Violet’s room NOW.

Neil
[9:23 p.m.]: You can’t just ignore me! I threw your crap back in your bags and I am not happy.

Neil
[10:05 p.m.]: Violet is back. I hope you’re planning to stay somewhere else tonight. You owe me lunch tomorrow.

I curse, a filthy string of expletives that trumps anything I heard on the subway on my way to the concert. As I turn, I run into a tall, lean wall the size and shape of Tyler.

And damn, this wall smells fantastic—cedar and spice and sweat.

Tyler’s chocolate eyes twinkle as he looks down at me. “Potty mouth.”

“Sometimes, there are just no other words.” I try to move past him but he slides to his right and blocks my way.

“There are always other words, Stella.”

“OK, then, I just
want
to use that word. Because with the week I’ve had, I want to drop an F-bomb in every fucking sentence.”

I drain my beer and put it down on a table harder than I intend. It hits with a clang. “Shit.”

“Stella. What’s really going on?”

I feel my face heating, as if I could be any more mortified than I already am. I do
not
want to be rescued. I can handle myself, and I have for four years. But Tyler anchors his arm against the wall on one side of me and his body is close enough that I’m trapped.

“You can stay at the loft. I still have the blow-up mattress Jayce used, and some blankets and stuff. You can stay if you promise not to write anything scandalous without asking me first.”

Tyler’s condition stings. He still doesn’t trust me. I drag my gaze from the center of his chest up to his eyes. I swear sparks fly from them, but they’re lit with amusement, not desire.

He’s laughing at me.

This can’t get any more demeaning.

“Stella? Are you OK?” Beryl sees the distress on my face and rescues me from Tyler’s taunting gaze, pulling me out from under his arm. As I brush past him, I feel our skin connect for a split-second, and an electric current hums in my veins.