Tyed

  Sorry, had a busy week. What's up?

  The ball is in his court, but what if he's already headed to a different court, playing with someone not as uptight?

  He doesn't answer. I know for a fact that Saturday is not a busy day for him. I learned his training schedule by heart back when I hung around The Grind.

  To make matters worse, I have the weekend off from Ned's. I booked it in advance long ago so I can concentrate on my assignment. Now I have nothing to do but sit around and think about the fact I might have lost him. Lost him because I'm a coward. The one guy I actually liked in a very long time.

  I barely get any sleep between Saturday and Sunday.

  In the morning, I wash my face, examine the dark circles underneath my eyes and throw on a red plaid shirt, black leggings and deep-red chucks to match my bloodshot eyes.

  Before I have the time to regret it, I make my way to Ty's place in my pink Mini. Sunday is a relatively free day for him, with a sparring session at noon and nothing else. He may not be home—or worse, may be home with someone else—but something in me can't seem to stay away.

  I pull to the curb in front of his house and slam my car door, still debating whether to do this or not.

  I breathe hard, my chest hurting from excitement and fear, when I notice the fence. I blink the surprised sting out of my eyes.

  The fan mementos? Gone. Everything, from undies to bikinis. The mailbox has been emptied. I rush forward, peeking through the slightly ajar gate, and I take it as an invitation to walk in.

  The bra on the Harley is gone.

  Everything I hated, vanished.

  I can stand here for forever and study it in wonder. The fence, so clean, so pure, its gate so inviting for me to walk through. My feet hurry into his front yard, and I rap on his door twice.

  "Yeah?" Ty opens the door and stares down at me, aloof. I expect his expression to defrost into one of those smiles he saves especially for me.

  When it doesn't happen, I bounce on the balls of my feet nervously and look down. "Hey." I've missed his face. "Your fence looks nice."

  His jaw is still tense. I get it. I get him. I disappeared for a week. So why can't he get how intimidating it is to date a guy like him when you're so used to being alone, so used to the nickname Boring Blaire? MMA fighters don't exactly have a reputation for being the best boyfriends.

  "Guess I'm not the slob you thought I was, after all."

  Touché.

  "Wanna hang out or something?" I shoot him a hopeful glance.

  He folds his arms on his chest, still unimpressed. "You want more stuff for your interview, huh?" he asks coldly.

  Double touché. This is turning out to be more painful than I thought, but I guess I deserve this. "No."

  "What do you want?"

  I lift up my iPod with one hand and flash him an apologetic grin. "To educate you about good music. You badmouthing Neck Deep was seriously out of line, and I won't take this kind of attitude from a guy who listens to Soulja Boy."

  And that's all it takes for him to fight that cute grin of his. Heart starts beating normally again.

  "Unless you have other plans, of course," I say.

  "My plans can wait." He doesn't budge from the door, though. I'm standing on the threshold, peeking inside, hoping that he'll get the hint.

  "Can I come in?"

  He clears the path for me. Was he just staring at me without talking or moving for ten seconds straight?

  "Mi casa, es su casa, Barbie. Just don’t bring any boys here if you want them to get outta here in one piece.”

  I order pizza while he eats steamed broccoli and salmon. I sit on his floor and browse through my YouTube playlists on his laptop. We've been doing this for nearly two hours, and so far, he hasn't kicked me out yet, even when I played him the really abstract stuff no one seems to like but me. Now I ease back into familiar territories to wrap up the session.

  "And that was ‘Jumpers’ by Sleater-Kinney." I look up from the screen, awaiting his verdict.

  He taps his chin with his finger, hmmphing with one arched brow. "Play the local band again, the one from Sacramento. I dig their stuff."

  "‘My Soul is Empty and Full of White Girls’ by Slaves." I double click on the song. "Good choice."

  "So you're serious about your music, then." He stands up, sauntering across the room to sit beside me after keeping his distance, both physically and mentally, for the past two hours. I immediately feel a flush of heat. Hot-Guy-Smell alert. Hormones are waking up from their week-long hibernation.

  "Yeah, it's a huge thing for me. I listen to podcasts, follow music blogs, go to shitload of gigs, then of course there's the Warped tours every summer. I mean, Coachella is a freaking joke, you know..."

  Tyler shifts closer to me, our knees almost touching. He reaches over, brushing a lock of hair from my collarbone, and by the intensity in his dark eyes, I gather we're done talking about music.

  "What are you doing to me, Blaire?" His voice is gruff and throaty.

  "I'm not sure, but you did it first to me." I’m unable to swallow the lump in my throat. "Why me?" I hear myself asking, and hate myself for it too, because why the hell not, you know? "It doesn't look like you're short on groupies and I don't exactly make things easy for you."

  "I dig your cool." He leans forward, his lips almost touching mine, his breath on my skin.

  Damn, I've missed those lips. My tummy dips.

  "There's something real and unapologetic about you,” he says. “You're funny and engaging. In other words, you have a fully human range. Sure, a hot girl can keep me busy for an hour. You? I want more of what you got. I'm not sure what exactly, but a whole lot more than just an hour of your time."

  I let out a soft, unintentional moan when his unbelievably rough palm cups my cheek. Blood roars through my veins when his lips touch mine. This time, Ty shows zero patience and I have zero doubts. After a week of withdrawal symptoms, I just want to eat his face. We kiss passionately, gotta-have-you-now kisses while his hands move to the small of my back, pressing me harder against him.

  I arch my back, my hips searching for his groin until they find what they were looking for. Just the thought of me being responsible for his hard-on makes my head spin. I fist his black tee until my knuckles go white and he takes the hint. Ty climbs on top of me, his legs straddling my waist and pinning me to his floor. And I'm gone. Completely, and utterly gone while our bodies grind together in perfect harmony.

  I'm done resisting. I want this. Want him.

  His hand cups my right boob and I immediately stiffen involuntarily. Cupping leads to touching other body parts, and I'm afraid I'll disappoint him if he finds out how unbelievably uneducated I am in bed.

  "Is this okay?" He unglues his mouth from mine. It's ripping me apart emotionally, knowing that he really cares, that he notices every tiny reaction I have to him.

  I nod, pressing my lips to his tattooed neck, and he groans his delight. His hand quickly disappears under my shirt and underneath my bra. He's tugging and teasing my nipple. This time he doesn't ask for permission. I think it's pretty clear that I'm minutes away from coming just from feeling his bulge against my groin.

  In the middle of this make-out session, I feel his thumb stroking my cheekbone intimately. He pulls away, catching my eyes while still on top of me. He leans on his elbows, careful not to crush me under his weight. I'm panting like crazy, while his athletic stamina allows him to stay collected and so much cooler than me in this situation.

  "No more running, got it?"

  I nod, breathless.

  "No more running."

  After we dry hump on the floor like two teenagers, he somehow convinces me to watch Rocky with him. Maybe it's because he let me talk about music for hours, because I feel privileged to return a favor. But something changes in me. I suddenly become more self-aware than I ever was around a guy. I'm super careful not to breath too loud, and I wonder if I still smell like citrus and coconut from the shower I
took before getting here and what my hair looks like.

  What the hell? I never pay attention to what my hair looks like.

  I'm lying on top of him, my head pressed to his chest. He tickles my back as we watch the classic movie. I catch him mouthing the words, his eyes glued to the screen, like a five-year-old.

  Heart aches like its been broken, which is ironic, because for the first time in forever, I feel truly happy. With every kiss he plants on me, I taste more of his emotions and less of his rage. I’m shell-peeling a delicate soul, so I try to tiptoe my way into his heart. We end up falling asleep on the sofa, arms tangled, legs entwined. Tied.

  ***

  I think I have a boyfriend. I mean, I may have a boyfriend. We haven't discussed it yet, though. Tyler and I are always together. When we're not together, we text each other. When we're not texting and not together, I think about him. All the time.

  Sometimes I ask him to help me out with my assignment. To read a new paragraph I wrote, to explain things I didn't quite get about the XWL or about the differences between the martial arts. What I adore about him is how he takes this so seriously. How he acts like my work and my school matter.

  On the day I ask him to go over the first draft of the whole article I wrote, he shows up at Ned's unannounced, orders a Bud Light and takes out the article that he printed from his duffel bag.

  "Can I get you anything else, cutie? It's on the house." I wink at him while he sits at the bar.

  He lifts one finger, gesturing for me to wait, his eyes skimming through the text. "I'm reading this fascinating article a chick I know wrote. I think she may be talented on top of being seriously hot. Lethal combination."

  "Tell me when you're done." I walk toward the other side of the bar so he won't see how incredibly pink my face is every time he gives me a compliment. What am I, like, five now?

  Bree shoves a finger down her throat in amusement when I inch closer to her, far enough from Ty, and points at me with a superior smile. "Doomed, girl. You're doomed."

  I offer her an exaggerated bow, confirming she is right. Maybe I am. Hell, maybe I want to be. Just because he looks like a bad boy, is rumored to be one and acted like one when we first met, doesn't mean that he is. He's been nothing but amazing so far, even when I wasn't, and I definitely wasn't anywhere near amazing to him when I ran away from that date and then proceeded to disappear for a week.

  "You still think he's trouble?" I smirk, trying to look entertained by the conversation. Actually, I'm kind of hoping Bree will give me the green light.

  "It's way too late for you to care about what I think." She squeezes my arm warmly, then wiggles her finger directly in my face. "Make him wear a rubber. No exceptions. Got it?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Ten minutes later, Ty slaps the paper on the wooden bar and announces loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

  Yeah, definitely boyfriend material.

  ***

  We watch his favorite movies (The Terminator, The Bourne Ultimatum, First Blood, Mad Max) and listen to my kick-ass music.

  We go to The Grind together. He works out with Dawson and his teammates and I take classes.

  We make healthy dinners together.

  We accidentally make out in front of a kindergarten (no judging, remember?).

  Three weeks in...we have sex.

  It's actually pretty spontaneous. There's no set-up, and no candles, roses, dim lights or Champagne. We get back to his place after a night out and start out with a casual make-out session on the couch. I've had a few beers and he had one Bud Light and a soda, so the mood is right. Since I'm in charge of the music (damn right I am), I introduce him to Youth In Revolt. I think he appreciates the fast-paced music, because things get steamy within seconds of Ty kicking the door shut behind us.

  We fool around as usual, only this time, he raises my shirt over my head at some point, leaning back down to unhook my bra. It's cool. I'm so freaking hot and ready for him right now I'm down with whatever it is he wants to do, and in-between kisses and little bites, I manage to strip him out of his shirt too.

  Oh, Jesus Christ, his abs. And tattoos. Having this guy on top of me is like getting all my Christmas presents in one go. Almost too good to take.

  He buries his face in my neck, biting, teasing and hitting all the right spots with his tongue, proving that he knows exactly what he's doing, that he mastered the art of pleasuring a woman long ago. Then it happens. His hand reaches down to my jeans, releasing two buttons and pulling them with his pointer fingers in one go.

  I lay there in my underwear and nothing more, and I know exactly where this is going.

  "I'm scared." I bite my lower lip, desperate to read his expression. I'm trying to downplay my nervousness, because I'm like, level eight hysterical right now. Normally I walk around a mellow two, even when I face stressful situations.

  He flashes me a dimpled smile. "That's either the most flattering…" His gaze drops to his crotch. "Or disturbing…" He sends a slanted look toward his MMA gear at the far corner of the room. "Thing I've ever heard in bed. Why are you scared? You're not...?" He trails off.

  I quickly backpedal. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No virgins in this room, unless you have a huge surprise for me." I feign laughter. "But I don't have a lot of experience and I..."

  Ugh, this is so hard. Though it really shouldn't be, because Tyler is great. Scratch that—super-awesome, more like. He is so respectful and really, and I mean really, dragged it until the very last minute before he initiated sex.

  I'm sure that if it were up to him, he wouldn't have spent our dates rearranging himself in restaurants, bars and movie theatre seats so that his junk wouldn’t break his zipper. Dude is seriously rocking the sexual appetite of a seventeen-year-old with those constant hard-ons. I know he's been blue-balled to the max these last few weeks. But I think he knew I had my issues with going all the way, and I'm one hundred percent sure that he'd still be cool if we waited even longer.

  "I don't need you to have experience. I just need... you." He twists uncomfortably, as if this makes him feel vulnerable. "But this can wait."

  Is he kidding me? It's not like I'm happy with our current arrangement. I'm a little hesitant, but I am also human, and he is also un-freaking-believably sexy.

  "No, I'm good. Let's do this," I reassure. Great. Now I sound like a Girl Scout.

  His shoulders shake. He’s laughing at me, or with me, but either way, he is laughing, which is not something you're supposed to do during foreplay. Even I know that.

  "Fuck sex, Barbie." His lips touch mine as he speaks. His breath sends a ball of heat straight to my groin. "We can watch a movie or something."

  I pull away from him, so he can look me in the eye. "I really enjoy spending time with you, hottie, but I'm ready. Like, really ready." I shimmy my hips to make a point.

  "You don't have to tell me twice." His hand dives directly into my underwear, and I don't even have time to digest the fact that his thumb presses my clit before he dips a finger in. "Yup. You're ready for me," he says.

  I groan and roll my hips up to maximize his touch, but hell, he knows exactly what he's doing, and he is going for a slow buildup of playful strokes.

  I feel him smiling into my neck, and my heart swells. Damn, I'm crushing on this guy so hard. Going into this with eyes wide open, and yet, somehow I feel completely blind. He takes my hand and slowly presses it against his crotch. I try not to freeze. I stroke him, knowing this could be so much better if he didn't have his jeans on, and he must be a mind reader because he stops the kissing and tugging to come up for a gulp of air and a plea.

  "I really want out of these jeans." His voice is thick and full of lust.

  "Go for it." I nod eagerly.

  I've seen his boxers before on YouTube. Every time he goes on the scale during weigh-ins, he wears nothing but boxers. But hell if it isn't more exciting to watch him first hand. I want to reach down and literally do just that—touch t
he only part of him I didn't kiss or lick yet, but he's moved south, his mouth exploring my nipples with urgency. Every time he licks or bites them, my eyes glaze over and I feel closer to climaxing.

  "Don't stop," I pant. "I'm close."

  He doesn't. If anything, he speeds up the pace, his fingers working incredibly hard to make me come. And I do, I come on his fingers, swallowing back the loud moan that's tickling my throat.

  Holy hell.

  Ty kneels down for a few seconds, reaching for his jeans on the floor and plucking out his wallet, from which he produces a condom. He rips the wrapper with his teeth.

  And just like that, all the pressure I thought I released earlier builds up again in my lower belly.

  He pushes in slowly, testing the water, making eye contact the whole time.

  "Does it hurt?" His voice sounds gruff and slightly concerned, like he is genuinely worried.

  "It's amazing," I murmur. Because it is amazing, even if it does hurt a little. He thrusts deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and I shiver with pleasure, ready for the second wave of orgasm to wash over my body any minute now. We come together and I cover my mouth so I don't scream my ass off. I'm losing it. I can't even determine whether it was the best sex that ever happened to me or if it simply was the best thing that ever happened to me.

  He stays on top of me, his whole weight crushing me, and aside from the croaky groan coming out of his throat, he is completely motionless.

  "Thank you," he says after a few seconds, leaving me puzzled and surprised. He doesn't budge, milking the last of his climax and the intimacy of just being close to me.

  "Thank you?" I echo.

  He nods into my collarbone. "Yeah, I kinda needed that. Thank you so fucking much."

  ***

  My friendship with Shane may have taken a backseat, but I still feel guilty about his car. After class one day, while I send him to get us coffee, I slip an envelope with a few hundred dollars into his backpack. It’s stupid, since this is pretty much confessing that Ty’s to blame and because I, myself, don’t have a penny to my name. But I do it anyway, to scrub off at least some of the guilt. I haven't asked Ty because I know the answer. He totally did it.