Tyed

  “I want to talk to you about your assignment regarding…what was it about?” She lifts her chin and one eyebrow behind her reading glasses. “MMA. Yes. Well, to be honest, it was quite excellent.”

  Great, so why are you saying this in a tone implying I sexually abused a kitten?

  I nod, waiting for a but…

  “I think we both know you’ve exceeded every expectation I’ve had, and I believe I know why.”

  Jesus, did Shane arrange a press conference to let everyone know about me and Ty? I feel my pulse. Everywhere. My ears. My eyes. My neck. My arms. My heart. I'm so not used to being praised. There must be a catch somewhere here.

  “The reason why you did so well is because journalism should have been your major. You poured so much passion into this article I couldn’t help but notice. Now, I happen to know Diablo Hill magazine is looking for an intern in their sports section, and I’ve put forward your name.”

  Penniman slides a business card at me with Diablo Hill’s editor’s name. “Give Cameron a call. He’s expecting to hear from you.”

  My hands shake when I take the card, and I blink in disbelief. So that’s how it feels, to be respected professionally. Butterflies flip inside my stomach like firecrackers. It’s not Heart. It’s not Brain. It’s…Me.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admit, stammering, “I…thank you.”

  Professor Penniman goes back to her pile of papers and waves me off like I’m an irritating mosquito. “Don’t make me regret this, Stern. It’s a huge opportunity.”

  I stare at her, smiling like she’s just informed me that I won the lottery.

  Penniman lifts her head and blinks twice, seemingly annoyed that I'm still here. “That will be all. You’re excused. And Ms. Stern, I’ll be watching you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  "Surprise!"

  I don't particularly like surprises. It stems from my need to be in control over what's happening in my life, which, granted, is not a whole lot of things most of the time, but at least I don't get blindsided by my crazy family members.

  Like now.

  "What have you done?" The smile is drained from my face as I close the apartment door behind me and stare down at Izzy, who is wearing a mud mask and sipping some green-colored juice. She’s watching E! News, her long, tanned legs lazily stretched across the sofa.

  Izzy nods with her chin toward her bedroom. The door's open, and I notice a huge suitcase lying on the floor, maxed out with her designer clothes and stiletto shoes, and I'm assuming by the amount of things she's packed that she’s migrating from the planet. For good.

  "Are you moving out?" I blink. I hope she's not moving to LA. She's been wanting to do this for a while now. I can't afford this apartment. What am I saying? I can't even afford the microwave in this apartment.

  "Yes, Blaire, I'm moving out and giving you a two hours notice." She giggles. "No, I'm getting a head start on packing for my trip. I’m going to Vegas next weekend...and so are you!"

  I unleash a sardonic eye roll her way. "Is that green juice spiked with anything? Whiskey? Vodka? Heroin?"

  Izzy jumps from the couch and skips her way to me, bubbly like a glass of Champagne. "Nana Marty and I have decided to surprise you. We knew Boyfriend Dearest had a fight in Vegas on the same weekend as Nana's wedding was scheduled, and since she couldn't find another venue here on such a short notice..."

  I slap my mouth with my hands, my eyes bulging out of their sockets like a cartoon character.

  Izzy nods enthusiastically and jumps in circles around me. "We are going to Vegas! We are going to Vegas!" she chants in a sing-song voice.

  I feel the smile spreading across my face. This is awesome. And surreal. And hell if it isn't exciting. Izzy and Nana thought about me. They knew how much I thought it sucked that my parents didn't even bother telling Nana that I would be graduating in June. Never mind that it worked out fine and my graduation ceremony wasn’t actually until the weekend after the wedding. I thought I’d be busy with Nana, so I never even thought about going to Ty’s fight.

  I admit I don't care much about seeing Ty beating and getting beaten up by Eoghan Doherty, but I'm excited about the prospect of being around him during this event. I know how consumed and worked-up he’s been about the fight.

  My tears drip down my cheeks, and I ugly-cry, because, damn, I'm so touched by these two special women in my life.

  Izzy wraps me into a hug. "Awwwww, Blaire's suffering from an emotional overdose. That's a first!"

  I find the perfect spot between her neck and her shoulder blade and nuzzle into it, even though that sticky mud mask is totally touching my hair.

  “Izz…” I take a deep breath, because I know I’m about to drag her into a subject I don’t want to talk about, but I have no one else to turn to and I am, in fact, suffering from an emotional overload. “I think Ty is keeping something from me.”

  “D’uh, of course he is. Who wants their significant other to know everything about them? What is he, crazy?” Izzy heads for her bedroom and I follow her there and into our bathroom. She turns on the faucet and slowly wipes off her facial mask.

  I sit on the edge of the bathtub. “I don't know what he got himself into, but I think it's serious and it pisses me off that he hasn’t told me what it is.”

  Izzy puts her hand on my shoulder. I shut my eyes, exhaling.

  “Maybe it's not because he's hiding something fishy. Maybe it's because he doesn't want you to carry his burden with him. He likes you, sissy. I can see it in his eyes that he’s crazy about you.”

  I daren’t tell her that he didn’t tell me he loves me back last time we were together. I can’t. It’s too humiliating and, besides, I’m repressing it pretty skillfully. In fact, I’m not even sure he didn’t say it back. Maybe he did. Maybe I didn’t hear. Maybe…

  Oh, God. I’m an idiot.

  “I get lonely," Izzy blurts. Her voice comes from a faraway place inside her, the place Izzy doesn't usually share with the world. "You have someone that makes you feel very seen, and not just in the obvious, sexual way.” She swallows a lump of self-pity. “Don’t give it up too quickly. I can bet good money Ty is all kinds of fucked-up, but don’t forget—so are you.”

  ***

  "Surprise."

  This dangerous word floats in the air for the second time in one day, but this time it's coming out of Ty's mouth. I slide from behind the counter at Ned's the minute he walks in and invites me with his crooked smile to the seat next to him in a tiny booth, curling his finger seductively.

  He is so breathtaking. It's not even his beauty. It's something far more powerful than that. And the fact that he took time to come say hi during his final push of training is amazing. He's been holed up in training camp for the last couple of days.

  "Hey, smartass." He plants a kiss on my forehead and tucks his hand into his pocket, searching for something while making a funny face. "I got you a little something to celebrate your grade." He hands me an envelope. I take it in both hands, and before I even manage to tear it open, he announces, "It's kinda dorky, but I figured your schedule's cleared up with school over and everything."

  I pull out a voucher from the envelope and grin, completely mesmerized by its content.

  "You enrolled me in a French class?" I can't help but laugh uncontrollably, because really, Ty's gifts are the weirdest. He cups my cheeks and kisses me again, this time passionately, with tongue and everything, before I break free.

  "One step closer to your happiness, Barbie. This one is for rocking it in your assignment. I'm proud of you."

  My grin fades quickly when I remember what I need to ask him. I decided not to tell him about Vegas after all, to keep it as a surprise for when he sees my face for the first time.

  But I still need to run Shane's accusation past him.

  "Thank you so much." I wave the voucher in the air. "Hey, listen, I need to ask you something."

  I must look serious, because he frowns almost immediat
ely. "What's up?"

  "There's a rumor going around that you're...using steroids." I almost whisper the last word, feeling self-conscious. "I told Shane there's no way..."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, rewind." He is brooding, and he looks like he's about to tear this place down judging by his face. "What business does Shane have talking about me? He doesn't know me. And even if he did, why the hell would you believe some gossip he’s spreading about me?"

  He feels betrayed. His eyes are so dark and stormy, I can almost see my own reflection in them. And I'm glad I can't, because I know I'm very close to crumbling like a stale cookie.

  "Ty, it's just a rumor. I wanted to address it, make sure there was no truth to it."

  He stands up and eyes me with disapproval mixed with disappointment. I recognize the look immediately. After all, my parents perfected that look. I stand up too, looking around to make sure Mikey and Bree aren't witnessing this. I wish the song that was playing in the background wasn't framing this awful moment. I’ll never be able to listen to “I Always Knew” by The Vaccines again and not feel a pang of pain.

  "You want me to address this?" he drawls, his lips curve downwards in disgust. "Fine, I will. Off the fucking record, it was Jesse who bought the ’roids. Josh was threatening to expose Jesse when he said he was done buying from him. I didn't want to see my best friend getting screwed now that he’s clean. The XWL has been making us take PED tests after every fight for a while. Great fucking research you did there, huh?" He starts walking toward the door and pushes it with force.

  "And it's the last time I want to hear Shane's name. I swear to God, Barbie. Next time he pulls something like this, I'll kill him."

  ***

  Jane and Michael Stern booked two suites in the Las Vegas hotel we are staying, making sure their room is conveniently close to me and Izzy, just in case we need them. Don’t ask me why. We’re twenty-three and Izzy has seen more of the world than the two of them combined.

  The minute I open the door to our Vegas room, the smell of fresh pastries makes my mouth water. It's like walking into the best bakery in the world. The bright side of rooming with a supermodel sister. Stuff is on the house, and there's a lot of it too.

  Baskets of yummy food, cupcakes, and complimentary robes, soaps and whatnot are displayed on the blonde-wood credenza. A note welcomes Izzy to the hotel and she reads it with a mixture of boredom and mild irritation.

  She opens a second card with this annoyed expression, until her eyebrows shoot up and the frown is replaced with a smile.

  "What?" I ask.

  "It's from Elizabeth's Passion. They sent me a gift."

  "Wow," is all I manage. I'm seriously not in the mood for stroking my sister's ego. I usually don't mind, it's just that Ty and I have barely spoken to each other this past week and we haven't seen each other at all.

  I get it. He's been holed up at his training camp, with his coaches and sparring partners, working out the best strategy to beat Doherty. From my research, I know it's common practice for a MMA fighter to isolate for a few weeks before a fight and focus on it entirely, eliminating things like family, friends and other distractions. But seeing as the last time we were in the same room he stormed out wearing his I'm-going-to-kill-someone face, I doubt the only reason he doesn't want to see me is his upcoming fight.

  Then again, should I want to see him? Shane's vandalized Mustang. Ty punching Josh in the nose. Him covering up for Jesse, who cheated with steroids. I find myself torn between the loving, incredible and sexy as hell guy I am dating, and the mysterious (but not in a good, hot way), dicey guy that occasionally pays me a visit.

  “The lead Fairy gets to wear this,” Izzy gushes in the background, holding up a lingerie item that looks suspiciously like a chandelier. “It costs a freaking fortune. The diamonds are real.”

  I shrug and fall onto the king-size bed that we will be sharing this weekend. Jesus Christ. I can't believe they left this for her. It's kinda creepy.

  "I'm going to try this on and take a few selfies, I'll be right back." She disappears into the bathroom, leaving me to chew on my fingernails and turn on the TV in a quest for a distraction.

  Flipping the channels grumpily, I mouth “no” every time I bump into a crappy talk show or a mind-numbing reality show. I reluctantly watch the local news.

  “Oh! My! God!” Izzy sings from the bathroom. “I'm smokin’ hot in this! This selfie goes straight to my Instagram account. Jesus, all those squats paid off.”

  I shake my head, a thin smile on my lips, and summon the will to pretend to be in awe of how hot my sister is. Izzy stands in front of me wearing the uniform of a day-shift stripper. She twirls around while punching in a caption for the picture she just shared with her Instagram followers on her phone.

  I rub my face using the back of my hand. “You need therapy.”

  We hear a knock on the door.

  “The only thing I need is for the man of my dreams to walk straight into this room right now so I can win him over. Get the door.”

  Tired of being ordered around, I dive into the bed, head-to-pillow, and groan into the sheets. “Izz, please. Give me a break."

  Izzy walks to the door in her stripper heels, tossing her hair to look pretty. She props the door open. Then I hear the worst possible thing to come out of Izzy's mouth: nothing. She is speechless, and that never happens.

  I'm worried. I raise my head up to see the figure entering our suite. It’s not Dad. It’s not Mom. It’s not Nana.

  It’s Shane. And he is wearing his usual uniform of a funny tee (“When Life Knocks Me down I Usually Lie There and Take a Nap”), fitted jeans and angst-filled expression. Actually, the expression is new. His face changes the moment his eyes land on Izzy. She rewards him with the same stunned reaction, maybe even worse, her chin quivering while she suddenly hugs her chest, protecting her modesty.

  “Shane.” I leap out of bed and dart between them.

  Of course he came to Vegas for the wedding. I just didn't think we'd see him before the ceremony.

  Shane takes a step forward, his chest going up and down like he is breathing short, desperate breaths. His lips flatten anxiously.

  “My parents are a few doors down, unpacking. I have my own room on a different floor.” He answers one of the questions whirling in my head. “I had to see you. Talk to you after you-know-what…and give you a little update.” He runs his hand over his neck and hair.

  Izzy winces when she catches this little gesture. And I’m not surprised, now that I know what happened between them.

  “Christ, Blaire! Shane too? Is your pussy made of Cinnabon? What is up with you?” I hear my twin, who apparently recovered quickly.

  For the first time in my life, I second Izzy. From a girl who wasted her days daydreaming about Charlie Hunnam and considered eye-humping a hot dude at the gym a sufficient sexual accomplishment, I turned into that girl, the one who has two hot guys fighting about her. I used to hate that girl when I wasn’t her. But honestly? Being that girl turned out to be a headache.

  Izzy and Shane are keeping their distance, but it's obvious that there's enough heat in the room to boil an egg.

  "Play nice. Say hi," I instruct them both, taking both their palms in my own hands and forcing them into a handshake.

  "Yay, look at us, one big happy family." I offer a toothy smile when they reluctantly obey.

  "Last time I saw Shane we did things that normal family members don't do to each other." Izzy bites her inner cheek, staring at Shane accusingly.

  I want to bark at her that this isn't helping, but Izzy is the least of my worries right now. For all I care, she can walk around the hotel lobby in a crotch-revealing Cher outfit, using two dildos as dangling earrings and singing “Copacabana” into a lipstick tube. I’m one hundred percent consumed by my love life, and the baffling thing about all this is that this love life is real.

  Shane’s blush deepens with every glance at Izzy. He’s in danger of poking someone’s eye out with h
is raging boner.

  “Can we talk?” he asks me wide eyed. He may hate her, but he is still a man.

  “Let’s take it outside for one of those weird cocktails, cool?” I jerk my chin toward the door.

  Izzy sulks in her lingerie, twisting in her spot like a five-year-old throwing a hissy fit. “You're seriously leaving me to have a drink with him?”

  I pause, thinking about it while I find my shoes. Am I overstepping my bounds here? Nope, this has nothing to do with Izzy and Shane. It has everything to do with Blaire and Ty.

  I tie my shoes and stand up quickly. “I'll be back before you know it.” I bang my fist twice against my chest and point my finger at her. “Now put your big girl panties on and get over yourself. Actually, just put any panties on, because this is getting pretty annoying.”

  I slam the door behind me and pray to God she’s dressed by the time I get back.

  Shane and I take our conversation outside, standing in front of a tattoo parlor and sharing a fifty-ounce Coco Loco. Neither one of us like cocktails, let alone frozen cocktails, and the bartender in me is ashamed of what I'm doing right now, but I need the liquid courage to get through this convo and then surprise Ty later on today.

  Shane leans his head back against a brick wall and closes his eyes, looking thoughtful. A bride and groom cross the road about a block away from us, and a bunch of drunk undergraduates raise their cups and holler a woo hoo! to the two of them. And it’s only three p.m.

  God, I love Vegas. I hate hating on it right now.

  “It wasn't him," I say baldly, staring at the busy street without really registering any of it. "Ty wasn't the one who used the steroids."

  "You believe him, B?"

  I nod. I do. I really do. Not because I want to, but because this is not Ty. He wouldn't take drugs. He's probably done something else, something worse, but drugs? Not his style.