The words are spinning in my head when Ethan leaves to get his rental and drive off. In fact, my thoughts are spinning so fast that when I step into the lobby and see Laura standing a foot away from me, it makes me feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.
“How did it go?” She’s wringing her hands nervously, worry etched in her features.
“It was fine. Ethan got pictures. Their rehearsal was good. Hollis told me to shut up and make the story about Tyler.”
We’re in the elevator when she speaks again, with sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Sounds like it went well.”
“Could have gone worse.”
“Not much longer,” she reminds me when the elevator gets to the fourth floor. “You can do it!” Her fist is raised above her head like Judd Nelson, and I half expect to hear “Don’t You Forget About Me” playing in the background before the doors close and I’m on my way back down.
For hours, I scour the interviews and try my best to change the focal point to Tyler. It’s apparent that he’s the story, but I wonder how Shawn feels about it. How will Jon handle being in the background, or how will any of them react if he’s signed as a solo act?
Somewhere between shuffling words around and highlighting portions of interview text, I doze off. I’m dreaming about Tyler and his hands, his lips, and the feel of him hovering above me in my bed. The sensation of his hand on my calf is so real I hear myself gasp and moan a little, stretching out on the couch. When I touch a solid leg, I’m wide awake and about to scream.
Tyler reaches over and places his hand on my mouth, shushing me with a grin. “It’s just me.”
“Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.” I move his palm so the words aren’t muffled anymore. “What are you doing here?” I laugh when I realize he’s in his pajamas.
“I thought you could use another good night’s sleep.” His mouth is saying words that his eyes belie.
“You mean you want another good night’s sleep.” I yawn and stretch before leaning over and placing my cheek on my knees and hands on my ankles.
“Can you not do that right now please? Your flexibility is going to kill my resolve.”
“What resolve?” I’m smiling because I know he’s trying. I am, too.
“My resolve to be in a bed with you and not touch you in certain places.” His fingers drum the table again, and I glare.
“You broke into my apartment to cuddle.”
He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I used my keys. You have a crack in your shower, and I was bringing up caulk to fix it.”
The way he says caulk isn’t right, and I know it.
“You can bring up your caulk, and I’ll let you cuddle me. But we had an agreement, remember?”
He stands, and his eyes hold an intensity I can feel myself drowning in. “Of course I remember. We had a deal.”
I change into pajamas and sink into the mattress, where he’s waiting to wrap me in the warmth of his arms.
“Good night, Tyler.” The way his chest goes rigid behind me is a reminder that no one else calls him that, even though I don’t know why. “Sorry. I meant good night, Mace.”
His fingers are soft against my face when he moves a lock of hair off my shoulder. “You can call me Tyler, Emily.”
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday go much the same way. He shows up. I let him in. He writes, and I work on the article. We sleep.
It’s comfortable, and my lips don’t touch his once.
When I leave for work, he kisses my cheek and tells me goodbye from my own door. I know he’ll lock up when he leaves, though. He has keys.
The office is louder than normal when I walk in, and Laura greets me by popping her head out of the conference room when I pass by. “Jonathan is here for his interview.” I can hear Grier carrying on a conversation in there, and the laughter that follows whatever is said makes me chuckle, too. They clear the room when I walk in, and I’m setting up my phone to record the interview when Jon stops me.
“I won’t be here long.” He’s smiling so wide, and his eyes are clear when he says it.
“Why not? Do you have something else to do?”
“No. But you already know that this isn’t about me, so I don’t want to waste your time. You want to know about me? I’m from Texas. I’m married. My family has a huge ranch in Midlothian, and I’ll move there someday to take it over. I like playing bass, but I won’t be doing this until I’m forty. But Mace will, and that’s why you’re here.”
“I got that from Hollis on Sunday.”
He leans forward, and this time his smile is one of pride. “She’s a great manager, but we need to ask a favor of you. You and Mace have this thing going on. We don’t know what it is, but the bets and the eye-fucking? It’s a thing with you two. We have a proposal for you. A wager, if you will.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard what I have to say. Just listen. We’re going to a bar tonight for drinks. There’s another band playing there, but Hollis called ahead and asked if we could do one song.”
My shoulders hunch, and I lean back to eye him. “Why?”
“We need him to see that he can take lead. I want you to bet him that he can’t sing onstage. He never backs down from a bet, and I guarantee he’ll do it, even though it scares him, because it’ll be you setting the challenge.”
“What’s my prize?”
“Whatever you want.” He looks like he means it, but I’m skeptical.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You have about seven hours, then.” He hits the table with his fist and grins. “You’ll do it. I know you will.”
When he walks out the door, I know he’s right. Twelve days is all it has taken, and I hate that I know how long it’s been since I met Tyler.
Chapter Twelve
From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy
I write notes on her, and she still hasn’t found them. Last night I left a clef note behind her right knee. The music is getting worse every time we’re together. Louder. More cohesive. I’m craving the times I get to be alone with her and listen to her heart beat in three-quarter time. I want to record it and use it as the bass line in a song.
She calls me Tyler.
There was a time when hearing my own name made me sick.
If she were staying longer, I’d let her call me anything she wanted to. But she is leaving, and I think it’s for the best. She’s in love with the Big Apple and the Peach State. Her map is filled with lines and places that do not include coming back to Texas.
So I won’t ask her to.
—M
Chapter Thirteen
I knock on his door at eight o’clock on the dot. He yells for me to come in, and when I do, I see him tying his shoes, barely looking my way until I shut the door behind me with a click. His attention is finally on me, and the way he’s staring makes my chest grow warm and tight.
This is the first time I’ve really seen his apartment, which is ridiculous given how much time we’ve spent together over the last few days. It’s neat and tidy, everything in its place, with room enough for his drum set and a small upright piano against the far wall. It is everything I would expect and more.
“Hi.” I walk over to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You know, this is the first time I’ve really seen this place. The first time I was here, I ran out pretty fast after pepper spraying you.” My eyes wander again, and I’m drawn to the drum set and notice how pristine and shiny everything is. My fingers pop the top of one of the cymbals before I take a seat on the throne and extend my foot to touch the bass pedal.
“I like the way you look on that,” he tells me, coming to rest on the other side.
I blush and swivel a little, getting a better view. “I have no idea how you got all this in here and still have room to live and eat. Kudos, Tyler.”
“Lots of practice. Video games and shit.” He chuckles, and it makes me laugh, too. Then I stand and walk to the small piano bench. There’
s sheet music above the keys, and I point to it to ask, “Is this the same piece you were working on?”
“Yeah. It’s incomplete. I mean, the music is there, but I need lyrics.” He sits down next to me and lifts the piano lid. Placing his fingers on the keys and his foot on the pedal, he starts the song. I lean into him and watch him play until the last note floats into the air. He turns toward me and smiles. “Well?”
“I love it. Really, really love it. You’re so talented that it’s kind of unfair.” I shove him with my shoulder.
“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 floo
r 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.