Tyler
I’d never woken up next to the same woman this many mornings in a row in my whole damn life.
Usually, I was halfway out the door before things started getting clingy but Orla made me want to tie her to the bed for life.
Not in a kinky way—though, now that the thought was there, I was definitely filing it away for a rainy night in Paris maybe.
She was out cold. No surprise there, considering the way she’d ridden me into the sofa last night until we both forgot our own names.
I shifted up on the pillow, watching her.
In the early morning light, she looked almost innocent.
I knew for a fact that was a lie. I thought about the way she’d looked at dinner, all elegant in her green silk and soft smiles, and then the way she’d sounded an hour later, breathless and panting my name. Filthy girl.
Her lashes rested against her cheek, and she had one hand tucked under her face, lips parted just slightly like she was dreaming about me.
God, I hoped she was. It was incredibly tempting to wake her up and tease for more of what she’d given me last night.
Because, fuck; with Orla, it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
Sure, I’d had plenty of action over the years but it was always a means to an end for me.
Nothing like the electricity and heat that came from her.
With other women, getting them off was all ego building.
With her, it felt like an actual connection, like living proof that I could be someone worth giving her heart to and every time she fell apart for me, I got this glimpse of the man I could be if I didn’t screw it up.
Never thought I’d see the day, but I was so far gone for this girl it actually hurt.
I placed the most tender kiss to the top of her head as I lay next to her, letting my hand glide down the curve of her spine that met her perfectly shaped ass just because I could, because touching her gently felt as addictive as touching like I did last night.
I tried not to wake her, but her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since sunrise.
Same names lighting up the screen. Kate.
Gwen. Kate again. Jesus, those two could yap.
I glared at the glowing device on the nightstand.
Whatever they were vibrating about, it better be important, because the way Orla was curled into my side was the only thing I cared about right now.
It went off again, She stirred, shifting against the sheets as I watched her wake.
“Morning, beautiful,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
She groaned softly. “Morning…oh God, I’m aching.”
“Maybe you should see a physio about that.” I teased. “I happen to know a good one.”
She shoved at my chest, laughing. “It’s your fault I’m in this state.”
“Me?” I kissed the side of her neck. “Pretty sure you were the one climbing me like a tree last night. Ruined my favourite shirt by the way.”
She grinned wickedly, but the moment was cut short by another persistent vibration from the nightstand. I flopped back onto the pillow, exhaling a sharp breath. “Better answer that before it explodes.”
She giggled, reaching for the device. I waited for that familiar spark in her eyes, the one she always got when she was swapping secrets with Kate and Gwen. But the grin never came.
Her smile dropped. Brows pinched together.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer right away. She chewed at her lip and turned the screen toward me.
Kate:
Nice view, Sheehan.
Underneath was a screenshot from a tabloid site. A grainy night shot of us leaving the restaurant. My hand on her ass, lower than it should’ve been. The headline screamed:
Tennis Bad Boy Tyler Reed’s Latest Mystery Brunette.
Fuck.
It was a total creep shot that someone had gotten paid to take through a hedge, zoomed in just enough to catch my hand cupping her ass, like I’d been showing her off instead of just trying to keep her close.
And just like that, I felt that old version of me—the reckless idiot the tabloids loved—rising like a ghost I couldn’t kill.
Her face dropped. “Oh God…”
My jaw tightened. “Course they’d run with that. Makes a better story than ‘guy takes his girl to dinner.’”
Her eyes flicked up, uncertain. “It’s not…a big deal, right?”
Not to me. But to her? Yeah, it was. She was already pulling into herself, bracing for impact. The photo had confirmed every worst-case scenario she’d ever tucked away. In the eyes of the world, she was just another faceless brunette in the long, messy line of Tyler Reed’s mistakes.
“Not to me,” I said quickly. “But your friends are sending it for a reason.”
The reason was loud and clear. To them, I was still the red flag. The ego with a forehand. The guy who was eventually going to break her heart and leave a grainy photo behind as the only evidence.
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. To look unprofessional. Like I’m here for you instead of doing my job.”
Guilt bubbled up in my chest. I pushed up on an elbow, brushed her soft hair back so I could see her whole face. “You’re not just some headline, O. They don’t get to write whatever and make it true. Not about you.”
Her mouth pulled into a small, tired smile. But her eyes told the truth. She’d seen what they said about me before. Knew at least some of it wasn’t lies. Knew exactly what kind of reputation she’d stepped into bed with.
I pulled her close anyway, hand sliding over her bare hip like I could shield her from the whole damn internet. “Let ‘em look. I don’t care. As long as you’re here when the door closes, they can print whatever the fuck they want.”
I could feel her putting on a smile against my chest, but I could sense how tense she was in my arms, calculating the damage to her reputation, and it was killing me. So I tried to lighten the air before it choked us both. “Could’ve been worse.”
She pulled back just enough to arch an eyebrow at me. “How?”
“Could’ve been a photo of me railing you on the balcony, topless.”
Her eyes went comically wide, mouth parting but before she could scold me, I kissed her until she melted, just for a second, proving to her that I could see the hurt even if she didn’t want me to see it.
I held her close, my chin resting on the top of her head, willing her to believe in me. But under my hand, her spine was still taut as a bowstring.
Fucking vultures. Just when I was finally getting somewhere with her, they’d gone and reminded her exactly who the world thought I was.
Usually, I didn't give a shit about the press. I played my game, I cashed my checks, and I let them speculate. But this was different. Now, I had to prove myself to more than just her. I had to show the world, and the people lighting up her phone, that she wasn't just another headline.