Chapter 22 Naomi #3
He stands in front of the bed. There are still traces of my lipstick in the corners of his mouth, and I can’t take my eyes off him.
"Because I think I need to tell you some things in a proper setting, not while we’re surrounded by screaming teenagers."
"Is this proper enough for you?" I motion at the room.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he flops onto the bed next to me, close but not quite touching. "Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left?"
"Do you?"
He takes a long pull from his beer, watching me with those blue eyes that see too much. I can feel his heated gaze on my face, burning me. "Every day."
"What’s the point, Ty? The past is the past. You can’t change it."
"But you can change the future."
"I like how my life is."
"I don’t… And I don’t think you do either. You lie to yourself."
"Bullshit."
"You’re beautiful and successful and still single."
"Maybe that’s my choice."
"You could have done anything. Instead, you’re back here where it all started."
"If you believe I returned to Sageview Ridge because I’m waiting for you, you’re mistaken."
"Well, then talk to me."
I sip on my wine cooler. "About what?" Finally, I turn to look at him. This distance between us, this tiny space, is on fire.
"Everything I don't know." He takes another pull of his beer.
I shrug, drink more as well, try to keep it light. "I'm older. Wiser. More tolerant of hot weather."
He chuckles. "I thought being in a big city was your dream."
"It was and it wasn’t," I say, glancing down at the bottle in my hand. The buzz is starting to hit me, and my tongue is loose. "One day, it felt like too much."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here," I tell him. "Closer to home. The tacos are better, and I have Oasis."
"I thought maybe you got bored of the big city."
"Maybe the big city got bored of me." I surprise myself with how easily it comes out.
"Was it a guy?"
I shift my gaze back at him, startled by the question. "What makes you think that?"
He shrugs. "Just a guess."
"It was complicated," I admit, the words tasting both bitter and freeing.
"Aren't we all?" he says, so soft I almost miss it.
The drinks are practically gone, so Tyler stands up to grab us another round. When he comes back, he settles on the bed closer than before, his thigh nearly brushing mine.
"I remember when my mom mentioned you got picked for the audition on that huge cooking show," he says. "I was really happy for you. Almost called you."
"Why didn’t you?"
"I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk."
"You’re right, I didn’t. After that drunk call you made. I was pissed. I probably wouldn’t have answered."
"What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"With the audition?"
"I didn’t pass."
Tyler grunts out a sound of displeasure. "Assholes."
I don’t like remembering that time of my life. I was young and ambitious, right out of culinary school, an Instagram superstar. It was easy to meet people, to meet men. It wasn’t easy to choose the right ones to date.
I shift in my spot, fix the pillow a little, let the silence stretch for a few more moments, debating whether telling Tyler why I’m really back is worth it.
Probably not. But I’m a little too drunk from the wine cooler and he’s a little too close, and I’m tired of pretending that none of those things happened, tired of keeping it all in.
"I was dating the showrunner," I blurt out, looking at the wall. "By the time the conversation about the audition came up, we’d already been seeing each other for a few months."
Tyler is quiet, just listening.
"It wasn’t like I approached him on purpose," I continue. "We were in the same circles. We did a few Instagram segments. A couple of interviews. He was older, experienced, had connections. I liked him. Things happened. He was the one who suggested I audition. We kept our relationship a secret since it wouldn’t have looked good if people knew I was his girlfriend. You know what he said to me when I was eliminated?" I’m starting to shake. It’s that angry tremor in my hands I can’t control, that angry tremor that made me not want to be on social media or around famous people anymore.
"He said I was uninteresting to look at.
Pretty but wooden. And the whole point of the show was entertainment. "
I stop talking and turn my head back to Tyler.
He’s staring at me with those powerful blue eyes like he’s reading my mind. Then he whispers, "Nomes, you’re anything but uninteresting. I could watch you chop onions twenty-four hours a day."
That makes me laugh a little. "That’s the nicest thing a man has said to me in my entire life."
"Bullshit."
He leans back against the pillow. His voice is gentle yet probing when he asks, "You dumped his ass, right?"
"Of course I did. Same day… I hated his guts even more than yours. At least you left quietly. He told me to my face, very publicly during the taping, that I wasn’t compelling enough for some dumb reality TV show.
I was humiliated. Staying with someone like that?
No, thank you. I'm glad they never aired that audition footage. "
Tyler takes a deep breath, as if preparing for another comment.
"Okay, I don’t want to talk about it anymore than I already have." I change the subject. "How about you?"
He cracks a smile. "What about me?"
"What happened between you and the Brazilian girl? You never publicly dated anyone. It looked serious for a moment."
"It just didn't click and we couldn't make our schedules to work." He lets out a careful breath and adds softly, "And she wasn't you."
The room is quiet for a few heartbeats as I try to process what he just said. I want to hear more but I choose to leave it at that. Instead, I ask, "Any band drama you want to share?"
He looks a little disappointed as he rearranges himself against the pillow, the bed shifting beneath us.
"You’ve probably seen it all online," he says. "Justice has more issues than Vogue. Cruz got his kids. Zander is…Zander. I mean, the three of them were a thing before I came along, and they’re still a thing now that we’re on hiatus. "
"Reunion?"
"Not likely."
"You’re holding out on me, Tyler," I tease him just to lighten the mood. "I told you my pathetic life story, and you’re keeping yours all to yourself?"
"I mean, there’s not much to tell. Once upon a time, there was a band that made millions. Now, we’re headed in different directions. Plus, I was never really a part of their clique. Just a sub."
"Now you’re the one saying nonsense. You gave that band nine years. Almost as much time as the person whose place you took."
There’s this awkward quiet again, as if the past and the present have just clashed. Ty’s eyes meet mine. A look passes between us that feels almost like a secret. "I don’t want to do this anymore," he rasps out, then moves closer, his knee brushing my thigh.
"What exactly?"
"Arguing."
"We’re not."
"We have been ever since I came back."
"That’s your fault, isn’t it? You shouldn’t have left without a word in the first place."
"I know and I’ll hate myself for doing that to you for the rest of my life, but I want to try again."
"Try again?" I echo, my voice barely there.
"We’re both single, both adults. Why not?"
There it is. My revenge opening. Too tempting to promise him the world and then ditch him. "And if you break my heart again?"
"It’ll be different this time." His fingers play with the edge of my shirt, and I hold my breath, waiting.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
I don’t reply. I just stare into his eyes as if it’ll help me see the truth. But my body is a traitor. It does what it wants, and it wants Ty. And the proof is my soaked panties.
"So now what?" he asks, leaning in.
"Now this," I say, meeting his lips before I lose my nerve.
Our empty bottles clatter to the floor, and we tumble backward against the pillows.
It’s messy and immediate, our limbs tangling in a way that's both familiar and new.
My pulse thrums with adrenaline, and my skin tingles everywhere he touches me.
There's an urgency to it, years of wanting wrapped up in each kiss.
And we kiss like we're drowning, lost to everything but the feel of each other.
Ty's hands skim under my shirt, his rough fingertips grazing my ribs, making me gasp.
I pull at his T-shirt, yanking it over his head, my hands mapping out the inked muscles beneath.
God, he's changed so much. Transformed completely from the gangly boy next door.
Gone is that teenager with shoulders a tad too wide for his frame.
What's before me—or rather on me—is pure man—strong and solid and perfectly proportioned in all the right places.
It’s dark in here, the light from a single lamp not enough to clearly see his tats. Somewhere in the back of my head, I wonder if my name is still on his skin, but I’m too busy kissing him to check. Too busy and too horny.
His eyes lock on mine as he draws back a little, holding my face in his large palms, and it sends a thrill through me that's almost too much.
The buzz has my mind spinning, and I’m not exactly sure how it happens, how we strip off all the layers until there's nothing between us but heat and anticipation.
We're standing next to the bed, and Ty’s mouth travels down my throat, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. It feels electric, intense, like we're the only two people in the world.
"I missed you," I breathe out drunkenly as his lips find my collarbone.
"Missed you more," he mumbles against my neck, then kisses a trail over my shoulder.
He pauses all of a sudden, then spins me around.
"What is this?" His voice is barely there as he skims his fingers over my back, over the ink feathers done over ten years ago.
I forgot it's there, forgot he'd never seen the tattoo.
"Shocked?" I ask, shivering from the contact.