23. Tinsley
CHAPTER 23
Tinsley
I walk backward, holding Archer’s hands as we leave the movie theater. We’ve just finished the end credit scene of the latest big budget superhero film and left through the side exit, and I’m a little tipsy. The strawberry fields cocktails I had with the dinner they brought to our seats went down far too smoothly and snuck up on me. My cheeks are flushed from the liquor and I feel loose and carefree.
I’m in love with this man. Hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him. He knew exactly what I needed and he made it happen.
“Hey, Superman,” I smile, stepping into him and extending our laced fingers out.
He glances down each direction of the sidewalk and seeing that we’re alone—the only illumination on the street coming from the bank across the alley—he walks me back into the wall and murmurs, “Hi, Shortcake.”
He untangles our hands and brings one to my cheek, the other finding its home at my throat and making my heart jump skip into an Olympic sprint. I’m caged in and can see nothing but him. L.A. is completely shut out.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, leaning down. “Tell me we’ve risked enough tonight.”
We shouldn’t push our luck. But I feel absolutely wicked, the kind of reckless he talks about me turning him into.
“No.”
It’s all he needs.
Archer’s on me, kissing me with a frenzied passion. The lingering taste of the draft beer he nursed through the movie explodes on my tongue in bursts of peppery citrus.
“So sweet.” He groans against my mouth, moving the hand at my cheek to my ponytail. He uses it to tilt my head and further devour me, swallowing my aching moans as I reach up on the tips of my toes in my leather flip flops to get more of him.
He gives my pulse a gentle squeeze and, in direct juxtaposition, moves his hand to roughly palm my breast. I keen into his mouth, offering up my chest for more which he gives.
Against his mouth, I pant and whine his name, crying out when he hikes my leg up on his hip and sinks his hard, jean-covered dick between my thighs.
“Yes,” I breathe, grabbing at his hair, my head thumping against the building’s exterior as he sucks on my neck and humps me to stimulate my clit through my shorts. When he hits it just right, I see stars.
Biting my lip to stop myself from crying out, I see them again, only this time it’s not metaphorically. There’s an actual flash lighting up the alley. Then another and another, all accompanied by shouts of my name.
Archer notices them at the same time as me and goes deathly still. Slowly I bring my leg down and his hand comes up from my breast to shield my face in his chest as he angles his body to block all possible view of me.
“How did they know I was here?” I worry, hands going into the front pockets of his jeans.
“The girls in the theater,” he answers with restrained anger.
The whole time we’d been in the theater, I’d been anonymous. It was only when the lights came back on that I was recognized by a group of college-aged girls. They were incredibly polite when approaching us, making it easy and enjoyable to pose with them for pictures before we left. I’m so stupid.
“Oh my God.”
Still tucked over me as questions rain like fire around us and the flashbulbs of cameras arch through the dark like strobe lights, he assures me, “I’ll keep you safe, Tinsley.”
I nod my head several times, trying to block out the things they’re saying, and one finger at a time, I release the grip I have on Archer’s pockets. With his shoulder up by my profile, he removes his cap from my head and tugs my ponytail free. My hair falls forward and he puts the worn black hat back on me and bends the brim to obscure my face as much as possible.
He laces his fingers through mine, kissing my knuckles, and with his body turned more toward me than the street, he tucks me into him and takes off with a purposeful stride, my much shorter legs having to trot to keep up.
For being caught dry humping in an alley, Archer’s surprisingly calm and focused. It’s me who’s in turmoil. My head’s already spinning at the pictures and videos that have no doubt started to flood the internet and social media.
Stupid. I was so, so stupid for doing this. We should have just gotten in the truck and gone home.
They won’t leave us alone and with every step we take they get closer, closing in on us, the flash of the cameras a constant now that has blinded me to anything more than what’s a scarce few inches directly right in front of my face.
It’s only made worse when they can’t get anything out of me—not even a clear shot from how thoroughly Archer’s keeping me covered—and turn their questions on him.
“You enjoying your fifteen minutes at her side?”
“How’s it feel to be the one to crack the ice princess?”
“Tits or ass?”
“How do you guys make it work with the height difference?”
Their hurled invasion keeps coming and Archer’s grip grows tighter around my hand, betraying how little control remains in him. One wrong move, one wrong question, and I think he’ll snap and we haven’t even made it to the garage yet, let alone his truck.
And then it happens. They find Archer’s line and not only cross it but obliterate it.
One guy from the crowd of paparazzi somehow manages to cut us off, and he shoves his camera in my face and shouts at Archer.
“What was it like popping Tinsley Jacobs’s cherry? Is she a screamer? She looks like one. Bet that pussy was real tight the first time you had it; not so much now though, huh?”
“What the fuck did you just say?” he roars, snatching the camera from the guy’s hands and slamming it to the ground where it shatters. Archer grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt—his height giving him an impressive, towering intimidation—and right in the papparzzo’s face, he shouts, “Keep her name and body out of your fuckin’ mouth!” rearing his fist back and punching him once, then twice, then a third time, the two going to the ground as I scream.
The cameras are going crazy as they capture the shot that will be brought out every time Archer is talked about. Their voices are a din of chaos. I need to get him off the guy, but I can’t move. My chest is too tight. They keep getting closer and closer, sucking the oxygen out of the alley. The lights are in my face. I can feel their breath on my skin, and I can’t breathe. It’s the grocery store eight years ago all over again, but this time, no one is going to save me.
I think I call for Archer, but I can’t be sure because everything goes black.
* * *
“The security measures are in place for a reason!”
“Bein’ here is killin’ her! She needed to get out!”
“Her or you? Because until you, she never would have done something this fucking stupid!”
Whatever Archer says next, I can’t hear from the corner of the hallway where Briar and I are listening. We inch closer to the curve of the wall, straining our ears, and jump a foot in the air when a loud bang echos, flattening ourselves to the wall before we’re caught eavesdropping.
“Did Mikey leave?” Briar whispers, peeking around the corner to confirm when we hear the angry footfall off boots walking away from us. “Yeah, he did, and I think John’s talking now.”
“Then shush,” I hush, waving my hand in her face to silence her.
“...the shit we protect her from on a daily basis,” John says, his voice too calm for the early hour and with it barely reaching down the hall to us, we quietly creep closer. “...obsession, stalkers, fucking paps looking to take shots up her dress or down her shirt—it’s never ending. Miss Jacobs knows all this; it’s why she adheres to every order and follows our every step. Because what we do is so that sweet girl is never left helpless and defenseless like she was eight years ago—like you left her tonight.
“But ever since you got here, she’s been pushing us, fighting with us, all to make you comfortable, to accommodate you and your needs. She can’t be your Tinsley here, no matter how much she wants to. Here in L.A., she belongs to the world, not you. So you need to think about whether you can accept that and all it entails.”
They’re quiet for a minute and then John’s in the doorway. Briar and I try to scatter but we’re caught, having come out much further from our hiding spot than we had thought. He gives us an amused smile.
“Miss Jacobs. Miss Davenport.”
“Hi, John,” we answer in unison, looking like children who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
He shakes his head at us and takes off down the hall, a stifled laugh reaching us before he disappears.
For the umpteenth time tonight—or rather morning, as beyond my windows the sky has started to lighten with the dawn—Briar smooths her hands over me, assessing me for any sign of injury or lingering trauma response.
I wrap my hands around her wrists and assure, “I promise, I’m fine.”
“Just checking. You know job security and all that. You’re my only client after all. I need warning if I’m going to have to start looking for work.” She pulls me into a hug, squeezing almost too tight and murmurs, “I hate to agree with Doom and Gloom, but you scared us tonight, Tins. We didn’t even know where you guys were until I got the Google Alert for your name.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just…” I trail off, unsure what to say or how to explain it, but I don’t need to. Not with Briar.
“You guys will figure it out. You haven’t come this far to let this cesspool of a city fuck it all up. And remember, if you ever want to give it all up, retire from stardom, and move to that God awful, coin operated town so you can live out your Donna Reed dreams, you say the word, babe.” She hugs me even tighter before letting go. “Now go kiss Rocky Balboa all better while I go frame his mugshot.”
“Briar, don’t you dare!”
“Oh, I totally am. I’m thinking it’ll look nice on the Christmas card too.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
Once she’s gone, I stand in the doorway of Archer’s office and softly knock on the frame. He’s laying on the saddle brown leather loveseat, one knee bent against the cushion and his other leg on the floor, being too tall to stretch out. His eyes are closed—broken glasses that are feebly held together with tape, tossed on his desk—and he’s holding an ice pack to his knuckles that are once again busted because of me. He doesn’t look up or speak, but he drops the ice pack to the ground and opens his arms for me.
I shut the door behind me, turning the lock, and hurry to him. Getting on the loveseat with him, I settle between his spread thighs and sigh when his arms come around me and his head dips down so he can kiss the top of mine. He reaches up and pulls out an earbud I hadn’t noticed and offers it to me, the music he’s listening to resuming the moment I put it in.
In my ear, my own voice softly sings “Unravel Me.” Along my back, Archer lifts my shirt and trails his fingers over the vertebra of my spine in time with the music, slow and soft, steadily increasing until it fades away entirely.
We continue to lie there as “Destined to Fall” plays followed by “As You Are,” “Reckless,” “Cry Later,” and every other single that makes up his name on my body, the office growing lighter with the sunrise until we’re bathed in morning light.
The condensed playlist of my catalog ends and Archer’s hand has made its way into my hair, the other inside my back pocket, holding me to him. Heavy silence continues to surround us as we soak one another in.
I don’t need to hear it to know what’s coming. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, an all too familiar ache that makes my soul cry as it settles in. It’s the same shredding pain I felt the night I left.
“I’m sorry, Tinsley.” Archer’s voice is soft when he speaks, but it’s like a suppressed shot to my chest, the outcome no less devastating for the lack of volume. “I promised I’d keep you safe and I failed.”
I try to tell him that it’s not his fault, but my words fall on deaf ears.
“Baby, they caused you to pass out… I caused you to pass out because I let them get too close to you. Everything that happened is because of me.
“You were so seized with fear that you fainted on the street because I lost control. You were in danger because of choices I made and swayed you into. You’ve made concessions to your reputation, your career, and your safety because I can’t handle the fishbowl you live in here.
“You don’t even believe I’ll take you to Paris because I have a fear of flying. It’s me, Tinsley, all of it is me. I’m the common denominator.
“I’m not… I’m not cut out for this. I want to be but I can’t. I can’t get used to this.” He sits up, moving me to sit on a cushion of the couch as he stands and starts to pace the room. “It’s too much, all the time.
“The paparazzi in our faces whenever we leave your house; assholes like Jullian tearin’ apart your beautiful, perfect body and Katie Sylvain buttin’ in on our life; people treatin’ you like an object and not a person with feelings that deserve to be respected; the cameras everywhere in the house; the security; I mean Jesus, Tinsley!” he shouts, gripping the roots of his hair as he stops to face me. “We can’t even have sex without me wondering if someone is going to walk in on us or hear. Mikey and John literally sleep across the hall from your bedroom. It’s too much.”
“Are you saying I’m not worth it?”
“What? Baby, no,” he emphatically answers, coming to kneel between my thighs. “You’re worth everythin’. It’s why I’m here and I’m trying. Because I want to be with you, want to be worthy of you, to be enough for you.”
I open up my arms and Archer wraps his around me, tugging me to the edge of the couch as he holds me and I cling to him.
“Archer, you don’t have to try to be enough for me. You’re already my home.”
“And you’re mine, baby, and nothing will ever, ever change that or stop me from lovin’ you, but looking at it objectively, my being in L.A. is a hindrance to you, a liability even—just look at what I did last night. Either way, my being here isn’t what’s best for you. Stayin’ would be selfish.”
“Then be selfish, please.”
His large hands come up and hold my face. I turn in his palm to kiss the heel of his hand, mine coming to circle his wrist and keep him to me. “Please.”
He brushes a tear from my cheek, lips coming to my forehead. “I can’t, Shortcake. I love you too much. You were always meant to shine under those lights, and I was always meant to watch from the shadows.”
“What if I move to Tennessee? Permanently. The label has offices and contacts in Nashville. It could work... I’ll make it work.”
“We can talk about that after this leg of your tour is done but for now, Tinsley, baby, you need to be here. You said it yourself.”
“I need to be with you!” I cry, gripping his t-shirt and dropping my head to his chest. “I need you.”
Archer picks me up and retakes his spot on the couch with me in his lap. He sweeps my hair back from my face, catching my tears as they fall, and kissing their paths dry.
My hands creep up his shirt, and when my palms on his warm skin aren’t enough to keep me anchored, I lean back and tug my t-shirt off. He bends an arm back over his shoulder and pulls his own off and then unhooks my bra, guiding the straps down my arms to be tossed on the floor.
Skin to skin, I tuck my face into the crook of his neck and murmur, “You promised you wouldn’t let me go.”
His fingers are threaded through my hair and he uses that tangled hold to coax me out, his other hand coming down to my throat. “I’m not,” he vows, sealing it with a kiss that steals my breath. He lets go of my hair, his hand finding its way not into the back pocket of my shorts but down the waistband itself, taking a handful of my ass and beginning to slowly rock me over him. “You’re as much my home as I’m yours. I’m just steppin’ back so you can shine.”
“Promise me, Archer. Promise you’ll be home at the ranch waiting for me when I get back,” I plead between kisses, blindly reaching between us to rip open the button and zipper of his jeans.
We’re a mess of eager, desperate emotion and need as he lifts his ass for me to slip his jeans and boxer briefs down enough to free his dick while simultaneously popping the button of my shorts free and yanking them off with my panties.
“Baby, I waited for you to return for ten years with no guarantee it would ever happen; ten weeks knowin’ I’ll hear your sweet voice and see your pretty face every single one of those seventy days is nothin’.”
I position his dick at my pussy and sink down with a quiet sob, my forehead coming to rest against his while I sit, feeling him inside me, tears falling from my eyes to where we’re joined.
“Promise me I won’t lose you, Archer,” I quietly beg. “I only just got you back. I can’t… I can’t…”
“Shhh,” he soothes, cupping the side of my face. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried, Tinsley. You’re all I’ll ever see and want. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whimper, wrapping my arms around him as I slowly start to rise and fall on him, terrified to bring us to the edge knowing when it ends, he’ll be gone.