Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
Ty
? Taciturn - Stone Sour ?
Josh’s interview was the last thing I needed, and I feel a mess of emotions as I walk through the parking lot back to my RV. I feel good about what I gathered over the last six months, excited to sit down and weave it all together, and anxious for Eric to read the first draft.
But more than anything, I feel sad that this is all about to come to an end. After tomorrow’s grand finale show, my contract ends, and I’ll be back home by breakfast. My eyes burn with tears just thinking about being away from Eric again.
I open the door to the RV and freeze when I ascend the stairs.
“Eric,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I take in the man before me and my heart breaks in my chest.
“You’re drinking.”
He looks down at the nearly empty bottle of tequila in his hand and laughs.
“Well, would ya look at that,” he says.
“What…what happened?”
“What happened?” he scoffs. “How long has this been going on, Tyler?”
“How long has what been going on?” I ask, confused.
“I saw you with Josh. Sneaking around the lot. Going onto his RV.” He takes another long drink from the bottle.
“Figures. It always figures. I try so hard to be the nice guy. The good guy. And where does it get me? Nowhere. I told him before this fucking tour even started that you were off limits. That you were mine.”
“First of all,” I say, stepping closer and snatching the bottle from his hand.
“If you think Josh and I are sleeping together, we’re not.
I’ve been meeting with all the guys because they wanted to write the foreword for your book, and he was the last one I needed to sit down with.
And second,” I move as close to him as I can, making sure his eyes are on mine when I say what I’m about to say next.
“How dare you? What makes you think I’m yours to claim?
If I wanted to sleep with Josh, I could, and it’d be none of your goddamn business.
It’s not like you even have feelings for me. ”
“You don’t even know,” he says, his eyes immediately leaving mine, like it physically hurts him to look at me. “You have no idea what it was like. Waking up the next morning with you just…gone. Like I—” he shakes his head. “Like that night meant nothing.”
“Like it meant something to you?” I challenge.
“You don’t even know,” he repeats, his eyes meeting mine again and his voice lowered almost to a growl. We’re so close that I can smell the tequila on his breath, and I fight the urge to crash my mouth into his. To taste the tequila on his tongue. Get drunk on it. On him.
“Then explain it to me.”
“Explain what, Tyler? That I fell for you that night? That I can’t even call what I feel for you love because that word is so cliché and not nearly fucking good enough?
That I’ve been so goddamn head over heels for you these last eleven months and thirteen days that I can’t think about anything else?
That from the time I open my eyes in the morning until the time I close them at night you are all I can think about?
That I wait for the sweet release of sleep, only for your face to haunt my dreams, too? ”
I swallow the knot of emotion in my throat.
“You’re drunk,” I manage to say, deflecting. One half of me hoping he’s telling the truth, the other half refusing to believe it.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, I might be a little drunk. But that has nothing to do with the fact that I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts.” He pauses to swallow back the tears I see lining his eyes.
“I love you, and you have your mind made up about me. That that night with you didn’t mean something because I sleep with anyone who looks in my direction.
Well guess what? Before you, I hadn’t been with anyone in over a year.
Do you still want to know how many women I’ve been with since I was with you?
The answer is zero. Fucking zero, Ty.” I look away, unable to process what is happening. “Ask me why.”
I swallow and open my mouth, but close it again, unable
to speak.
“Ask. Me.” he growls.
“Why?” I choke out.
“Because all I fucking want is you!” he shouts, and I’m so surprised by his sudden outburst that I back away.
“I’ve been telling you over and over and over again starting with the night we met that all I want is you.
” He runs his hands through his hair and steps toward me.
I don’t retreat, even though my instincts are telling me I should.
“Do you know that I convinced myself that you’d be happy to see me when I tracked you down?
” he asks, laughing and shaking his head.
“I thought when you saw me standing there, that you would have been happy. To see me. To spend six months with me. But then you hit me with ‘I need my own RV’ and ‘we will not be having sex’, and I knew. I knew what I felt that night between us…that I was the only one who felt it.”
“Eric,” I say, my voice trembling. I reach out to touch him and he bats my hand away.
“Don’t,” he says. “Just…don’t.” He turns away from me, his shoulders slumped. Defeated.
“Come on,” I say, crossing the distance between us and placing my hand on his back. “Let’s get you into bed.” He looks down at me like he wants to fight me on that suggestion, but then nods once and walks to the back of the RV. He tries to stop at his bunk, but I push him into the bedroom.
He sits at the edge of the bed, and I kneel in front of him and start untying his boots before removing them and setting them aside. When I’m done, I look up at him and his eyes are already on me. Probably remembering the last time I was on my knees in front of him.
I know I am.
He reaches his hand out to touch my face, stopping just short of making contact, his hand hovering so close to my cheek that I can feel the heat radiating from it before he pulls away.
“Why don’t you ever touch me?” I ask. “Six months together and you’ve never touched me.”
He huffs a laugh.
“Section three of the contract,” he says.
“Section three says we can’t have sex,” I argue. “You can touch me, Eric.”
“No,” he says, leaning down so our faces are inches apart. “Because if I touch you once, Tyler,” his eyes slowly move down my body and back up. “I won’t fucking stop.”
Oh.
If I hadn’t been cursing myself enough over the last six months, I sure as hell was now. I want him to touch me and never stop. I want his mouth and hands and body on mine again. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Well, fuck it.
“Touch me,” I say. His eyes go wide before they darken, the black of his pupils nearly swallowing the deep blue of his irises whole.
“Tell me you don’t want that,” he says. I hold our eye contact, not backing down. “Tyler,” he growls. “Tell me you don’t want that.” I say nothing, and he lightly touches my cheek with his fingers. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. “Why,” he groans. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you weren’t the only one who fell that night,” I say, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze.
“Fuck, Tyler,” he says, dropping his hand and standing from the bed, stepping around me and toward the door. “We couldn’t have had this conversation nine months ago?”
“What was I supposed to say?” I ask. “That I was in love with you? Do you know how unhinged that would have sounded? Like, ‘Hey, I’m glad you’re here. Remember that one time we slept together three months ago? Well, I think I’m in love with you.’”
“Why do you think I spent three months trying to find you?” he asks.
“To offer me a job.”
“Tyler, I told you I wanted you. You were the one who came at me unprovoked talking about how the sex wasn’t good…
implying you didn’t want me.” He emphasizes his point by thrusting his finger from me to himself.
“You were the one who left that night, even after I begged you to stay. I know what I want. I’ve known since the moment our eyes met. ”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation when you’re drunk,” I say, shaking my head and staring up at the ceiling. “There’s no chance you remember any of this tomorrow.”
“If you think a few shots of tequila are going to make me forget the way I feel about you, then you severely underestimate me,” he says, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.
“Prove it then,” I say, stepping closer to him. “Prove you want me. Touch me.”
“Tyler,” he warns, his voice returning to a low growl. His hands curl into fists at his side. “I am not kidding. If I touch you, I will not stop.”
I look at him and my heart pounds in my chest. A steady beat that I’ve been ignoring for far too long—home, home, home.
“Just…tell me you’ll remember,” I say. One last feeble attempt to protect myself. To keep these walls intact. “Tell me you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and use the tequila as an excuse to break my heart. Tell me you won’t hurt me.”
“Tyler,” he says, taking my face in his hands, tipping it up so my eyes meet his. “I would rather claw the heart out of my chest with my bare hands than hurt you.”
“Then touch me,” I say on a whisper. “Claim me. I’m yours, Eric.” His forehead touches mine, our noses brushing as we breathe.
“Mine,” he says.
I nod, our lips brushing with the movement.
“Yours,” I whisper against his mouth.