Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
winnie
God, his bedroom voice might kill her. Self-combustion is a thing, right?
Winnie can barely handle the grouchy, irritable Tyler Briggs.
This flirty version of him is deadly. Her heart already feels as if it’s about to explode, and that’s just from the heat of his palm through her sweatpants.
If he gets to bare skin, she really may evaporate.
You’ll thank me for that one day.
Seven words in that deep, suggestive tone, and her mind immediately jumped to every single gravity-defying sexual position she’s ever stopped reading for a moment to question. Because, yes, they are possible.
Tyler can do them.
She doesn’t know how she knows, she just does. It’s obvious, as that low promise sends a slow-moving shiver up her spine, leaving her entire body tingling.
When they get inside, he puts her down—slowly, methodically, his hands around her waist as he lowers her bit by bit, his biceps bulging as every inch of her presses firmly against every inch of him.
The bottom edge of her T-shirt rides up with the friction.
When her toes finally touch the ground, he just holds her there, staring at her with hooded eyes.
His blond hair falls over his brow, doing nothing to shroud the dirty thoughts clearly circulating in his mind. Beneath her palms, his heart pounds.
Thankfully, one of the producers chooses that moment to cough, saving her from turning this family-friendly show watched by millions into a porno.
Winnie steps back, flustered.
Before any making out can occur, she has questions she needs to ask and assurances she needs to hear.
He told her he loved her, but he also ditched her for six days.
He said always, but he also said never, and she needs to know which is the truth, because she’s one whisper away from being completely ruined by him, and she can’t be the only one who comes undone.
“Go change,” she tells him, but really, what she means is, I need a minute.
Tyler studies her briefly. “I’ll be right back.”
One camera follows him up the stairs, while the other follows her deeper into the house.
It’s super modern, clean and white with black fixtures and natural-grain accents.
Dark kitchen cabinets set off a large pearlescent island with waterfall edges.
The open floor plan leads right into the living room.
Beyond the two large leather sofas sprawls an unbroken wall of glass.
The view steals her breath. Bubblegum-pink clouds paint the sky.
To the left, the sun sinks into the Pacific Ocean.
To the right, the city of Los Angeles is just beginning to sparkle.
At the edge of the yard, a rippling infinity pool glitters with the dying sun.
It’s so beautiful, she doesn’t want to look away, but it irks too. He’s so accomplished, so sexy, so freaking far out of her league she can’t stand it.
He said he loves me, she tries to remind herself. Me!
But on some level, she just doesn’t believe it.
Winnie turns around, for the first time noticing the bookshelf on the opposite wall.
She makes a beeline, needing to find the type of solace she’s only ever found with a page between her fingers.
A few trinkets line the shelves—wooden bowls, glass orbs, the sort of meaningless stuff decorators buy to fill the space—nothing that says Tyler.
All the books are displayed backward in that new monochrome style she loathes.
The interior designer he used probably bought all of these too.
Tyler’s not much of a reader, but still, Winnie pulls one out at random, in need of a distraction.
She instantly recognizes the cover.
It’s one of mine!
She perks up with a little grin as she runs her fingers along the colorful flowers arched over a kissing couple.
It was one of her earliest solo covers. She gave the sketch to her boss on a whim after feeling inspired by the manuscript, and the author fell in love with it as soon as they showed her.
There’s a photo on Winnie’s phone somewhere of her grinning like a buffoon, pointing at the book on display in a store window—her first in-the-wild sighting.
Sam made her stop in the middle of the street to take it.
Then they bought cake pops at the coffee shop next door to celebrate, giddy and giggling like two crazy people the entire time.
I can’t believe he has this.
It’s got to be a coincidence. And yet, a little spot at the back of her neck tingles.
I wonder…
Winnie yanks another book off the shelf.
It’s one of hers again, a mystery this time, a cover she worked on with her boss.
The next is, too. And the one after that as well.
The fifth is her first indie cover—a commission she got from a brand-new author who wasn’t very popular yet. Why would this be here?
It’s not an accident. It can’t be.
A new idea turns over in her mind, too ridiculous to be true.
Five minutes later, Winnie has pulled every single book off the shelves, and aside from a few random ones on sports and the complete collection of William Shakespeare, it’s a verifiable copy of her Instagram grid.
Every single cover she’s ever worked on stares up at her from where she’s arranged them on the ground.
Yes, it’s an invasion of Tyler’s privacy.
And yes, she’s completely trashed his once neat, clean home. No, she’s not even a little bit sorry.
Because what the hell.
What. The. Hell.
“I should’ve known you’d go right to the bookshelf.”
Winnie spins.
Tyler leans against the doorway, arms and ankles crossed, watching her with unabashed amusement.
He’s sporting a bright purple NYU sweatshirt with matching pants that she would recognize anywhere.
It’s the same set he and Alex showed up wearing the first time they came to visit her in college, complete with Statue of Liberty headbands, giant I Heart NY pins, and NY Yankees foam fingers.
Sam happened to be in her dorm when they arrived, and her friend’s exact comment before she slipped out the door was, For the love of god, make them change.
I can’t be seen in public with these goons.
Winnie snorts. “I can’t believe you still have that.”
“If you’re Barney, I’m Barney. We’re in this together.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but his words feel heavier than the gesture would make it seem. “I am still a little bitter, though, that Sam threw my foam finger in front of a moving subway car. It really completed the outfit.”
“She was ready to kill you both that night.”
“She’s ready to kill most people most nights.”
“True.” Winnie laughs softly. That’s part of her roommate’s charm, and really, the comment is rich coming from Tyler. He and Sam are two peas in a pod.
Apparently, I’ve got a type.
She looks back down at the books sprawled across the floor, each cover too familiar to be happenstance. A warm pressure expands her chest.
“Tyler.” She swallows, opens her mouth, shakes her head, breathes. “What is— Why are—”
“I already told you, Win.” He pushes off the wall and comes closer. The moves are casual. The gleam in his eye is anything but. She can’t move as he lifts his hand to her cheek and brushes his thumb across her freckles. “I’m sort of obsessed with you.”
“But this…” She gestures at the floor, still at a loss for words.
“Is next-level stalking?” He winces. “I know. I just— Things weren’t the same after you left for New York.
You were so far away, and I barely got to see you.
It made me feel closer to you, I guess. Plus, I wanted to support you the way you’ve always supported me.
I don’t know. That sounds really lame, doesn’t it? ”
“No.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth to hide her smile.
He keeps a steady hold on her chin, not letting her look away as he searches her eyes for some clue.
So she gives him one—a secret just as revealing as his, her heart in her throat while she whispers the confession.
“Unless you think it sounds really lame that I haven’t missed a single televised game of yours in six years. ”
“Really?” A self-satisfied smirk pulls at his cheeks and she instantly regrets it.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.” He wraps his strong arms around her and holds her firmly against his chest, looking down at her with a soft adoration she’s never seen painted across his chiseled features before. Then he nuzzles his face into the nape of her neck and whispers, “You love me.”
“I do,” she responds, just as softly.
“I want to hear you say it again.”
She leans back. “I love you.”
He pauses a beat, glancing between her eyes as the air around them settles into something heavier, more serious. “I love you, too.”
“How?” The word is out before she can stop it, a champagne cork popping as her deepest, darkest fears bubble up from inside of her, bursting the moment.
He groans.
“It kills me that you’re even asking, that you don’t see how amazing you are, that you—” He breaks off as his brows gather into a deep frown. “God, you have no idea how many times I wanted to just pulverize those assholes from your school.”
“Why didn’t you?”
It’s a bit of a trick question. She’s glad he didn’t beat anyone up on her behalf, but it’s a good excuse to figure out his hierarchy, to understand where she stands on the list of motivations. That’s the real question, after all, hanging over this entire conversation.
He may think he loves her. She may eventually believe it.
But can he ever love her enough?