Page 41 of Control

Ty didn’t miss a beat. “Well, if that’s the case, when do you get into a dress?”

“A dress? Why?”

“Most reporters I’ve seen on television are wearing dresses. When do I get the privilege of seeing that?”

Did he want to see me dressed up?

“First of all, I think you need a bit of education. There are reporters, news anchors, and journalists. You might think they’re all the same, but they’re not. And I’m not a news anchor.”

“But you’ll be in front of the camera if you decide to do a podcast,” he reasoned. “And I think it’d be great, because I’m convinced there aren’t many women who could pull off a dress the way you could.”

Heat hit my cheeks. “I’ll wear a dress for you the day you put on a suit for me.”

“Oh, that’s enticing. I just don’t know if it’s smart. Do you think this town could handle the two of us?”

I smiled at him. “Maybe we’ll create our own headlines.”

His gaze darkened. “Let’s wait until you’re out of that boot and back on your feet. Then we’ll make it happen.”

My belly flipped. Whether he was serious or just playing around, I didn’t know. But I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit excited at the prospect.

Our question-and-answer session continued for quite a while afterward, none of the questions delving into quite the same territory, though. And when dinnertime rolled around, Ty dazzled me with his cooking skills and made some grilled cheese sandwiches.

TWELVE

Alana

When the knock came at my door early this morning, I expected I was up for another day of question-and-answer sessions with Ty in between meals.

But my expectations were blasted to smithereens if what I was looking at now was any indication of what was in store for me.

Ty showed up at nearly the crack of dawn—he claimed he didn’t want me having to worry about being up on my foot to make myself food—and had brought breakfast with him from the same bagel shop I’d gotten us sandwiches from a few days ago.

I couldn’t be upset about the early hour, because it was so sweet, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with him.

But now that I was watching him empty out a duffle bag, I was curious about what was happening.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked him, my need for answers greater than my patience.

“I will in just one more second,” he answered.

I let out a frustrated sigh from my seat on the couch. It was loud enough that Ty stopped what he was doing, looked over at me, and cocked a brow.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I have to work on my patience.”

He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, and got back to what he was doing. Barely thirty seconds later, he said, “Alright. Are you ready?”

“For what, exactly?”

“To practice.”

My brows furrowed and released just as my nose wrinkled. “Practice? What am I practicing?”

“I thought we agreed that I was going to help you with your transition to podcasting,” he said. “Since you can’t be up moving around, I figured we could do this for a while. I brought over games for us to play later.”

In an instant, the frustration I thought I felt earlier melted away. I stared at Ty, feeling an unexplainable sense of connection to him. Ty was treating me like I was something more than just the girl who needed a bodyguard. He was treating me like I was a genuine friend, and I could hardly contain the way it made me feel like I was soaring.

“You brought all of this over for me?”

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