Page 13 of Tied

Tyler

As the taxi heads away from the curb, I think of all the ways I’m about to hate my friend.

Making my way around the room at the conference, the one table I hadn’t talked to, was the one filled with pistols. Okay, it wasn’t my only reason for avoiding it, but I told myself it was a damn good one.

After telling the driver where we’re heading, I decide to break the silence. Pulling up my ‘big girl sparkly pants,’ as my friend Julia calls them, I extend a hand. “Hi. I’m, Tyler.”

“Chris,” he states, reaching for my hand to shake it. His grip is firm, tight, and soft. He moisturizes. For sure, he isn’t a manual labor kind of guy.

He takes his hand back. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier that your presentation was very informative. And to apologize for the armament kerfuffle.”

“It was fine. Not the first time I’ve had to deal with antics. Plus, if you think my friend Troy is pushy, he has nothing on his brother and sister-in-law. They can be…” He pauses, then says, “Stressful.”

“I have one of those too. Carli is a good friend to me, but sassy. She reminded me a few days ago that I needed to “suck up my tiny man balls” and come to this conference.” He air quotes with a grin. “Still not sure if I should thank or hate her for this trip. Guns and political warfare wasn’t on the conference agenda as far as the pamphlet stated.”

I laugh at his quip. “I think it was slotted between lunch and mid-morning break. They just delayed it slightly.” Trying to not look directly at Chris’s face, I avoid direct contact.

Troy is such an asshole. The grin on his face when I walked out of the hotel, standing beside the man I’ve watched all day, I felt blindsided. He knew it. The only one oblivious to the hookup is Governor Chris Rock, the man beside me. Thinking of ways to keep the conversation about anything and everything, except for how badly I want to blurt out that he’s beautiful, I talk about our common enemies. The girls. “I have the feeling that your Carli and our Julia would hit it off magically.”

“Does she tell you the same then?”

“In a more flamboyant way, yes. But once you’ve seen her strapped nake--” stopping abruptly, I think better on it. Pursing my lips, I know he’ll find out soon enough if she’s at the club tonight. “Never mind that. So, are you going home tomorrow after the morning session like so many others? Or staying until the closeouts Monday?”

“Not sure. I guess it depends on the needs of the state. If something crazy pops up, I guess I’ll have to leave early. For now though, I had intentions of listening to the speaker tomorrow on infusions and carbon leaching.”

“Chaz Markson is very well-versed. He’ll be a great speaker.” I don’t want to tell him that Chaz is an arrogant prick that will only care about dollars and cents of the states in his symposium, and that Chris will be ignored. Indiana isn’t nearly large enough to gain his attention. Instead of voicing my opinion, I give him another option. “If you have the chance, check out Stewart Harper’s standardization of landfill burning systems. That’s worth it.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

This is not a conversation I thought I’d have. To be honest, I’d avoided any reason to go near his table after the sexy as fuck display earlier. Watching him disarm the other man, and disemboweling that gun in seconds was inspiring. It was hot.

Talking to everyone and going everywhere but their table, I would glance over every few minutes whether I wanted to or not. I couldn’t avoid him. His name may be like that of the funny man from the Carolina’s, but he’s built like Dwayne Johnson.

Beautiful.

I have a soft spot for beautiful, strong arms, tight corded, tense, neck muscles, and thick forearms. Chris has that all wrapped up in erotic dark skin, in an equally decorative tattooed package.

Except for that—a wedding ring.

That’s a killer for me. Shifting slightly on the seat, moving towards the window, further from the center, I enact an invisible barrier. I’ve had my share of bad relationships with cheaters, and I consider that ring a showstopper.

“What’s your wife’s name?” I ask.

Spinning the ring, but not removing it, he tenses. “Elaine. She’s in Peru at a conference with her daughter.”

Deciding to see where the conversation goes, I ask, “Not your daughter?”

Licking his lips, he bites the lower one with a painful twist. “No. My wife and I are in a marriage of arrangement.”

“Sorry. Not my place to pry.”

Cracking his knuckles, he shifts nervously. “Don’t worry, you’re not.” Looking over my way, his electric gaze locks on mine as he says, “It’s an appearance life.”

“Hmm,” is all I can think to utter. I’m unsure what else to say to a revelation like that. How do you say, ‘So you and your wife don’t have sex? And neither of you love each other? Are you into men?’

Major mood killer for a straight guy. I guess I’ll just have to watch at the club to see if my gaydar is on par. It’s normally broken. I can pick out more men that are straight than the openly available at pride parades. A quick way to have my ass kicked is to falsely ask the orientation of such a pinnacle example of manliness. I wouldn’t fair well if he decided to defend his manhood. Governor Rock may not be able to go toe-to-toe with my friend Rush, but I’m sure he’d get a few good licks in. That means me, a scrawny, never-fought-a-day-in-his-life gentle giant, won’t be able to walk away without scars to my dignity.

He can obviously hold his own, or at least he knows how to disarm a situation quickly. The way he took that gun apart tells me he’s probably ex-Military of some sort.

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