Page 50 of Tied

Tyler

“No, I’ve avoided talking to Chris for a couple weeks.”

“And why is that, my puddin’ princess?”

“Julia,” I say in a warning tone. She knows I hate when she patronizes me. Of all the guys, I’m the one she learned a long time ago not to taunt. I’ll go full Xena Warrior Princess on her ass.

Rolling her eyes, she grabs up her Manhattan and shakes her head. “Fine. Sorry. Go on, Ty, why?”

“I guess I’m wondering if he’s just stuck in my head because he was here, or because there really is something about him that struck a chord. It’s been years without anyone really getting past this barrier,” I tap my head, “that gets the first crack at stopping those who’d hurt the heart.”

She touches my hand,. “Sweetie, you’ve put up walls. You don’t let anyone in that isn’t us. And if he made it to the apartment, in my books, that’s a barrier drop.”

Fuck, she’s right.

“So, what is it that’s stopping you?”

“Really? I guess I’m scared. I don’t want to be hurt again.”

With a sweet smirk that only drunk Julia can pull off, she says, “And how are you faring so far with that?”

“Not so good.” I take a big gulp of my drink. I can’t deny that she’s right. She’s right in many ways, way too often. I hate admitting defeat to her.

“Then why are you here, moping, whining, and drinking yourself into a stupor on a Friday night?”

“Because…”

“Yeah, that’s the answer—because.” Taking the drink from my hand, sloppily making a mess on the table, Julia licks the spilt liquid off her fingers. “I’m sure there’s a flight to Indy on a Saturday night, or early morning. Go see him. At least give it a try. You’ve had a really long dry spell.”

“Really? You don’t think that’s a bit funny? ‘Hey, I haven’t responded to your texts and emails in weeks, so I hopped on a plane to visit. Surprise!’”

She slaps my arm. I jump back slightly from her assault. “Go! Jesus, Tyler, do I have to drive you there drunk?”

I toss my hands up in defeat. “Fine. I’m going,” I say, then murmur, “after one more drink.”

She literally shoves me off the bench we’re perched on. “That’s it, I’m driving!”

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Chris gave me his address when he’d been at my apartment—in what feels like forever ago—and as I now stand in front of the door to his condo, I’m freezing up. “What the hell am I thinking?” A better question is why did I let Julia talk me into this?

If I don’t at least see him, Julia will march my ass right back here. Those innate lawyer skills of hers can tell when I lie. If I do it and regret it though, she’ll never live it down.

Well that made up my mind—years of torturing Julia if she’s wrong.

Straightening my shoulders, I pull in a deep breath and step towards the door. Raising my hand to knock, I hear a sound. A low moan. A noise I’ve heard firsthand before.

Stepping a bit closer, I place my ear to the door with my hands on either side of the frame, I push up against it. As his tempo rises and falls, the moans become deeper.

“Fuck. Couldn’t keep it in your pants, I guess.” It’s my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have expected more when I didn’t talk to him for weeks.

Moving my hands off the wall, I hit the doorbell by mistake.

“Shit!”

As the tone rings out, I rush for the elevator. Frantically hitting the button, not receiving the carriage, I look for the staircase. Breaking into a sprint, I make a mad dash for the door, hitting the release to pop the door.

“Tyler?”

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