Page 100 of Tyler
Ty is everything. My anchor, my air, my goddamn all. And somehow I get to keep him.
My eyes drift up, find my dad standing a couple of feet away, awkward as hell but trying not to show it. And I frown.
“Why did you look at me like that, then?” I ask, still wrapped around Tyler like he’s my damn oxygen.
Dad clears his throat, rubs a hand over his jaw like he’s trying to figure out how much to drop on the happy couple right now. “Ah… yeah. So, Mick’s trying to sue you. But we’ll get to that later. It won’t stick, but I wanted to tell you in person about the visa anyway…”
I nod. Or shake my head. Or maybe both.
“He can fucking sue me all he wants,” I mutter. “I don’t care.”
I get to stay. I get to stay withhim. My guy. My man. That’s all that fucking matters.
Ty presses a kiss to my jaw. It’s soft, damp, and so fucking perfect it makes my throat close up again for a whole different reason.
Yeah. This is what matters.
Just this.
TWENTY-TWO
Tylerisamess.A beautiful, nervous wreck of a mess.
I tried to calm him down, made him go for a jog this morning to enjoy the Los Angeles beach, the city we’ve been in for the past five days. Because fuck yeah, the Tigersobliteratedthe semis, and tonight is the goddamn championship game.
Since the host city gets picked before the season even starts, they really lucked out. It’s basically a home game. Or, well, a home-adjacentgame. And Ty is feeling every second of it. As is the rest of his team. For the last five days it's been pure chaos on this floor in the hotel, and I’m kinda glad it’s over after tonight. I thought going on tour in the roadie bus was bad, but theyhave nothing on fifty football players holed up with nerves riding high.
However, when we got back from what I thought was a relaxing run, Ty couldn’t stop pacing our amazing,private,room. Then he started re-packing his duffle for the third time, even though we’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. And when he started explaining one of the plays (something football-y, I still don’t get it)again, I’d had enough.
I yeeted him into the shower when I got out myself with strict instructions to wash himself thoroughly.
Because clearly, I have to take matters into my own hands.
Or well—on my own tongue, really.
I intend to release that pent-up tension one lick at a time. He needs to be ready for tonight, and I’m gonna make damn sure he’s as relaxed as he can be. I want him to be at his very best tonight, he worked too damn hard for this.
When he emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around those thick thighs, I pat the bedding next to me.
“C’mere, gorgeous,” I say, completely naked myself.
He smiles but it’s tight, a little too strained, opting to step in between my bare knees instead, fingers sliding into my hair.
I let my hands slide over those insane abs, still warm and damp from the shower, before moving them to his back, pulling him a bit closer, which earns me a real smile.
“I’m glad everything worked out with Mick. You’re signing the final papers in a bit, right?”
I nod. I’ve got to leave soon, head to my dad’s firm where we’ll go over everything one last time with a rep from the label. Turns out that whole suing thing? Mostly just stupid talk from that stupid Mick.
I still had to drive back and forth to LA more times than I care to count because of this bullshit, but yeah, he tried to slap mewith a harassment claim that madezerofucking sense. Claimed that because ofmyactions, the label put him on probation.
Fuck that. He did that all on his own. The label’s got my back. Finally.
“Yeah, and the new contract stipulations are also done and done.”
Turns out, my dad can talk a hard bargain when he wants to, and even though we already had a contract, the whole Mick situation cracked it wide open for renegotiation.
“You sure? You really think they’ll follow through?”
