Page 84 of Resurrection
He cracks a smug smile.
Asshole.
And I can almost taste the audacity in the air. It's bitter with a hint of irony and smells like trouble wrapped in expensive cologne.
The cabin buzzes softly with tension, as if expecting us to explode into laughter or an argument at any moment. But not today—I'm holding my ground on this one.
This silent lipstick battle lasts maybe a few seconds, where both he and I wrestle for the tube, and then I get the upper hand and yank it away from him.
"You win," he whispers.
"I sure do." I bring the lipstick to his lips and paint it all over them.
Tyler’s dead frozen, with his mouth now the color of merlot. It’s not my best work, but that wasn’t my intention. I don’t know what it was—maybe my desire to own that rockstar persona of his that he hid behind all those years.
I have to confess, when I found out Tyler Brady was picked to replace Chance Hollowell from The Deviant, I was conflicted. He wasn’t a drinker. He was from a good family. He hated scandals and TMZ. He cared about music,not about theatrics. He was much younger than the rest of the guys in the band.
He didn’t fit in.
But the first time I saw him in all black with his face covered up by makeup, I had this strange gut feeling that he was finally in the right place. After that, his career took off. People talked about what a refreshing addition newcomer Tyler Brady was to the band, how their management made a smart decision by picking an unknown guitarist so he could build up his own character and not use the shattered legacy of a dead man.
And now, all these years later, Tyler Brady is standing right in front of me, his lips covered in lipstick and his eyes wide and wandering, and I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to get over him. I don’t want to ignore the emotions inside my chest.
"You want this?" he rasps, pointing at his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. "The version of me that everyone else knows?"
My pulse is a loud whoosh in my ears, and I reach up to place my thumb on the corner of his mouth. The lipstick drags on over his skin as I brush it up his face toward the middle of his cheek.
He doesn’t move. He just stands there watching me as I make the merlot grin symmetrical by moving my thumb from his lips to his other cheek.
He’s got that weird clown-like mouth now that shouldn’t be sexy at all.
It is on him.
It’s how I saw him for years, on TV and online and on all the posters.
"You’re the only woman allowed to do that," he chokes out.
"I don’t need your permission to do things," I come back.
He smirks, swings around, presses the buttons again, and the elevator starts moving.
We almost miss our floor, stumbling out of the elevator and down the hall like teenagers. I fumble with the key card, my hands shaking with sick nerves.
When we finally enter the room and he turns on one of the lamps in the corner, I can no longer contain my laugh.
"You look ridiculous."
"And you love it." He tosses his jacket on the couch while scanning the room. Then he disappears into what seems to be the bathroom while I walk over to the minibar. I’m not a big drinker, but I need something to settle my nerves.
"You still like those wine coolers?" Tyler asks, reappearing moments later. He’s rubbing his lips with a makeup remover, which I assume could be the compliments of the Sageview Ridge Casino resort management team. Koda did think through everything.
"Actually, I haven’t had one in a while," I say, twisting the cap off a glass bottle with a strawberry-flavored drink.
"Remember how you used to steal them from your mother?"
"Yeah. She loved them." I take a small sip and let the alcohol do its magic. "What about you?" I watch him rummage through the minibar as he reads the labels. "Still not much of a drinker?"
"Not really." He finally settles on some brand of beer I’ve never seen. He pops the cap off and takes a swig.
