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Becca peers over at Ingrid, who makes a cute scrunchy face like she knows she’s busted.
“They texted and begged me to tell them where we were,” Ingrid says. “They promised to buy us drinks the rest of the night.”
Maya waves her hand. “Oh! That’s perfect!” She flags down the server and asks for a round of tequila shots.
“None for me,” I tell the server.
“But you love tequila,” Tyler says.
I turn to face him, quiet as I process the teasing lilt in his voice.
I shouldn’t be surprised; I’m used to Tyler teasing me. But the look in his eyes is different from all the other times he’s teased me.
His gaze is watchful, like he’s looking after me—protective over me.
I take a second to swallow as heat flashes through my body.
I think back to just a few minutes ago when Tyler was on the verge of beating that creep to a pulp for groping me.
I take a long swig from my water glass.
“Hey.”
His soft, low tone sends goosebumps flying across my skin.
I glance up at him. A frown rests between his eyebrows, that look in his eyes even more intense as he gazes at me.
My insides go gooey at the thought that sweet, goofy, charming Tyler can turn into a protector—my protector—at the drop of a hat.
And then I think about just how badly I treated him this past week, how I ignored him when he tried to reach out to me. How I ghosted him.
I’ve been such a jerk to him, and he still cares about me enough to defend me, to protect me.
God, I’m such a piece of crap.
I grab his hand. “Can we talk?” I ask.
He blinks like he’s surprised. “Sure.”
I stand up from the table and lead him through the crowded bar, through the saloon doors leading to the bathroom.
I stop when we make it to a quiet spot off to the side, right next to a darkened wall.
“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, Tyler. I was such a jerk to you this week.”
He blinks at me like he’s shocked.
“I just…look, what happened in the dressing room last weekend was incredible. Like, beyond incredible.”
My inner thigh muscles start to twitch at just the mention of the hottest hookup of my life. Every single night this week, I’ve played with myself while thinking about Tyler going down on me in that dressing room. It’s resulted in the hottest self-pleasure sessions of my entire life. I don’t even need to use a toy half the time, just my hand. I can’t remember the last time I haven’t had to rely on my vibrator to help me get off.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a sweet half-smile. For a split second, I wonder if he’s touched himself to the memory of our hookup too…
Actually, hope is a better word. It would drive me wild to know that Tyler has fantasized about me the way I’ve fantasized about him. God, that would be so, so hot.
His half-smile borders on cocky, but after a second it eases back to sweet.
I work up the nerve to tell him the truth about myself. He deserves to know.
