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Obviously, he’d been speaking on a personal level. He’d made that clear, but even so, he’s still allowed for interpretation, and broadly, at that.
For instance: things are okay if I choose to sleep with him?
Or perhaps: things are not okay right now at all, because I can’t control the obvious “hot for him” vibes I’m throwing his direction.
That second thought is jolting, and rather nauseating, too.
So much so that when Tyler opens his door on the sidewalk side of the airport, I’m not about to follow him to exit. I reach for my own door and pop the lock to crack the door. Tyler shocks me by catching my arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to get hit by a car.”
The only thing I’m doing right now is burning alive with his touch. “I’m fine,” I say.
His eyes narrow on me and he says, “Don’t run, Bella.”
“I thought that’s exactly what you suggested I do?”
“But I knew you wouldn’t. Don’t start now. Shut the door.”
But he knew I wouldn’t?
I’ve never been more confused in my life, but I do as he suggests, because exiting into traffic isn’t exactly smart. I shut the door. Tyler studies me a moment, almost as if he’s gauging my commitment to leaving my door shut, seconds ticking by before his hand slides away from my arm. How insane it is that I wish he’d held onto me? What is going on with me and this man?
Tyler exits the vehicle and I hesitate only a moment before I slide his direction. When I reach the edge of the high seat, Tyler offers me his hand, his eyes hooded, but I can feel his attention. This feels like a test, and I don’t like tests, especially when I think I might fail. I don’t enjoy that kind of negative life experience. I ignore his hand and jump out of the SUV. I don’t miss the little smirk this creates on Tyler’s handsome face, thatalmostreads like satisfaction, as if this is what he expected of me. What I know for sure though is that I’m not sure about anything with this man. Right now, I’m overthinking everything with Tyler.
I need to just stop with him.
That’s my answer.
Stop.
I can almost hear the universe laughing at me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bella
It’s not long before we’re working our way through security, and I’m being rather intimately searched by a female TSA agent while Tyler watches. His lips are curved, his eyes alight with mischief. Lord, help me, he’s enjoying this. So much so that his brows go up when the lady strokes my upper leg, a bit too high and intimate.
“Ah, can we be a little more careful there, please?” I ask.
“You’re done anyway,” the woman replies, lifting her hand as if to say, feel free to leave.
With the hell finally over, I walk to the belt and grab my things. When I join Tyler, where he waits for me, he laughs. “That was interesting,” he jokes, as we start walking toward our gate.
“For you,” I say. “Not me.”
He chuckles low and deep, a sexy laugh that runs a path up and down my spine, before he agrees, “I do suspect I enjoyed it far more than you.”
I scowl at him, and at this point, we’re walking toward our gate, and the entire act of traveling together, feels rather intimate, when it perhaps should not. But the last time I traveled with a man was two years ago, with my now-estranged almost fiancé. Travis works for the NASCAR corporate offices in Florida. We’d met at one of my father’s races and instantly hit it off. He was older than me by eight years, good-looking, and well-established in life, with a dream career if you love NASCAR but don’t want to drive. The age thing actually worked for us. He wasn’t intimated by my career nor did he seem to see meas a payday, which is a problem when your father is famous. Actually, my brother is famous now, too. But Travis’s world is my father’s world.
I liked him.
My father was another story. He didn’t approve. Travis just sat on the wrong side of right for him, for no named reason besides instinct, which he assures me keeps him alive all the time. I’d discounted his concern, but with a valid reason. My father has never wanted me involved with anyone in his world. Generally, his feeling is that most of them are manwhores. Probably because he’s become a manwhore. But when my relationship with Travis stretched into a year-long connection, my father started to become more supportive. We even did Thanksgiving together. I thought I’d marry Travis, I really did, and so did my father. Me and Travis talked about it more and more. He broached the subject, not me, as if feeling me out for a proposal.
Then one weekend, I decided to surprise him and fly to Florida when he didn’t expect me and walked into his apartment to find him with another woman. They’d been naked, in the act. At the time, I’d been devastated. My father, to his credit, never said I told you so, not once. Travis tried to win me back, but I wanted no part of it. I never even asked who she was. I didn’t care. I was done. Through the process of healing, I ended up asking myself if I ever really loved him or just the idea of him. Maybe I’d loved him. I think betrayal can make you question everything about a relationship.
Tyler and I reach our gate and in doing so, I return to the present, both of us setting our things down on seats. Tyler glances at his watch. “We have more time than I thought we would. I need to make a call.” He motions to the Starbucks nearby. “You want a coffee on my way back?”
“Make your call. I’ll get the coffees.”
