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I need him.
In a way I’ve never needed anyone before. He understands me. He gets me. He gives me what I want the way I want it without question. No judgment. No hesitation.
With Tyler, I can be myself.
And I need him.
He pulls out of me, oblivious to the shitstorm in my mind. The shitstorm with a startlingly clear outcome—I’m in too deep to get out, but not far enough to stay.
He leaves to go to the bathroom. I stay here, standing, staring at myself in the mirror. I lean against the edge of the bed and pull off my shoes, discarding them on the floor by my closet.
One-thousand-dollar shoes just got thrown on the floor. But really, who cares when your biggest fear is now a reality?
The drunken haze that left in the car is back, complete with a head-spinning blur. I stagger, grabbing the foot of my bed to steady myself.
Tissue wipes along my center—but not from my hand, but I know I can trust Tyler. A minute later, he comes back and lifts me up.
He lays me in bed, tugs the covers back, and climbs in next to me. He wraps his arms around me, and I lay my head on his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. In fact, I do more than just that. I wrap one of my arms around his body and hold him as tight as he’s holding me.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispers, breaking the silence.
I shake my head. “No,” I reply just as quietly.
He nudges my face up and kisses me. Gently. Softly. Reverently. “You are so perfect for me it scares me.”
It scares you? Scares you?
I rest my cheek back against his shoulder, burying my face into his neck. He curls into me, drawing me even closer, breathing me in. And the words fall breathlessly from my lips without warning or thought.
“I’m addicted to you. And that scares me.”
He flexes his fingers against my back, and that’s the only indication I have that he heard me. I don’t blame him for not replying—it’s not every day you get told that someone is addicted to you.
Just when I think he’s asleep, when I’m on the brink of it myself, he whispers, “I was never not addicted to you, my beautiful, flighty bitch.”
He’s still here.
I open my eyes slowly, fighting the heaviness of the sleep that wants to pull me back under. Light filters in through my open curtains, illuminating Tyler’s face with the early morning sun. I let my eyes fall over his face, lingering on each one of his features.
His dark eyes are closed and the deep-brown lashes that frame them are fanned across his cheeks. I’ve never really paid attention to them before, but looking close up, I can see that they’re long and curled at the ends. They’re girls’ eyelashes—perfectly formed and totally worthy of eyelash-envy.
His cheekbones are defined just so, sitting on either side of the perfect nose. Or almost perfect. From this angle, I can see a tiny bump on the bridge of his nose. Somehow, it makes him more real. Especially when my gaze follows the strong, shapely line of his jaw and falls onto his mouth.
Soft. Pink. Curved at the corners.
“Morning.” The husky tone of his voice sends tremors down my spine.
“Morning,” I whisper, running my thumb across his bottom lip.
“Enjoying the view?” Tyler opens his eyes. They’re shining with laughter.
“It’s not bad. Probably better than yours.”
He grins. “I gotta say, I’ve never seen anyone look so cute with panda’s eyes.”
My fingers touch below my eyes. Crap. Evidently, I should have been using the last few minutes to fix my face up instead of staring at his.
A soft chuckle leaves him and he takes my hand away. “Kidding.” He brushes his lips against mine. “You look great.”
