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Shit, I know it isn’t. But I’m still driving, because right now, my need to see Tyler is more than my need to run away from watching him take pictures of another girl.
If that’s what he’s doing. I don’t know. I should have asked. I shouldn’t have agreed to come. I should turn around and go home and have a staring competition with my cat.
I nibble on my nails at the intersection. Since they’re fake, the motion does nothing but comfort me. My jaw moves in tiny little tics, clenching when I have to pull away.
This is dumb. This whole thing.
My heartbeat is steadily growing faster with both fear and anticipation. And jealousy of something that might not be. Jealousy because I don’t want him to look at another girl, although it’s his job. Jealously because I wish I could lock him away and be the model.
I drive into a parking lot behind Dayton. My palms are sweating against the steering wheel, and I take a minute to take a deep breath while she gathers her stuff from her car.
I should still turn around and go.
I don’t.
I grab my purse and get out.
“Are you okay?” My best friend pauses by my car.
“Fine. Where are we?”
“Tyler’s new studio. Well, I say studio. It’s just a room and a kitchen right now.”
He has a studio? “Oh.” I swallow back annoyance of another little thing she knows that I don’t.
Fuck. This is my best friend!
Next time I come across a frying pan, I’m smacking myself over the fucking head with it. With any luck, I’ll knock some sense into myself. With a lot of luck, I’ll knock myself out so it won’t even matter.
Day leads me into the building. And she’s right—it’s not decorated or even particularly organized. Oddly enough, the lack of organization doesn’t surprise me. Tyler Stone is as organized as a freakin’ junkyard.
“Cooey!” Dayton chimes, setting her things on a desk in the corner.
With a mug in his hand, Tyler appears from what I’m guessing is the kitchen. “You’re late.”
“You’re happy.”
“You’re late and our model is a diva with wandering hands. I’m fucking ecstatic.”
“Then you should probably tell her what to do with those wandering hands before your girlfriend cuts them off.” I smile sweetly from the door, my words conveying only a fraction of my annoyance.
Doesn’t this just get better?
Tyler’s eyes shoot to me and his eyebrows go up. “What are you doing here?”
I find his eyes, and this time, I don’t bother to hide how pissed off I am. “Right now? I’m thinking I should probably leave.”
His eyebrows rise even farther. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised to see you.”
“Evidently,” I reply dryly, sitting at the desk. I dump my purse on the floor. “Or you probably wouldn’t have spoken about wandering hands so easily.”
“Day? Can you go and see if our model is ready?” Tyler asks her.
She nods, shooting out of the door.
Tyler puts his mug down on the desk and slowly moves around the wooden furniture. I tilt my head back as he gets closer to me. He grips both arms of the cushy leather chair I’m sitting in and lowers his face toward mine.
“Cut it out,” he says softly yet sharply, his contradicting words setting off an equally contradicting mix of soothing and riling feelings inside me. “I have a job to do, Liv, and if you’re going to have a problem with me doing it, then my studio isn’t the place for you.”
