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I knock on his door three times, but when it opens, it isn’t him.
“Oh, Liv! Hi!” Tessa chirps. “If you’re looking for Ty, he’s on an early shoot. Said he’ll be back around ten. I’m going to get breakfast since he’s left me absolutely nothing. Did you want to come?”
Wow. Word vomit indeed.
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just wait here. I already ate,” I add as an explanation.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the offer though.” I smile, which she returns as she bounces past me.
I walk into his apartment and close the door behind me.
I’ve never actually been here alone, I quickly realize. He’s always been with me. And right now, with his words about hope and honesty whispering in the back of my mind, my feet guide me toward his room.
It’s not snooping if you know it’s there.
Right?
I move to the dresser he pulled my clothes from yesterday and open the drawers. There are a couple of sets of underwear in the top drawer. Nice underwear, I notice. Expensive underwear. More-than-my-monthly-paycheck kind of underwear.
I chew the inside of my lip. So much for not spending his money. Opening the second drawer, I see a couple of pairs of jeans. The tags are still on these, too, and he sure as hell didn’t buy these from Forever 21.
My eyes flick to one of the prices. Hell. Definitely not a Forever 21 item.
I’m almost afraid to look at the next drawer, but curiosity gets the better of me and I pull it open. A few shirts, sweaters, all tagged and priced still.
I do note that there are no pajamas. Of course there wouldn’t be.
I close the drawer, feeling a little sick from the cost of those items. I’m still wondering what he’s hoping for, really. That, one day, I’ll turn up naked and need the clothes to go home?
I laugh to myself. How ridiculous.
But I wonder…
I pull open the closet door and look inside. On one side, there are sweaters and shirts hanging. There are smart dinner jackets, perfectly pressed, and smart pants without a crease in sight. I raise my eyebrows. Tyler Stone, I am impressed.
Shoes are neatly lined up on the shelf that runs above the clothes rail. Sneakers, dress shoes, sandals, flip-flops. Everything. And not all as cheap as he said before, I think, noticing some Armani jeans.
Levi’s over Armani my left ass cheek.
On the other side, there are a handful of dresses. All my size. All tagged. All brand freaking new. I’m almost afraid to look up, but I do. Shoes to match them—and the underwear in the drawer.
I draw in a long, shaky breath and slowly walk backward.
I won’t lie. It’s thrilling. There are little happy jolts bursting through my veins.
If he has things here, he wants me here. He could be falling for me. He could actually want to love me. He could really, really need me.
It’s scary. Thrilling and scary and exciting. That there could be someone who has the ability to love me as much as I could them, to be as addicted as I am… It’s the best and the worst thing in my world.
All I really want is someone who is as addicted and consumed by me as I am by them.
All I really want is Tyler to crave me like I crave him.
And this helps. Despite the red flags, the panic boiling in my stomach, I fucking love looking in this closet and those drawers and seeing things for me.
I sit on his bed and run my hands along the softness of his sheets. He’s out right now working—taking photos of someone who is probably a hotshot, gorgeous model with teeth whiter than the Ice Queen’s and curves that would make Madonna cry. But he has things for me in his apartment.
