the elevator when she speaks again, with sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Sounds like it went well.”
“Could have gone worse.”
“Not much longer,” she reminds me when the elevator gets to the fourth floor. “You can do it!” Her fist is raised above her head like Judd Nelson, and I half expect to hear “Don’t You Forget About Me” playing in the background before the doors close and I’m on my way back down.
For hours, I scour the interviews and try my best to change the focal point to Tyler. It’s apparent that he’s the story, but I wonder how Shawn feels about it. How will Jon handle being in the background, or how will any of them react if he’s signed as a solo act?
Somewhere between shuffling words around and highlighting portions of interview text, I doze off. I’m dreaming about Tyler and his hands, his lips, and the feel of him hovering above me in my bed. The sensation of his hand on my calf is so real I hear myself gasp and moan a little, stretching out on the couch. When I touch a solid leg, I’m wide awake and about to scream.
Tyler reaches over and places his hand on my mouth, shushing me with a grin. “It’s just me.”
“Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.” I move his palm so the words aren’t muffled anymore. “What are you doing here?” I laugh when I realize he’s in his pajamas.
“I thought you could use another good night’s sleep.” His mouth is saying words that his eyes belie.
“You mean you want another good night’s sleep.” I yawn and stretch before leaning over and placing my cheek on my knees and hands on my ankles.
“Can you not do that right now please? Your flexibility is going to kill my resolve.”
“What resolve?” I’m smiling because I know he’s trying. I am, too.
“My resolve to be in a bed with you and not touch you in certain places.” His fingers drum the table again, and I glare.
“You broke into my apartment to cuddle.”
He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I used my keys. You have a crack in your shower, and I was bringing up caulk to fix it.”
The way he says caulk isn’t right, and I know it.
“You can bring up your caulk, and I’ll let you cuddle me. But we had an agreement, remember?”
He stands, and his eyes hold an intensity I can feel myself drowning in. “Of course I remember. We had a deal.”
I change into pajamas and sink into the mattress, where he’s waiting to wrap me in the warmth of his arms.
“Good night, Tyler.” The way his chest goes rigid behind me is a reminder that no one else calls him that, even though I don’t know why. “Sorry. I meant good night, Mace.”
His fingers are soft against my face when he moves a lock of hair off my shoulder. “You can call me Tyler, Emily.”
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday go much the same way. He shows up. I let him in. He writes, and I work on the article. We sleep.
It’s comfortable, and my lips don’t touch his once.
When I leave for work, he kisses my cheek and tells me goodbye from my own door. I know he’ll lock up when he leaves, though. He has keys.
The office is louder than normal when I walk in, and Laura greets me by popping her head out of the conference room when I pass by. “Jonathan is here for his interview.” I can hear Grier carrying on a conversation in there, and the laughter that follows whatever is said makes me chuckle, too. They clear the room when I walk in, and I’m setting up my phone to record the interview when Jon stops me.
“I won’t be here long.” He’s smiling so wide, and his eyes are clear when he says it.
“Why not? Do you have something else to do?”
“No. But you already know that this isn’t about me, so I don’t want to waste your time. You want to know about me? I’m from Texas. I’m married. My family has a huge ranch in Midlothian, and I’ll move there someday to take it over. I like playing bass, but I won’t be doing this until I’m forty. But Mace will, and
“Could have gone worse.”
“Not much longer,” she reminds me when the elevator gets to the fourth floor. “You can do it!” Her fist is raised above her head like Judd Nelson, and I half expect to hear “Don’t You Forget About Me” playing in the background before the doors close and I’m on my way back down.
For hours, I scour the interviews and try my best to change the focal point to Tyler. It’s apparent that he’s the story, but I wonder how Shawn feels about it. How will Jon handle being in the background, or how will any of them react if he’s signed as a solo act?
Somewhere between shuffling words around and highlighting portions of interview text, I doze off. I’m dreaming about Tyler and his hands, his lips, and the feel of him hovering above me in my bed. The sensation of his hand on my calf is so real I hear myself gasp and moan a little, stretching out on the couch. When I touch a solid leg, I’m wide awake and about to scream.
Tyler reaches over and places his hand on my mouth, shushing me with a grin. “It’s just me.”
“Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.” I move his palm so the words aren’t muffled anymore. “What are you doing here?” I laugh when I realize he’s in his pajamas.
“I thought you could use another good night’s sleep.” His mouth is saying words that his eyes belie.
“You mean you want another good night’s sleep.” I yawn and stretch before leaning over and placing my cheek on my knees and hands on my ankles.
“Can you not do that right now please? Your flexibility is going to kill my resolve.”
“What resolve?” I’m smiling because I know he’s trying. I am, too.
“My resolve to be in a bed with you and not touch you in certain places.” His fingers drum the table again, and I glare.
“You broke into my apartment to cuddle.”
He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I used my keys. You have a crack in your shower, and I was bringing up caulk to fix it.”
The way he says caulk isn’t right, and I know it.
“You can bring up your caulk, and I’ll let you cuddle me. But we had an agreement, remember?”
He stands, and his eyes hold an intensity I can feel myself drowning in. “Of course I remember. We had a deal.”
I change into pajamas and sink into the mattress, where he’s waiting to wrap me in the warmth of his arms.
“Good night, Tyler.” The way his chest goes rigid behind me is a reminder that no one else calls him that, even though I don’t know why. “Sorry. I meant good night, Mace.”
His fingers are soft against my face when he moves a lock of hair off my shoulder. “You can call me Tyler, Emily.”
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday go much the same way. He shows up. I let him in. He writes, and I work on the article. We sleep.
It’s comfortable, and my lips don’t touch his once.
When I leave for work, he kisses my cheek and tells me goodbye from my own door. I know he’ll lock up when he leaves, though. He has keys.
The office is louder than normal when I walk in, and Laura greets me by popping her head out of the conference room when I pass by. “Jonathan is here for his interview.” I can hear Grier carrying on a conversation in there, and the laughter that follows whatever is said makes me chuckle, too. They clear the room when I walk in, and I’m setting up my phone to record the interview when Jon stops me.
“I won’t be here long.” He’s smiling so wide, and his eyes are clear when he says it.
“Why not? Do you have something else to do?”
“No. But you already know that this isn’t about me, so I don’t want to waste your time. You want to know about me? I’m from Texas. I’m married. My family has a huge ranch in Midlothian, and I’ll move there someday to take it over. I like playing bass, but I won’t be doing this until I’m forty. But Mace will, and
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