Read Online Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) by Heidi Joy Tretheway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Joy Tretheway
Ads: Link
the loss
Bound up tight, I come undone
Truth is the cure but a bitter medicine
What’s broken can mend
Love that’s lost can be found again.
I squirm under Tyler’s direct gaze as he sings about second chances. He could be singing to me, or maybe it’s all in my stupidly hopeful brain.
Emphasis on stupid. I filed a bland little story about Tattoo Thief’s practice space yesterday but Heath hasn’t published it. I didn’t write anything bad about Gavin, Beryl, Tyler or anyone from Tattoo Thief.
I also didn’t write a story that mattered. And for that, I hate myself a little. I let him get under my skin and he got exactly what he wanted.
I hate that my body is betraying me, stirring with yearning for a guy I met barely forty-eight hours ago. Tyler’s brown eyes narrow with intensity as he looks at me. My skin blisters with need and I want to believe that I’m not the only one affected by this chemistry.
I drag my eyes away from him and will myself to look at something else. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, only lust. You can’t possibly take one look at a person and know you love them.
Can you want to bang the hell out of them? Sure. But fall for them? No way.
I lock eyes with Tyler again as he performs. Somehow in this chaos we’ve created a quiet little connection held together only with our eyes.
The rest of the crowd falls away behind me, the lights blur behind Tyler, and I find myself cataloging the little tiny things about him that I want to believe only I notice.
He’s missing the third button on his shirt. His fingernails are short and square. His shoes are new and his hair has some kind of product in it but it still flops around. His shirt flaps open to reveal two small, shining silver studs on either side of his nipples.
My brain spins—he’s pierced. That visual sends a bolt straight to my core. Add that to the tattoos and the rock band and the attitude and put a fork in me. I’m done. If I were here as just a fangirl, I’d be throwing my panties at Tyler right now.
That’s the last thought in my head when a blinding flash of pain explodes behind my eyes.
NINE
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. But I can feel myself falling.
My chin connects with the ground. A blow to my back knocks the air from my lungs before I understand what’s happening.
Which way is up?
My palms and knees are on fire as they’re ground into sharp gravel and asphalt. I crumple beneath an oppressive weight covering my body. I scream but it’s nothing, no more than a toothpick tossed on a bonfire compared to the crowd and a driving rock song.
Pain sears my back as I’m suffocated by the weight of a scratchy plastic orange fence, crushed by people walking on it with me underneath.
I struggle to break out of it, to push the fence back up, but the weight of the crowd is heavier, like someone’s standing on me.
I hunch over to protect myself, pushing back with all my might, hoping desperately someone will see me. It’s dark under the fence and I could be the sad statistic the other journalists write about in tomorrow’s stories.
The other journalists. The photographers. Where are they? I struggle to remember as another foot is planted on my back and it steals my breath again. I draw a lungful of air and shriek for help, begging someone to notice that I’m stuck here.
Nature abhors a vacuum.
That’s what I think as I realize that a half-dozen journalists and security guards spread across the front of the stage are no match for thousands of screaming, shoving fans who want to close the gap between general admission and the stage.
“Get back!” I hear it shouted, over and over. What a stupid thing to say. Of course I can’t get back, I can’t move because this plastic fucking fence is pinning me down like a lead blanket.
“Get back now! Get off of the fence! Move!”
Tyler’s voice sounds odd as it reaches my ears through the screaming crowd. It sounds angry and
Bound up tight, I come undone
Truth is the cure but a bitter medicine
What’s broken can mend
Love that’s lost can be found again.
I squirm under Tyler’s direct gaze as he sings about second chances. He could be singing to me, or maybe it’s all in my stupidly hopeful brain.
Emphasis on stupid. I filed a bland little story about Tattoo Thief’s practice space yesterday but Heath hasn’t published it. I didn’t write anything bad about Gavin, Beryl, Tyler or anyone from Tattoo Thief.
I also didn’t write a story that mattered. And for that, I hate myself a little. I let him get under my skin and he got exactly what he wanted.
I hate that my body is betraying me, stirring with yearning for a guy I met barely forty-eight hours ago. Tyler’s brown eyes narrow with intensity as he looks at me. My skin blisters with need and I want to believe that I’m not the only one affected by this chemistry.
I drag my eyes away from him and will myself to look at something else. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, only lust. You can’t possibly take one look at a person and know you love them.
Can you want to bang the hell out of them? Sure. But fall for them? No way.
I lock eyes with Tyler again as he performs. Somehow in this chaos we’ve created a quiet little connection held together only with our eyes.
The rest of the crowd falls away behind me, the lights blur behind Tyler, and I find myself cataloging the little tiny things about him that I want to believe only I notice.
He’s missing the third button on his shirt. His fingernails are short and square. His shoes are new and his hair has some kind of product in it but it still flops around. His shirt flaps open to reveal two small, shining silver studs on either side of his nipples.
My brain spins—he’s pierced. That visual sends a bolt straight to my core. Add that to the tattoos and the rock band and the attitude and put a fork in me. I’m done. If I were here as just a fangirl, I’d be throwing my panties at Tyler right now.
That’s the last thought in my head when a blinding flash of pain explodes behind my eyes.
NINE
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. But I can feel myself falling.
My chin connects with the ground. A blow to my back knocks the air from my lungs before I understand what’s happening.
Which way is up?
My palms and knees are on fire as they’re ground into sharp gravel and asphalt. I crumple beneath an oppressive weight covering my body. I scream but it’s nothing, no more than a toothpick tossed on a bonfire compared to the crowd and a driving rock song.
Pain sears my back as I’m suffocated by the weight of a scratchy plastic orange fence, crushed by people walking on it with me underneath.
I struggle to break out of it, to push the fence back up, but the weight of the crowd is heavier, like someone’s standing on me.
I hunch over to protect myself, pushing back with all my might, hoping desperately someone will see me. It’s dark under the fence and I could be the sad statistic the other journalists write about in tomorrow’s stories.
The other journalists. The photographers. Where are they? I struggle to remember as another foot is planted on my back and it steals my breath again. I draw a lungful of air and shriek for help, begging someone to notice that I’m stuck here.
Nature abhors a vacuum.
That’s what I think as I realize that a half-dozen journalists and security guards spread across the front of the stage are no match for thousands of screaming, shoving fans who want to close the gap between general admission and the stage.
“Get back!” I hear it shouted, over and over. What a stupid thing to say. Of course I can’t get back, I can’t move because this plastic fucking fence is pinning me down like a lead blanket.
“Get back now! Get off of the fence! Move!”
Tyler’s voice sounds odd as it reaches my ears through the screaming crowd. It sounds angry and
Similar Books
