“She’s super cool, a good friend of the band now. We were partners in crime in the publicity game, we both needed someone to date for events and stuff,” Ty explained. It sounded stupid. Because, it was stupid.
“Wow. So, I’ve been jealous of her for no reason?” I put my hands on my hips. “But there are pictures of you kissing and everything, you looked so in love!”
“All acting. She wasn’t you. We eventually got sick of the lie, so we went off the script and conspired our breakup. It blew up in our faces. Well, my face mostly. I got labeled the asshole. I actually think you would like her.”
“Huh. We’ll see.” I wasn’t so sure.
“When I told her about the foundation work, she’s encouraged me to get back with you, butterfly.” Ty took my hands in his.
I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles, entwining our fingers together before nestling back against his chest. It had been such a heavy day, it was time to move on. He squeezed into our embrace and we stood that way for a few minutes before I spoke.
“Ty, even now that you’re so famous, I don’t think you realize how sexy, confident, and commanding you are. Years ago, you made my first time so special and were careful with me for so many weeks leading up to it. But last night? How you took full control of everything? You played my body like a guitar solo. My God, the shower? Off the chain, babe.”
“Sexy, huh?” He arched back and smiled at me.
“Beyond.”
“You waited,” he whispered into my hair.
“I’ll always wait for you. I won’t give you up again.”
Ty kissed me softly. “Z, it would be smart for us to slow this down, but—”
“We have much time to make up for.” I finished.
We made our way into the master suite, where we slipped off our clothes to take a more G-rated shower together. After we dried off and fell into his cushy bed, Ty nestled in between my legs, entered me slowly and we rocked together, his hands holding mine above my head while we made love. Afterward, tangled in each other’s arms, it felt like we were one step closer to writing a new chapter to our story.
Chapter 18
TYSON
The joy of having Zoey back in my life was indescribable. After our dramatic reunion, we developed our relationship on our own terms over the next few weeks. Our schedules were a bit nuts, but we were enjoying some quality hang-out time, visiting her parents, going out for dinner, and taking long drives outside of the city in little towns like La Conner and Langley.
Luckily, Seattle was a chill town, and no one bothered us aside from wanting an autograph or selfie with me on occasion. Because my girl loved me before I was this famous, it was an adjustment for her to be out in public with me. If I had to guess, Zoey was getting used to me being recognized. I’d never felt prouder than when my beautiful butterfly was on my arm, and I couldn’t wait to share her with the entire world.
Now that we were fully back together, I could see firsthand how insane her firm schedule was. Since her apartment was so close to her office, it made sense for us to crash there on weeknights to give her some extra sleep time. Still, my place was a lot more secure, so most nights she commuted downtown in her old RAV. There was nothing I wanted more than for us to move in together, but I didn’t want to rush Zoey into anything she wasn’t ready for. I figured we both would know when the time was right.
The band had been asked to contribute a couple of new songs to the soundtrack of an action movie called Phantom Uprising, and we had to finish things up in the studio in Los Angeles. I’d been in LA with the band for a few days, and while Zoey and I FaceTimed every few hours, it wasn’t the same as being together. I missed her badly, but my schedule was packed. Slowing the LTZ machine down to prepare for a year off required us to be in a lot of meetings.
Unable to stand being apart for one minute longer, I was psyched when Zoey accepted my invitation to join me for a long weekend. Leaning against my sick new amethyst-black McLaren 720s Performance Spider with a dozen red roses in hand, I waited to pick her up outside baggage claim at nine on Friday night wearing my trademark white V-neck and beat-up jeans. Sergey, my security guard was going to kill me for being so ostentatious and attracting attention.
She emerged from the glass doors of LAX wheeling out a shiny, purple carry-on case with her laptop bag nestled on top, looking ravishing in black wedge sandals, tight, black capri leggings, and a low-cut black tunic shirt that was cinched at her tiny waist. Catching a glimpse of the black lacy bra holding her voluptuous breasts when she leaned over caused my jeans to tighten immediately. Waiting for her to spot me, I licked my lips in anticipation of kissing her senseless. Six days was too long to be apart. Adorably flustered, she looked back and forth for me and when her eyes met mine, her smile was radiant and she skipped over.
“Ohmyfuckinggod.” Her hazel eyes bulged when she took in my new car. “Ohmyfuckinggod,” she squealed seeing the roses, launching herself into me and kissing me full on the lips.
Stealing kiss after kiss, she burrowed herself in my arms and when I noticed a few people paying too close attention to us and holding up their phones, I decided we needed to get out of LAX, stat.
“Your chariot awaits, beautiful.” I pushed the button on my fob and the doors rose straight up like batwings, the coolest thing ever.
“What are you like,
