I open the bedroom door, expecting to see Tyler sitting at the dining table with his laptop, ignoring me.
He’s not.
He’s sitting on the couch, one arm across the back cushion, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t look at me, but I get the feeling he’s been waiting.
This does not bode well. The best way for us to live together is to avoid each other.
I stride past Tyler to fix myself a sandwich and then return to my isolation room when his words freeze me in place.
“Your mom stopped by.”
I sense Tyler’s hard gaze. When I look up, a smug look rests on his face. He shocked the hell out of me, and even I’m not that good an actress. How did my mom figure out where I’m living? She’s crafty when she wants something, and she hasn’t gotten her money, so…
My thoughts must be transparent, because Tyler adds, “She followed Lewis, and came looking for you.”
Wow. She’s tracking me now?
“Did she say what she wanted?” I know. It’s the money—always money—but I want to see if Tyler knows.
“She says you have something for her. She’s not happy you didn’t show up last night.” He spreads his feet in front of the couch and leans on his forearms, staring at me. “I told her what happened and why you didn’t show.”
Great. I don’t like my mom knowing my business. It tends to make matters worse. “And?”
“And nothing. She wants whatever it is you have for her. That’s all.” There’s a hint of concern in his eyes.
I take a deep breath, shift uncomfortably. I know that look. Sympathy. Because I have a mom who doesn’t care like normal moms do. I understand that the sentiment comes from the right place, but it always manages to make me feel worse. I don’t want pity, especially not from Tyler.
“Anything else?” I reply coldly.
“Yeah.” He stands and looks down at me, his pale eyes dark. “What the hell is going on?”
The intensity behind his eyes leaves me stunned—until I regain my senses and storm past him into the kitchen. I fling open the refrigerator door, blindly grabbing bread, lunch meat, and any other items I can find for a sandwich I suddenly have no stomach for. Why does he have to be perceptive now?
“Nothing’s going on. Just stay out of it, Tyler,” I say without looking at the man whose gaze is burning a hole in my back.
“You’re lying.”
I look over my shoulder. “You don’t know me.”
“Wrong.” He leans forward. “I know you intimately, if you recall.”
The air I gasp stings my lungs, which are overheated like the rest of me. I can’t believe he brought that up.
He shrugs. “Granted, there’s probably a long line of men you’ve been with.” I swallow, my throat tight, anger making my chest even warmer. “And unless you’ve hooked up with some of your friends too…Lewis, perhaps?” He raises an eyebrow, and I glare at him. “No? Interesting…Well, I guess that means I know you in ways they don’t.”
What does this have to do with anything? And why is he being such an ass? This isn’t the Tyler I remember. He used to be sweet, gentle. Now, he’s hard edges and hot flames, anger radiating off him in waves.
Tyler narrows his gaze and glances down my body in a way that’s meant to analyze, but instead it sends a shiver through me.
I hate that he has this effect on me.
“You look out of the corner of your eye instead of directly when you’re telling a lie.” He scans my face and his eyes stay fixed on my mouth. “And the centers of your cheeks blush when you’re agitated—or excited.”
I’m on fire with fury, ignoring the flutter in my belly his words elicit. How dare he pay attention to my bodily signals?
“I do not blush when I’m excited.”
He leans in farther, his strong fingertips bracing the counter across from me. “You do. Would you like me to demonstrate?”
