Ty
? THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND - Bad Omens?
Istare at my reflection in the mirror of the bathroom in Eric’s parents’ house, forcing myself to take deep breaths. This is fine. Everything’s fine. I repeat the words over and over, but they’re not calming my nerves.
Maybe I should have taken Eric up on his offer to get an air mattress or go to a hotel, but the idea of being in hotelsagainwhile we’re on break was about as appealing as cuddling a rabid raccoon, and he didn’t need to spend the entirety of his break sleeping on a plastic mattress in his own damn house.
Clearly, he’s able to remain professional in these situations. He proved that when I was sick at the beginning of the tour and didn’t leave my side—or my bed—for three days. It’smeI’m worried about.
I open the door and step out into the hallway. Eric is standing in his bedroom, tossing the extra pillows from the bed onto the floor. I cross the room and put my toiletry bagback into my suitcase before grabbing my phone charger and plugging it into the wall on my side of the bed.
“You good?” he asks, sitting on the opposite side of the bed, one knee tucked under his body.
“Yeah,” I say, looking over at him and smiling. “Your family is so much fun. I—”
“I mean right now,” he says. “With this. Are you sure you’re good with sleeping in here with me? I will go downstairs to the couch. It’s not a problem.”
“Oh,” I say, looking away for a second before forcing my eyes back to his. “Doyouwant to go downstairs?” I ask. “Because if this makes you uncomfortable then—”
“Tyler, can you please answer the question with a statement and not another question?” He asks, laughing and scratching at the back of his head. “Do you mind sleeping in here with me? Yes or no?”
“No,” I say. “Do you mind sleeping in here with me?”
“No, Sunshine,” he says. “I do not.”
He stands from the bed with a smile on his face and pulls the comforter down before sliding in. I climb into the other side, and he pulls the comforter up over both of us. I lace my fingers together and place them across my stomach on top of the blanket while he leans over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and clicks the light off.
In the darkness, the air between us feels thicker, the bed smaller—a shrinking island in a sea of growing tension. Eric’s breathing is steady, a soft tempo that almost lulls me to sleep, but I can’t close my eyes without imagining what it would feel like to move closer. To let myself slip into the curve of his side, to feel his arm drape around me like it did the night we met, holding me the way I’ve wanted himto for so long.
The thought makes my chest tighten, and for a second, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. I quickly push that thought away, forcing myself to focus on the sound of the crickets outside or the hum of the fan on the ceiling above us—anything to distract me from the rush of warmth flooding my body by being next to him.
He, of course, falls asleep first and I once again find the cadence of his deep, even breaths helping to relax me. I close my eyes and feel him move beside me and when I open my eyes, he’s rolled onto his side, facing me. I turn over to face him, studying the planes of his face in the moonlight. Before I can stop myself, I reach over and lightly trace my fingers from his temple to his jaw, the short beard he’s kept since the start of the tour course under my touch.
He grabs my wrist, and I jump, my heart pounding nervously against my ribs.
“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes still closed.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I try to roll onto my back and pull my hand away, but his grip is firm.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, finally opening his eyes. “What are you doing, Tyler?”
“I just…” I trail off before swallowing the knot in my throat. His eyes remain focused on mine as he begins to move his thumb back and forth slowly across the inside of my wrist. “I just wanted to touch you,” I whisper.
“And if I want to touch you?”
“Do you?” I ask, stunned.
“Every fucking second since the moment I met you.” He lets go of my wrist and traces his fingers lightly over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, my heart racing as quickly as my mind.
He wants me, too.
“Then touch me,” I say, and he wastes no time. His body is on top of mine before I can blink, his lips claiming mine like he’s a man starved, and I melt into him. My fingers weave through the hair at the back of his neck, where I grab on and pull him closer.
He pulls away, places his hand on my throat, his thumb resting on my jaw. He turns my head to the side and presses his lips against my ear. “Stay quiet,” he whispers, the feeling of his hot breath on the shell of my ear sending goosebumps over my entire body. “You make a fucking sound, Tyler, and I will stop.” I nod my agreement, and he kisses my neck right behind my ear, and I press my lips shut to hold back a moan.
He slides off me and back onto his side of the bed, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at me before sliding the hand that was on my throat slowly down my body—between my breasts, down my stomach, and over my hip pulling me onto my side, facing him. His hand keeps going, sliding down my ass and gripping the back of my thigh before pulling my leg over his hip. He moves his hand back up my thigh and slides it across my lower stomach and just inside the waistband of my shorts.
“Do you want this?” he asks, pausing. “Do you want me?”
