“Eric,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I take in the man before me and my heart breaks in my chest.
“You’re drinking.”
He looks down at the nearly empty bottle of tequila in his hand and laughs.
“Well, would ya look at that,” he says.
“What…what happened?”
“What happened?” he scoffs. “How long has this been going on, Tyler?”
“How long has what been going on?” I ask, confused.
“I saw you with Josh. Sneaking around the lot. Going onto his RV.” He takes another long drink from the bottle. “Figures. It always figures. I try so hard to be the nice guy. The good guy. And where does it get me? Nowhere. I told him before this fucking tour even started that you were off limits. That you weremine.”
“First of all,” I say, stepping closer and snatching the bottle from his hand. “If you think Josh and I are sleeping together, we’re not. I’ve been meeting with all the guys because they wanted to write the foreword for your book, and he was the last one I needed to sit down with. And second,” I move as close to him as I can, making sure his eyes are on mine when I say what I’m about to say next. “Howdareyou? What makes you think I’m yours to claim? If I wanted to sleep with Josh, I could, and it’d be none of your goddamn business. It’s not like you even have feelings for me.”
“You don’t even know,” he says, his eyes immediately leaving mine, like it physically hurts him to look at me. “You have no idea what it was like. Waking up the next morning with you just…gone. Like I—” he shakes his head. “Like that night meantnothing.”
“Like it meant something to you?” I challenge.
“You don’t even know,” he repeats, his eyes meeting mine again and his voice lowered almost to a growl. We’re so close that I can smell the tequila on his breath, and I fight the urge to crash my mouth into his. To taste the tequila on his tongue. Get drunk on it. On him.
“Then explain it to me.”
“Explain what, Tyler? That I fell for you that night? That I can’t even call what I feel for you love because that word is so cliché and notnearlyfucking good enough? That I’ve been so goddamn head over heels for you these last eleven months and thirteen days that I can’t think about anything else? That from the time I open my eyes in the morning until the time I close them at night you are all I can think about? That I wait for the sweet release of sleep, only for your face to haunt my dreams, too?”
I swallow the knot of emotion in my throat.
“You’re drunk,” I manage to say, deflecting. One half of me hoping he’s telling the truth, the other half refusing to believe it.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, I might be a little drunk. But that has nothing to do with the fact that I love you. I love you so fucking much ithurts.” He pauses to swallow back the tears I see lining his eyes. “I love you, and you have your mind made up about me. That that night with you didn’t mean something because I sleep with anyone who looks in my direction. Well guess what? Before you, I hadn’t been with anyone in over a year. Do you still want to know how many women I’ve been with since I was with you? The answer is zero. Fuckingzero, Ty.” I look away, unable to process what is happening. “Ask me why.”
I swallow and open my mouth, but close it again, unable
to speak.
“Ask. Me.” he growls.
“Why?” I choke out.
“Because all I fucking want is you!” he shouts, and I’m so surprised by his sudden outburst that I back away. “I’ve been telling you over and over andoveragain starting withthe night we met that all I want isyou.” He runs his hands through his hair and steps toward me. I don’t retreat, even though my instincts are telling me I should.
“Do you know that I convinced myself that you’d be happy to see me when I tracked you down?” he asks, laughing and shaking his head. “I thought when you saw me standing there, that you would have beenhappy. To see me. To spend six months with me. But then you hit me with ‘I need my own RV’ and ‘we will not be having sex’, and I knew. Iknewwhat I felt that night between us…that I was the only one who felt it.”
“Eric,” I say, my voice trembling. I reach out to touch him and he bats my hand away.
“Don’t,” he says. “Just…don’t.” He turns away from me, his shoulders slumped. Defeated.
“Come on,” I say, crossing the distance between us and placing my hand on his back. “Let’s get you into bed.” He looks down at me like he wants to fight me on that suggestion, but then nods once and walks to the back of the RV. He tries to stop at his bunk, but I push him into the bedroom.
He sits at the edge of the bed, and I kneel in front of him and start untying his boots before removing them and setting them aside. When I’m done, I look up at him and his eyes are already on me. Probably remembering the last time I was on my knees in front of him.
I know I am.
He reaches his hand out to touch my face, stopping just short of making contact, his hand hovering so close to my cheek that I can feel the heat radiating from it before he pulls away.
“Why don’t you ever touch me?” I ask. “Six months together and you’ve never touched me.”
