A few minutes later Tyler texted Cary from the Marilyn Suite.
At the hotel :)she said.
He texted backHow’s the bed?
Why?
You’ll see.
You’re all talk!
I’m all action, babe. xo
After waiting an hour, Tyler was officially pissed. Cary had texted he’d be there “in a while,” but this was ridiculous. They hadn’t seen each other in a month, and the few conversations they’d managed were all about work—his shows, mostly.
The door to the suite beeped, and Cary finally walked in.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” Rory sprang up on the bed and wagged his tail. “Hi, buddy!” He pointed at the stuffie. “Is that Teddy?”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, babe.” He flashed his famous smile. “Traffic’s brutal this time of day. Well, any time of day.”
“Where’s your bag?” She scowled at him, not amused by his lackadaisical attitude. “You didn’t ask the bellhop to bring it up, did you?”
He kissed her on the cheek. “About that . . . I thought we’d stay in Malibu tonight and come back for my exhibit tomorrow. Just leave your suitcase here and pack an overnight bag.”
Are you fucking serious?
She folded her arms across her chest. “I told you I have meetings.”
“I know, but I’ve got a lot going on with the gallery, and—“
“What the fuck, Cary?”
They’d texted about this yesterday, agreeing to stay at the hotel.
His brow lifted, clearly taken aback by her tone. “It’s not a big deal. I live an hour away.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Her voice cracked, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.
He let out a short, frustrated breath. “Calm down, Tyler.”
“Calm down? Seriously? I arrange my life around your schedule—shows, flights, TV appearances. You don’t know how it feels to stare at the phone like some military wife. I’m tired of waiting while you’re out there”—she flung her wrist—“being a rock star.”
“Whoa!” He went to hug her, but she stiffened her arm and locked her shoulder.
“Don’t whoa me. I’m not a horse.” Scorching rage pulsed through her veins as “Fratres” fromThere Will Be Bloodshrieked in her brain. “This isn’t fun—for me, at least. I’m not even a consideration, let alone a priority.”
It was déjà vu from her relationship with Dave. All that time waiting for him while he was on tour screwing groupies. Not that she had any reason to believe that Cary was cheating, but she couldn’t be too sure.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. You’re always on my mind.”
If that were true she would have felt more secure. No, he would have made her feel more secure by putting her first.
“What about this suite?” she asked. “I booked a single room.”
“It was comped.”
