Tyed

by L.J. Shen

I hitch a shoulder up and fish for a piece of gum. I need to chew my nerves away.

  But Bree isn’t done. “Well, let me make it easy for you. Bad boys? They're bad. Taming the bad boy? That's a good idea for a chick flick. Doesn't usually happen in real life, though. Sweetheart, you're far too smart to be another notch on his belt."

  She's right. I don't want to become a statistic.

  “Don't date the guy unless he makes it a point to show you you're different. Because you are.” She cups my cheeks with her hands and smiles at me. “And I don't just mean your weird musical taste and the plaid boyfriend shirts no one actually wears but you."

  "I'll bring them back into fashion," I say, pouting.

  Bree throws her head back and laughs. "Of course you will, honey. Don't settle, d'ya hear me?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  I spend the rest of my shift ogling Nicole and her look-alike friends, and thinking about Bree’s advice. Nicole is hot in a busty sorority-girl way, but she has fake hair extensions, fake boobs and her clothes suggest she is an exotic dancer (or the least appropriately dressed teacher or business person in the world.)

  But maybe I’m just being jealous.

  Oh crap, I’m jealous.

  I’m jealous of women who sleep with Ty.

  I haven’t thought about Charlie Hunnam once this week.

  What is up with that? That's it, I'm locking Ty Wilder out of my mind and throwing the key.

  Just get this school assignment over with, Blaire. And get the hell out of The Grind.

  Chapter Six

  Two weeks after I receive Penniman’s assignment, I begin to outline the first draft for my MMA article. I'm nowhere near ready, but for some reason, I'm excited about this task.

  I have hard facts and statistics, and I’m going for the gold and have already contacted the chairman of the XWL, Ian Phillips, and his peers.

  I’ve visited the The Grind half a dozen times, making good on my promise to Dawson. I still need to ask him a few more things now that I'm more MMA savvy, and I still need to interview Ty because, unbearable or not, he could be the next XWL Welterweight titleholder, and I'd hate to pass on an opportunity like that.

  Besides, my intuition cautiously tells me that, for once in a very long time, I’m doing a good job.

  But the minute I set foot inside the journalism building, I start worrying about the last time I hung out with Shane. We haven't really spoken since that talk. We’ve both been busy with school and work. Now he is here, earbuds tucked in his ears, bobbing his head slightly as he makes his way down the hall toward the same lecture hall I'm about to enter. He is wearing an "I'm With Stupid" tee with a finger pointing to his crotch. A herd of cute girls hello him shyly, and he stops briefly for a chat, then notices me and plucks out his earbuds.

  “How's it going?” He plants a casual kiss on the top of my head.

  “Hey, good. What're you listening to?” I chirp awkwardly. I'm not even sure why since he seems cool and pleased to see me.

  “Blonde Redhead. Listen, my roomie Josh may be able to hook me up with two tickets to I Prevail this weekend. You game?"

  Jesus, of course I'm game. Or at least, I would have been a week ago. Now? I'm afraid it might turn into a date. I bite my lower lip, trying to calculate my next move.

  "It's not a date," he says dryly, putting me out of my misery.

  "Obviously, I knew that. Sure, I'm in. So how's your research going?" I tilt my chin toward class and we make our way, climbing up the stairs to our usual spots. He runs his hand through his messy blond hair and puffs out his cheeks.

  "I called Izzy, but she didn't pick up."

  "She's in Asia. You probably called her in the middle of the night. She'll get back to you." But somehow, I'm almost sure she won't.

  "You?" he asks.

  I blow a lock of hair out of my eyes. "I need to ask Dawson a few more questions and I still haven't interviewed Ty."

  "Get it over with, B. Getting all the info and interviews is not even the hard part. Putting it together is the real bitch."

  I chew on my lower lip. He's right. I need to get it done if I want to graduate. And I do want to graduate, even if none of my family members actually believe that I will. I make a mental note to pay a visit to The Grind and to yell at Izzy for not getting back to Shane.

  Damn, since when did being a responsible grown-up suck so bad?

  ***

  On Thursday, I arrive at The Grind straight from school. Scott greets me at the reception desk with a smile and a fist kiss.

  “Stern, Stern, Stern.” He strokes his beard and scans me over like I’m dinner. I guess I attract guys like Scott, with my casual wardrobe and low-maintenance vibe.

  “You gonna work out today or are you here for more interviews? Gonna try to force everyone into verbal diarrhea mode again?” He cups his chin with his thumb and index finger, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

  "Interviews," I answer shortly. I'm not in the mood for chitchat, just wanting to get out of here.

  "Too bad. There's a circuit training class at four, and it's the hottest class around nowadays." Scott tears open a cardboard box and stocks the shelves behind him with XWL baseball caps.

  My convo with Bree still echoes in my mind, and the thought of Ty refusing to give me the interview makes me anxious that Mom's assumption that I won't graduate will actually end up being true.

  "Where’s Dawson?" I ask, scanning the venue.

  “Upstairs in his office.” He reads my mind, adding, "Ty said you kicked ass in class last week. You should really try circuit training."

  "Interviews," I repeat. Why the hell was Ty talking about me, anyway? He’s avoided me every time I’ve spotted him at the gym. Remember, Blaire, you don't care.

  Scott boomerangs one of the hats in my direction. He grins at me when I catch it mid-air.

  “Good instincts,” he says. “By the way, the guy you’re really looking for isn’t here. He’s filming a promotional video in San Francisco for the Eoghan Doherty fight.”

  I shrug off his remark and pretend to check my phone. My cheeks are so hot, I feel like I just got caught masturbating in a church.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “He’ll be here in a couple of hours. I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.” Scott shakes his head and resumes stocking the baseball caps.

  “Whatever, I’m going to see Dawson.” I wave my hand at him impatiently and leave.

  Dawson makes time for me, even though I dropped by unannounced. I guess that's what you do when you're passionate about your job.

  “You got pretty cool stuff for your article by now, don’t you, Blaire?” He jerks his chin toward my laptop as I type away at some notes in his office.

  I nod eagerly, still looking at my screen. “Yeah, actually, the only person I’ve yet to interview here is Ty.”

  “You gotta speak to him. He’ll be fighting Doherty on June 13th in Vegas. It’s a huge deal. If he wins, he might get a shot at the championship belt.”

  I stop typing and my head shoots up. “He’s not very cooperative.”

  “He’s got his issues.” Dawson doesn’t sound the least apologetic about Ty’s behavior. “His life’s a bit of a mess. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

  “He’s having a hard time dealing with something?” I ask, trying to dig for some info about Ty’s life.

  Dawson smirks at me and tosses the weekly class schedule into my lap to let me know this discussion is over. “Ty rolls with the punches.”

  I’m ready to shut down my computer and head back home, but I decide the schedule is a sign. I could use to let off some steam.

  Circuit training is the perfect outlet. The class is taught by a guy named Angel. It's intense but has nothing to do with MMA, just a hell lot of aerobic exercises, and I end up dog-tired. After I sweat my own body weight, I opt for a quick shower before heading back home. I crawl into the girls’ locker room and peel off my damp clothes. There’s an LED TV mounted
on the wall in front of the mirrors, and it’s showing an old bout Ty participated in with a guy named Jason Monrose that I‘ve already watched. (Ty won by submission.)

  I step into the shower and turn the faucet on all the way, making sure the water is steaming hot. I stand beneath the stream, dropping my head backwards and enjoying the water against my bruised skin. It’s easy to get lost in thought when you’re in a hot shower.

  The water is comforting against my skin, and my mind drifts to my favorite guy in the whole world: Charlie Hunnam. I wish Jax Teller were here to sponge my back. I allow myself to get lost in this fantasy momentarily when Ty's stupid face floats into my thoughts. Sneaky bastard.

  Get. Out. Of. Here.

  My body is my temple and my temple only accepts blond British dudes who ride Harleys.

  But I still can't believe he's banged someone else the day before he almost kissed me...

  Right, I promised myself I'm not going there. Shush, Blaire. Change the subject.

  I resort to singing in an attempt to drown my thoughts. I start humming “Blank Space” (the I Prevail version, of course), murdering the song cold-heartedly, missing every single note possible, as loud as I possibly can for distraction. Every windshield in the gym parking lot is about to explode into a million pieces. Wolves are howling their agony at the sound. And I continue, undeterred.

  I roar the lyrics, shutting off the water and enveloping myself in one of the complimentary towels. I wipe the water drops from my face and peek around the plastic curtain separating the shower stall from the locker room.

  Bang! My jaw drops to the damp concrete floor.

  Beyond the mist awaits Ty, and he is leaning against the wall, between me and the locker where my clothes reside. His arms folded on his chest, a huge grin on his face.

  I let out a hysterical shriek and pedal back into the stall, shivering.

  “Really, Barbie? I’m the one who should be scared after this. Silence really is fucking golden.”

  I tug the towel tighter over my breasts, pulling at its hem to make sure my lady parts are concealed. This is so crazy I don’t have the time to dwell on the fact he deeply insulted my singing. I can still hear the TV in the background. The host is talking about the guy standing in front of me.

  Since these two warriors first met, it seems like they’ve gotten under each other’s skin. It’s been escalating for a long time…

  “What are you doing in the girls’ locker room?” I shriek again.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.” His eyes scan me head to toe. He shakes his head, eying my hand clutching the towel. “Unless you want me to.”

  He is wearing a black suit, tailored perfectly to his wide shoulders and a crisp white shirt open at his throat, revealing a tiny sliver of tattoo.

  “Why are you here?” I repeat, squeezing myself past his lethal body to my locker.

  “Pussy patrol.” He doesn’t butt out of the way, even when he sees me squirming in an attempt to escape the unavoidable brush of our skin. Then he must notice my face paling, because he finally awards me with a serious answer. “Scott said you were looking for me.”

  Let’s just hope both of them will fight clean, the commentator says from the screen.

  I tug my underwear and jeans up my thighs under the towel, extra cautious not to show any skin.

  As usual, Ty is staring. And as usual, he isn’t trying to hide it in any way.

  “And did it not occur to you that it’s the girls’ locker room and that I might—shock, horror—be taking a shower?”

  “It did. That’s why I came in.” He flashes me one of his signature, dimpled smiles.

  Whoa, good shot by Wilder.

  The more articles of clothing I put on, the more confident I feel. I get straight to the point before he bombards me with more reason to stutter. “I was looking for you because I want to interview you. Can you spare me ten minutes?”

  “Nope.” He swivels to the door and starts marching.

  “Wait!” I cry. My head drops when I realize how desperate I sound.

  I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!

  “It’s vital for my assignment,” I say quietly.

  He comes to a halt, his body still angled toward the door. “I don't do interviews, and even if I did, it’s not like the article will ever get published. It’s just a stupid school thing. Don’t have the time to waste on this shit. What’s in it for me?” He suddenly sounds half-interested.

  Monrose is putting up a fight against Wilder, but Wilder is too loose and confident to make a mistake…

  “Don’t be an ass,” I tell him.

  This makes him turn around.

  “I see feisty Barbie is back.” He takes a few steps closer, the right corner of his lips pulling into a crescent.

  “Give me ten minutes with you.” I swallow. I watch the TV from behind him, and see how he throws a head kick, his opponent dropping to the floor. Ty wastes no time leaning down and squeezing his opponent’s head like a vicious snake, until the referee steps between them. Monrose taps the floor multiple times with his right hand, signaling his submission.

  Ty takes a few long steps and stops when he is mere inches away from me. Face to face. Nose to nose. My pulse rate edges up three notches.

  Thump.Thump.Thump-thump. Thumpthumpthump.

  “Ask me,” he purrs, sending tremors down my spine. I swear those dark, demanding eyes are drinking my soul, emptying out every coherent thought I possess, burning my skin, his pupils feeding the flames.

  I stare at the vee of his shirt and wonder how the tattoo on his chest looks like up close. Jesus Christ.

  Stop being curious, Blaire. Focus.

  “Ty, can you please do a ten minute interview for my journalism project?” I roll my eyes.

  He puts his hands on my waist and yanks me closer. I’m melting into him, beyond excited, and judging by the huge bulge on my thigh, so is he.

  “Only if you’ll go on a date with me,” he says into my forehead, his breath tickling my hairline.

  Another shiver travels down my spine, and this time it’s bringing all of its friends.

  His thumb is lifting the hem of my shirt and rubbing my waist in leisurely circles. It makes me giddy, and Hormones are clunking their champagne glasses as Brain, handcuffed in the far corner of the room, sarcastically exclaims, She still hasn’t answered him, ya’ know.

  "No," I hear myself saying.

  "No?" His brow furrows.

  "I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea."

  "And why's that?" Amusement laces his voice.

  Because I built up walls, high and strong, and I don't let anyone through them. Ty wants in. But why should I open up to him? Because he's hot? Because he's used to getting his way? No, he needs to scale those long-ass walls, just like everyone else.

  "I'm pretty busy this week." God, how lame do I sound? Super-lame, that's how much.

  "Yeah? Well, so am I." He turns around and starts walking.

  Think about your assignment, Blaire. Think about shoving your degree in Mom’s and Dad's faces. Think eyes on the prize.

  “Wait! Do you have a girlfriend?” I hear myself asking. I don't know what his current status is, but I'm not going to date someone who’s taken. No matter the reward.

  “No.”

  “So who’s Nicole?”

  If Ty is surprised, his face doesn’t betray him. He is as relaxed and self-assured as ever. He doesn’t even ask how I know about her. I bet he’s searching his brain to remember which one of them is the long-legged blonde.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “I’m not going to be another notch on your train-long belt,” I warn. When I started high school, I made a rule never to chase after hard-to-get guys. Then again, judging by the last two years, apparently I also made a rule never to date any guys. Period.

  Ty pauses the thumb action. He hovers close, gluing his luscious lips to my earlobe. Behind him, the crowd on the TV is cheering and c
hanting USA! USA! as his bloodied figure shakes hands with the opponent he just nearly killed.

  “Trust me, Barbie, you’ll be begging to get some of this long before I touch you.”

  “You’re touching me now.” I want to pull away, but instead I shift closer, craving his touch. Damn you, Hormones.

  A young woman enters the locker room and squeals in shock when she sees Ty standing here. I know how bad it must look. He is leaning against me, fondling my midriff, his lips to my ear.

  He turns around and commands, “Not now. Come back in five.” His gaze returns to mine, and Hormones whack Brain with the back of a semi-automatic rifle and take over my mouth.

  “One date.” I cave in. Screw it. I need this interview.

  “Say it like you mean it, Barbie.”

  Pffffffft. He is so impossible. I never hated someone I like so much.

  “Yes, Ty, I will go on a date with you.” I’m slanting my gaze sideways to avoid the satisfaction in his face.

  Ty grins and crushes his hard body into mine, pressing my back against the wall. He raises his left hand, his palm roaming my face. His hand is warm, the pads of his fingers rough and calloused, and he leaves a tingling trail wherever he touches. First stop is my cheek. Then he strokes across my jawline and to my mouth, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. He presses with his thumb against my primly clasped lips. And tugs.

  I’m completely paralyzed.

  “That'll do...for now.” He brushes his nose against mine, his voice hoarse.

  Hormones are clapping and whistling, and they make me do the stupidest thing. My hands travel downward to his shirt to lift it up. He is so ripped it's almost sinful not to take a look. My eyes are scorching and watery, and I try to blink back the heat. What am I doing? Just what the hell am I doing?

  Ty takes half a step back and grins, holding his shirt up for me and doing a little twirl. I scan his stupid, prominent V-shaped waist, gulp a deep breath and close my eyes.

  I don’t want to force myself on him, but watching his perfect body just might drive me to do it.

  “Don’t feel embarrassed. Quality assurance. I get it.” His dimples deepen with his mischievous grin. “Do you want me to kiss you, Barbie?” He is now fully pressed against me, his junk within dangerous proximity of my sex.