Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief)

by Tretheway, Heidi Joy

  The water runs behind me and Tyler passes me a dampened paper towel.

  As lows go, this is one of my worst. I wish the puking would empty my brain of the throbbing weight of alcohol that sloshes inside it, but I feel barely more sober.

  When I’m sure there’s nothing left inside me, I get to my feet shakily, blot my face with the damp paper towel and wash my hands in the sink. I scoop several handfuls of water into my mouth, swish and spit, all the while feeling Tyler’s towering presence at the door behind me.

  Waiting. For what, exactly? For my humiliation to be complete? For me to apologize? I honestly don’t have it in me. I was drunk and he was ignoring me, and someone else wasn’t.

  “Go away, Tyler,” I whisper. “Go back to the group. Go talk to Teal. I’m sure she’s much better company than I am.” I just want him to stop looking at me, and I stare at my shoes and the bathroom’s small hexagonal tiles to avoid his gaze.

  “No.”

  I move to get around him but he’s blocking the door and I’m too wrung out to try to push him aside.

  “Please?” I whimper.

  “No.” Tyler’s voice is firm but his arms are open. He’s letting me in.

  I let my body collapse against his chest and I cry it out. The humiliation, the fear, the hurt, the anger. Why do I keep going down this self-destructive path thinking it’s going to end somewhere different and better?

  I feel like the stupid virgin in a horror flick who opens the door on the dark and stormy night. What does she think will be on the other side? Flower delivery? It’s always the killer. Always.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I always say a bad boy can’t break your heart. But he can’t heal it, either. Maybe only a good boy can do that.

  Tyler strokes my back as my sobs subside. Someone pounds on the bathroom door because we’re taking too long, but he ignores it. When I finally have the courage to look at him, he holds my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle strokes down my cheeks.

  “What do you want from me?” I sniffle, mixed up from his gentle touch, the humiliating bet, calling me his cousin and letting Teal snuggle so close. Tyler, the master of mixed signals.

  “Nothing. I just want you.” Tyler’s simple declaration tears down my last remaining wall and I slump against him, my arms wrapped around his waist as my chest fits against his, like pieces of a puzzle, the way we were on the bridge.

  “I thought—I thought you didn’t want me. When you were talking to Teal like that.” Jealousy looks pretty lousy on me, but I need his reassurance.

  “And I thought you didn’t want me when you were going to leave with that guy,” Tyler counters. “But the difference is, I wasn’t going to let you get away. I fought for you, Stella, and I want you to fight for me.”

  I look up at him. “How can I, when thousands of women throw themselves at you? I’ve got more competition than I can possibly—”

  Tyler touches my lips with his index finger to stop my rush of words, the same electric touch I felt in our first cab ride together. “Not like that. I let that get out of hand and that wasn’t fair. This is all kind of new to me. This attention. But I want you to fight all this negative shit that keeps you running away from me. Fight to stay.”

  TWENTY

  Tyler leads me out of the restroom and through the Bowery Hotel’s bar, past the couches where our friends sit.

  “We’re going home,” he says, and I can’t miss Teal’s scowl. Beryl nods and her eyes are clouded with concern, but I’m floating on that word: home.

  We’re quiet on the cab ride, our fingers laced together, and quiet as we walk an extra block to his warehouse. This time, instead of a piggyback ride up the stairs, Tyler scoops me up in his arms and carries me against his chest as he climbs five flights to his loft.

  He puts me down by my bed, but he doesn’t let go of me all the way. “How are you feeling?” he asks, gently removing my shoes.

  “Terrible.”

  “Let’s wash this day off of us.” He points me to the bathroom and I nod, scooping up a T-shirt and fresh underwear before I go to the bathroom and undress, getting into the shower that’s as hot as I can stand it.

  The light dims in the bathroom and the shower door opens. I feel Tyler behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “Is this OK?”

  I turn and he’s just outside the stream of the water, his eyes holding mine. He’s naked and I want to look at every part of him, but instead I pull him close to me under the stream, letting it flow over our skin.

  We stand like that, just holding each other, for several long minutes as the shower washes everything away. My hurt and humiliation, images of Jet Black and Teal, and too many shots that made my brain pound and stomach churn.

  My muscles uncoil under the water and Tyler kneads his fingers into my back. My face is pressed to his chest and my lips are inches away from his pierced nipples, but I’m not looking for the roller coaster thrill of sex right now.

  I want intimacy. I want our connection to be real.

  I want Tyler.

  I run my hands along his back and then down the tattoos on his arms, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath them. He grabs a bottle of body wash and squirts some in my hands, stepping just out of the stream of water so that I can wash him.

  My hands skim across his chest and flat stomach, the soap suds lingering as they ooze below his waist and down his legs. I keep my eyes on his, though, learning his reactions, and I don’t feel brave enough yet to touch him where I’m most curious.

  Instead, I turn his shoulders away from me for access to his back and I soap and lather it. I work my fingers into the muscles at the top of his shoulders and along his spine, letting my hands slide down past his waist to feel his ass in my hands. The slippery soap helps my fingers skate across his skin.

  When he turns back to me, his eyes are darker, more intent, and his erection grows. He leads me out of the shower stream and ducks under it himself, letting the soap slide off his body as he squirts body wash in his own hands and begins washing me.

  Shoulders, arms, hips. Breasts, ribs, stomach. I falter as his thumbs graze my nipples but his brown eyes, flecked with gold, hold mine. They beg me not to look away.

  I let his hands work, soft and insistent, touching and exploring. When he turns me away from him I feel lost without his gaze, but I close my eyes and imagine he’s still fixed on me, his hands working the tension from my shoulder blades and lower back. His hands cup my ass and the back of my thighs.

  My body is on high alert, humming with energy as I give myself over to him completely. I let him touch and wander, and when he pulls me close to him beneath the spray, I feel him hard against my belly.

  Where is this going?

  In every other relationship, I could tell you exactly what was next—sex, obviously. Simply insert Tab A into Slot B and move with it for a while. Release. Repeat.

  But this feels completely different. It’s calm and caring and tender. It’s gentle and exploratory. It doesn’t have a clear destination, and for once, I’m OK with that. I’m willing to follow where Tyler leads.

  Tyler sluices the water over my hair and down my back, gentle strokes that melt me deeper into him. I feel almost weightless in this space with the sound of the shower drowning everything else out, the low lighting in the bathroom letting my eyelids droop, the scent of Tyler’s body wash filling the air around us.

  I pull his body more tightly against mine, reveling in the connection that is deeply physical but not overtly sexual. Although I am naked, my breasts are pressed against his chest and he can’t see most of my body. I can’t see his, beyond his shoulders and arms that hold me.

  But I can feel every inch of him, and I want to explore it. Desperately.

  Tyler finally turns off the water. He cracks open the steamy shower stall and pulls two fluffy towels off hooks, bringing them back inside the damp warmth of the enclosure. He opens a towel and wraps me in it like a burrito, one hand toweling my hair to keep the dri
ps at bay.

  Finally, he lets go of me and begins toweling himself off and I look—really look. I’m stunned by the beauty of his body. Long and lean like a swimmer, with a light dusting of hair on his legs. Tyler rubs the towel over his hair and then catches me staring.

  I give him a small, appreciative smile.

  I pull my towel off and tip my head upside down to scrub most of the water out of my hair, then wrap the towel around my body under my arms, tucking the end of it between my breasts.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Much.”

  Tyler nods. “Mission accomplished.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom and up the steps to his bed loft. My clean T-shirt and panties are still in the bathroom, and I’m not sure whether to go back downstairs or wait to see where he leads us next.

  Tyler turns down the thin sheet on my side of the bed. My what? One night and I’ve already established a side in my brain. Even though the loft is cooler, it’s still too hot without air conditioning. He turns on the fan and I’m still standing, my towel wrapped around my naked body.

  “Would you—do you want to be here? With me?” Tyler’s forehead is creased with worry and he looks self-conscious. I take a few steps toward him, twining my arms around his neck and feeling my towel untuck itself and fall to the floor.

  “Yes. If you want me.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tyler breathes deeply, as if he’s inhaling my scent. “Stay here. Please.” He dips his head for a tentative kiss and I answer with passion, feeling Tyler’s towel drop and the air from the fan rush across our naked, still-damp bodies.

  Tyler scoops me up and deposits me on the bed, climbing in next to me. His mouth moves on mine and my tongue traces the ridge of his lower lip, my teeth grazing his tongue as he becomes more insistent.

  We lie together, lips and hands moving on each other, but without venturing too close to our intimate places. Instead of my hands, I let my body explore him, skin to skin, as I feel him hard against me. By some unspoken agreement, I don’t let my hands wander.

  Finally, Tyler breaks our kiss and stills. I’m tangled in his arms and the sheet, my leg between his, nearly every part of my body touching some part of his. “Stella.” His eyes reflect sweetness and sadness.

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m glad. You’re killing my resolve, you know that?”

  I smile, a naughty gleam in my eye. “All part of my devious plan.”

  “It is?” For a moment, Tyler takes my comment at face value and his eyes pinch with worry. “You don’t have a plan. Do you?”

  I shake my head. “You’re everything I never planned. You’re not the bad boy I thought. You’ve been nothing but generous and kind to me. And you’ve wanted nothing in return.”

  My head is still cloudy from the last of the alcohol in my system but I want him to know how much I appreciate this care.

  “Not true. I’ve always wanted something,” Tyler says, and pulls me tighter against his chest. “From the moment I met you, Stella, I wanted you.”

  He hesitates and I feel a “but” coming.

  “But?” I ask finally.

  “I want the whole package, not just the parts of you you’re willing to share with other men.”

  I flinch, feeling the word easy rear its ugly head for the second time tonight. “Everything is a tall order, Tyler.”

  “It’s all or nothing, Stella. Anyone can get lucky if they’re looking hot and feeling frisky. That’s easy. But life’s about being brave. And I’m not willing to let you be some half-assed fling. I want the whole package.”

  I tremble, feeling the weight of what Tyler’s asking. “What’s this, then?” I ask, indicating our naked bodies entwined.

  Tyler’s lip curls in a smile. “Persuasion.”

  “Tease.” I hit him playfully on the arm, pretending that I’m going to roll away from him, but his arms clench tighter around me.

  “When I’m teasing, you’ll know it,” Tyler growls, and his hand drops to my breast, stroking my nipple with his knuckle.

  My breathing shallows and his eyes roam my body.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  “You’re not playing fair.”

  Tyler snorts. “I’m not much of a rules-follower, Stella. So what do you want? All or nothing?”

  “If I choose all, will it be like it was tonight? Will I have to beat the groupies off with a stick?”

  “I can’t promise they’ll go away, but I promise you that no one will question who I’m with. Including you.”

  “And if I choose nothing, does it mean we can’t be friends?” I shudder, feeling the possibility of that loss, but unsure I could give him what he’s asking. All means all of my secrets. My shame. The ugly parts I’ve packed away or fled.

  Could he even see past them to continue to care about me?

  Tyler frowns. “Stella, I’m not trying to rush you. I told you I need to take this slow, and I still do. There are too many things unresolved for me to just open the dam right now. I’m afraid it would scare you away.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, too,” I admit in a small voice. “I keep thinking, how close will you get to me before you find something you don’t like, something that makes you want to run the other way?”

  “It’s bad?” Tyler asks me seriously.

  I nod, silently begging him not to ask what.

  “Mine, too.” Tyler says.

  “Oh.”

  Tyler kisses my forehead. “Sleep on it, Stella. When you’re ready, we’ll take it from here.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I wake to an empty bed, the smell of coffee, and a painfully pounding head. The lows from last night come back hard, and I want to curl up in a ball and sleep them into foggy memory.

  “It’ll get better, I promise.” I roll toward Tyler’s soft voice and peel open my eyes. He carries a tall glass of water and a steaming mug of coffee.

  Tyler’s dressed in boxers and a T-shirt and he sits on the edge of the bed near my hip. I moan. A hangover is bad enough, let alone flashbacks to what happened last night.

  “Start with the water,” Tyler coaxes, and drops two aspirin into my hand. I swallow and drink, my lower half covered by the sheet but my breasts bare. Something about his gaze doesn’t make me feel like I need to cover them up.

  “Your phone rang a little while ago and I recognized the number so I picked it up. Kristina wants you and Beryl at her place in two hours.”

  I flop back on the pillow dramatically. “I feel like my brain is being crushed,” I say, holding my temples. “I hate tequila.”

  “Hate to tell you this, but vodka’s not your friend, either,” Tyler says.

  I nod and sip from a creamy, sweet mug of coffee. It’s perfect. Did Tyler memorize how I like my coffee when we ate pastries together?

  “Stella, I’m serious.” Tyler’s urgent tone refocuses me. “I’m more than a little worried about how much you drink. You polished off a fifth of vodka in just a few days, not to mention how many tequila shots you did last night.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I think you’re on the edge. I don’t know if drinking’s a problem for you, but at the pace you’re going, it’s a problem for me.”

  It’s way, way too early to be having this conversation, to hear the accusation in Tyler’s gentle concern. “So you want…”

  “I want you to stop. For a while. Give it a break and get focused again. Figure out how you feel without it.”

  I swallow. I’m so used to having a few drinks here and there, to get pumped up or to unwind, to level out my emotions or to take me on a high. Alcohol does all of that. It’s part of my routine.

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  Tyler’s eyes harden. “You do. Because I have a problem with it. I’m crazy about you and I hate how it made you last night.”

  “It’s not like I—wait. You’re crazy about me?” I squeak out that question, dizzied by Ty
ler’s admission.

  He gives a solemn nod. “I am.”

  I gulp my coffee to avoid his gaze, my heart racing. It’s too much—too much pressure, the ultimatum about my drinking, the all-or-nothing Tyler offered last night. I feel like I’m backed into a corner.

  A bad boy has no claim to me. A bad boy can’t tell me what to do, what to drink, who to see. That’s just the way I wanted it.

  But a good boy could suffocate me, lacing affection with rules and expectations. A good boy could break into my carefully walled-off heart.

  I shove myself off the bed, feeling too naked, too exposed to Tyler.

  “I have to go.”

  ***

  I hop in the taxi with Beryl and we’re off to Kristina’s Brooklyn townhouse. Beryl and I have no idea what to expect, so we hold hands and giggle nervously like we’re back in college waiting on a double-date setup arranged by our dorm coordinators.

  “So how are things at Tyler’s place? Other than the broken air conditioner?” Beryl’s really asking what happened after we left last night.

  “A/C should be fixed by the time I get home,” I wince at the word home but Beryl doesn’t call me out on it, so I cover quickly, “and Tyler’s OK, I think. There’s something going on with him but he won’t say what.”

  “What’s going on with you two?”

  I stick out my lower lip and blow my hair off my forehead. “I have no freaking clue. He acts like he wants me, he pushes so hard, then he says he wants to take it slow. He wants me to tell him everything—”

  “Everything?” Beryl interrupts, and I can tell we’re both thinking about my secret history.

  “Yeah. He said ‘all or nothing.’ Like, he doesn’t just want us to be a fling. But I can’t tell him my secrets if he won’t even tell me what’s eating him.”

  Beryl’s face falls. “Trust is a two-way street.”

  “He doesn’t even know what he’s asking!” I explode. “How deep it goes, how much it still hurts.” I gasp, flattened by the admission that it does still hurt. Dixon, my baby Blue, cutting ties with my family and ditching my Broadway dream. It hurts like a fucking knife.