Page 11

FIVE

I ’m nervous. So freaking nervous that my palms are tingling, my heart is stuttering in my chest, and I have to swallow down the burn in my throat every few seconds.

It’s been too long. Way too long.

What if it’s different now? What if something’s off? What if he sees me and decides that no, the waiting and pining was all for nothing? Then what? What should I say? What do I do when I see him?

Can I jump him like I want to? Does he even want me to do that?

What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if we see each other and all that hot-as-fuck chemistry is just... poof , gone?

Fuck , I’m a mess.

“Can you stop bouncing? You’re making me nervous,” Ev mutters, brown brows pulled into a frown.

Mick’s bodyguard insisted on driving me to the airport, offering to handle the rental.

I know it’s only because he doesn’t trust me behind the wheel of a car without a clutch.

I might have complained a bit too much about the lack of gear-shifting in this country, and now he’s convinced I’ll crash it.

I told him I’d be happy to pick up Ty with the tour bus—sounded fun to me—but he shot that idea down immediately. Said it would draw too much attention. Jeez.

When I don’t stop bouncing, he puts a massive hand on my leather-clad shoulder to still me.

I’m wearing my new-ish black biker jacket—the one with the dark-gray hood currently pulled over my head.

I bought it at the start of the tour, back on the East Coast. In California, I never needed a jacket.

I didn’t even own one. But once we hit the road and the cold started creeping in, especially in some of these cities, I made a beeline for the store.

The ever-changing climate over here is a challenge on its own.

But whatever, it looks awesome on me. And the hood is just a bonus for when I don’t want to be recognized.

Yeah, that’s something that’s slowly started happening.

We’re nowhere near superstardom yet, and I’m not about to jinx it by saying that’s where we’re headed.

But we do get recognized now. More in the bigger cities than the smaller ones.

And since I’m the lead singer, most of the attention falls on me.

The first time it happened? Total mindfuck.

We were in some gigantic supermarket in the female hygiene aisle, where I was trailing after Missy while she stocked up on tampons and whatnot, loading them into my arms while comparing prices and texting Ava to check which brand she needed.

And that’s fine, you know. Tampons don’t scare me.

But two teenage girls who screamed very loud the second they recognized me? While I’m completely zoned out, fantasizing about all the ways I want to make Tyler come the next time I see him? That scared me.

I flinched. Hard. The boxes went flying, maxi pads and those weird tampon-tube-contraptions shooting across the floor like fucking confetti.

And yes, those little rockets you torpedo up your private parts? Turns out they’re super easy to slip on. So there I was, flat on my ass in the middle of aisle nine, tampons everywhere, gasping for breath with a fresh shot of pain zipping up my spine.

Missy nearly laughed herself into a hernia. Doubled over, holding her side, tears of joy rolling down her face. Glad to be of service, always.

Needless to say, I was very grateful nobody filmed it. I took about a dozen pictures with the girls just to keep them quiet. Luckily, they were excited enough to meet me. They didn’t even comment on the tampon-pocalypse.

So yes—the hood is up now. And I would’ve worn sunglasses too, if it wouldn’t have stood out more. It’s ten p.m., after all.

A few people glance my way, eyes lingering, brows furrowed—trying to place me, trying to figure out where in the depths of their subconscious they’ve stored the image of the guy they’re now low-key staring at.

But thank fuck , nobody bothers us. According to the label, and Jodie, and pretty much everyone else, that’s probably going to change real soon.

It’s something I’m dreading and looking forward to at the same time—if that’s even possible. For now, I’m just grateful it looks like I’ll get to reconnect with my man somewhat privately.

“Are we at the right terminal? I saw multiple exits…” I murmur, scanning every person coming through the gate. Every time I catch sight of a ball cap, my heart skips a beat—only for my breath to whoosh out again when I realize it’s not him.

“We’re at the correct terminal,” Ev confirms in that signature low rumble of his.

“And he landed? We checked?”

“We checked. He landed.”

I check my phone for the gazillionth time. Still no text. “He didn’t have a delay, right?”

The bearded giant sighs—loudly. That’s my answer.

“Should’ve brought a sign,” I mutter, frowning at some of the funny cardboard ones people are holding up.

“No, you should not have,” he says sharply. “We’re keeping a low profile, remember? We’re not here to sign autographs, take pictures, or answer a million questions. The bus leaves in an hour.”

“Yeah, but what if I miss him ?” I toss over my shoulder at an eye-rolling Ev. “What if we’re at the wrong exit and he’s already outside looking for me? What if—”

A force collides with me. Hard.

Completely unprepared, I lose my footing, trip over Ev’s mammoth feet, and hit the floor—for the second time this tour. Only this time, it’s not because of a pair of screaming girls and a tampon avalanche. No.

This time, it’s because of the 220-pound quarterback currently trembling on top of me, whimpering into my neck, pressing frantic kisses to the skin just above my collar.

Tyler.

Finally. Fucking finally.

In the rush of chaos, everything seems to freeze.

Time stalls as my arms lock around his broad, sweater-clad back, pulling him in so tight I’m scared I might bruise his ribs.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears. I’m overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions—joy, disbelief, relief so intense it nearly knocks the wind out of me—as I sink into everything that is him .

“Oh fuck , yes.” I almost moan the words, gasping as I grab hold of his gorgeous face, fingers digging into his cheeks to lift it.

Ignoring the sting in my back, the damn moisture in my eyes, I trace the contours of his sharp jaw with trembling hands—marveling at the familiar lines and angles I’ve missed more than words can ever express.

I pull him in, planting feverish kisses all over this stunning motherfucker. His lips feel both familiar and foreign at the same time.

A cackle slips from my mouth against his.

Euphoria bubbles in my chest as I hold him close—so close, so tight—reaffirming that he’s real.

Oh fuck, he’s really here. My face finds his neck, and I shudder, gasp, laugh—clutching him like I’ll never let go.

Vowing that I won’t let go. Vowing that I’ll never let it happen again—never go this long without him.

Never again.

God, he smells amazing.

“Are you done humping on the filthy floor like a couple of dogs in heat? People are staring.”

I ignore Ev, because he’s an idiot—and because all my earlier worries about being recognized have just flown straight out the window. Instead, I reel back as far as I can and stare at Ty. At my love. And he stares right back—his brown-gold eyes lit up, glossy, breathtaking.

“Hey, baby,” I murmur, cheeks straining from the sheer force of my smile.

“Hey, you.” His smile is radiant before he closes the distance, pressing his lips to mine, slower this time, and comes home to me.

It’s magical, phenomenal, fucking spectacular .

It’s like hearing music after months of silence.

It’s like I’ve been out of tune for ages and he’s the only one who could set me right.

It’s everything .

When our lips meet, something breaks open inside me.

Every moment of longing, every ache of missing him, every flicker of fear if things would be different after being separated for so long, it all dissolves in this one phenomenal kiss.

His warmth envelops me, and for just these few perfect seconds, I forget about the world outside; I forget the distance, the pain, the troubles.

It’s just him and me, together again, as it should be.

When he gasps against my mouth, lips parting just enough for my greedy tongue to find his, he pulls back, eyes wide, voice rough.

“What was that?” His hooded gaze drops to my mouth, and I can’t help but grin as I open it and show him exactly what he felt.

I swear his pupils dilate, and he lets out a soft growl. “When did you—”

“You and you. Get up! ” A foot nudges him off of me—just a bit too hard—grazing my hip.

“Did you just kick us?” I huff at Ev, who’s now looming over us.

He doesn’t answer—just scowls as we scramble to our feet.

“I’ll do worse if you two don’t get off the floor and move . The bus leaves in…” He checks his watch. “Forty minutes. It’s a thirty-minute drive. Let’s go!”

Ty’s the first to get up. He hauls me with him, wrapping one arm around my waist and extending the other to Ev.

I immediately nuzzle into his side, nose buried in his neck, digging a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. That citrusy, warm smell that’s just him fills my lungs, and I know I’m not letting more than a foot get between us in the coming days.

Speaking of feet—I grin down at the familiar sight of our Chucks side by side again. His blue ones. My red. Right where they belong.

“Sorry about that,” Ty says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. I’m Tyler—”

“King. I know.” Ev shakes his hand before immediately herding us toward the exit, shoving us forward every other step. “You were great last season. Too bad you didn’t bring the trophy home. Wasn’t on you, though. Defense really fumbled the last two quarters.”

Ty’s smile stretches even wider. “You a Tigers fan?”

“Sure am. I’m from SSU myself. Played all through college.”

“No shit? What position? Did you go pro?” Ty lifts his hand, and they launch into some weird-as-fuck handshake thing.