Page 24 of Tyler (Bummerset Shore University #2)
TEN
W hen the initial shock of that first call with my dad died down, after he explained that my student status had been officially revoked, but that I wasn’t getting kicked out right the fuck now, it became clear it was more of a formal warning.
A hey, get your shit together before we make this a problem kind of thing.
We barely had time to breathe before Dad called again, wanting to go over some forms. I spent the rest of the evening going back and forth with him, Jodie, and the label about the fact that I might still get deported because those shitfaces at the label fucked up.
I don’t even grasp the exact specifics, but the label, as my official employer, was supposed to submit a whole stack of documentation for my artist status, and they… didn’t. At least not the right way.
Dad says he’s on it now. That we should calm down.
That it’s probably just some dumbass technicality.
He’s already refiled everything, is in full-on lawyer mode, bitching at the label in conference calls in between drafting documents, and according to him, it’ll take months before we get a definitive answer.
In the meantime, I’m in my grace period. Technically still allowed to stay. And since I’m working under the newly filed application, I can keep performing. Thank fuck he fixed that part right away.
Just chill , Dad said. Enjoy your tour. It’ll work itself out. Blah blah blah.
So yes, I’m trying to do exactly that. Get it out of my head.
Let the whole messed-up situation with Mick the Dick rest as well.
There’s nothing I can do about any of it right now anyway—not without it seriously fucking up my career.
And by extension, the careers of my bandmates. I’m not going to let that happen.
So yeah, that's why we’re running this morning. Letting the tension out the way we always do: exercise. Outside of the bedroom this time. We're on this beautiful trail a couple of miles out from Soldier Field, the enormous stadium we’re performing in tonight.
Ty keeps telling me he’s fine, that it’ll work out, that we should trust my dad. But I can tell it’s eating at him. I can feel it in the way he pushes harder with every step, how I’m actually struggling for the first time to keep up with him, our feet a steady thump thump thump against the ground.
We’re in Chicago, the Windy City, jogging alongside freaking Lake Michigan.
It’s beautiful, but besides the welcoming breeze, it’s still damn hot .
It’s humid as hell and I’m sweating like I just performed in Florida again, my shirt already stuffed into the backpack I’ve got strapped to me as I follow the love of my life while he runs from all the things we can’t fix.
He just started to relax, for fuck’s sake, but the tension is right back in the set of his shoulders, so I brought something for him to release the stress for a bit, to forget about this fucked up situation in an otherwise perfect visit.
“Yo!” I call out, picking up my pace as we hit a nice big, open stretch of grass. “Think fast, quarterback!”
When Ty slows down and glances over his shoulder with a confused little frown, I leap onto his back.
On instinct, he catches my legs and stops running, hands firm under my thighs as I wrap my arms around his broad, sweaty shoulders—clinging to him like a koala that’s decided this is its new favorite tree.
I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. “Hi, handsome.”
He chuckles, and I feel it right there against my lips. “Right back atcha. What are you doing? We’re only halfway through, we’ve got, like, three miles to go.”
“Maybe I’ve got something else in mind, something more fun .” I lick a slow stripe along the damp skin of his neck. His fingers dig into my thighs with a startled gasp.
“Shit, Jacie. I’m all sweaty and gross, but if you wanna go back to the bus…”
I snicker. “Love where your mind’s going, but not what I meant.
” I hop off his back, sling my backpack around, and unzip it.
From inside, I pull out a brand-new football and point it toward the field.
“I know you’re missing the start of training camp, and I don’t want you to fall behind.
Thought maybe you’d wanna practice a bit? ”
His grin is instant. Bright. Blinding. “Dude, I love that. But are you sure?” He cocks his head. “Because, you know, you can’t throw or catch for shit.”
“That’s why he’s here,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. I know mountain manEv’s still trailing us, has been ever since we left the bus. Thank fuck he left Mick behind, I’d push him right into Lake Michigan if he were here.
“That’s not why I came,” Ev says, deadpan, stepping up beside us. “I’m not letting you two wander around a city like this by yourselves. Especially not the day after the album dropped. You know how people get, there can be crazy fans everywhere.”
“Come on,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s eight a.m. The city’s barely awake. Who’s gonna mob us, a power-walking grandma?”
“She could have pepper spray and a YouTube channel,” Ev mutters.
I snicker involuntarily. “We’ll be fine. We can handle ourselves. Have you seen him?” I add, gesturing to my big and muscly Ty.
Ty scoffs and shoves my shoulder, making me stumble a step.
“Don’t mind him,” he says to Ev, shaking his head as I huff and straighten up.
“You’re joining, right?” He flashes Ev a hopeful grin—one of those big ones that’s impossible to say no to—before he starts spinning the football around his fingers like it’s a damn extension of his soul.
Ev eyes the ball like it’s gonna give him great head later tonight and nods.
Christ . Football players.
Shaking my head, I run where Ty points me to go with a ”go wide” or whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean, and it takes me all of ten minutes of fumbling to confirm that yes, I suck at this.
But they don’t. And they’re having way too much fun sprinting across the grass and rolling around like golden retrievers hopped on caffeine, all smiles, trying to one-up each other with every pass. It’s good to see Ty like this, in his element, and I don’t miss the skip in his step.
“I’m out!” I call out, jogging halfway back toward him and tossing the football into his hands after I finally caught it after fuck knows how many attempts. “Without me, you won’t have to hold back.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I wink. “And that’s okay.” I nod to the bench at the side of the trail. “I’m gonna rest up a bit, see if my dad has news. Let Ev run wild, okay?”
His answering grin is contagious, and I find myself returning it before heading to the bench where I dropped my bag earlier, grabbing some fancy isotonic drink Ty favors—so I bought it, duh—and drowning half of it as soon as I sit down and kick my legs out to watch them turn their pro-mode on.
There are maybe one too many lingering gazes from passing joggers, men and women alike, who suddenly get the urge to stretch reallll slow right as they pass by.
Can’t blame them, I guess, since both men lost their shirts at some point as well.
But whatever. They can gawk, as long as they don’t touch .
“Hey, are you that guy from that new band? Encore?”
I snap my gaze up from where it was glued to Ty’s ass to find a couple of guys—young enough to still be in high school—staring at me with excitement brimming in their wide eyes, both also dressed in running gear.
“Dude, you totally are, aren’t you?” the left one says, elbowing his freckled friend— hard . “He is , bruh. I told you he is. This is so unreal!”
I plaster a smile on my face, and it’s genuine. Even though today is not my best day after yesterday’s shitfest, I love getting to engage with our fans, and it perks me right up.
“Can we get a selfie? Like—real quick?” Leftie asks with a wide grin. “We’re going to the concert tonight! He’s bonkers for your music.”
The smaller guy starts to blush and rubs his neck. “It’s not that bad, I swear. I’m not like, obsessed or anything.”
“Shit, don’t lie. You’re in your Encore era.” Then he whispers, way too loudly, to his friend, “That’s fine. I am too.”
I chuckle at their enthusiasm, agree to the pics, and pull my shirt on before I get up.
“I might be a bit obsessed,” Freckles admits, eyes still on me, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I have your new album on every playlist. For the gym, homework, and in the shower.”
“That last one’s the most important,” I say with a wink, chuckling as the shy guy turns even redder and fumbles with his phone.
“Oh my god, you’re actually nice. I thought you’d be a diva. No offense.”
“None taken,” I grin, leaning in for the photo. “I save the diva shit for stage time.”
From my peripheral, I see that Tyler jogs our way, keeping his distance, eyeing the excited guys—who are practically bouncing—with an amused grin.
That is, until—
“So, are you really banging Mick Heart?”
And just like that, Ty’s happy grin is gone again.
That afternoon, after we ventured into the city a bit with the gang, we’re back at the bus. Ty snapped right back to his usual relaxed self after the fans left, and after some much-needed smooching and reassurances that he’s still okay, I let the subject drop.
Now we’re enjoying our last moments together before we have to head to the venue, since he’s leaving in the middle of the show, taking in the silicone cocks proudly standing on the dresser.
“Look, yours is kinda curvy.” I poke the hot pink one, which slightly bows to the left.
“I didn’t know I had a curved dick.” Ty drops his gaze to his crotch, where the dick in question is safely tucked away behind his gray sweat shorts, the only thing he’s wearing. For now…
“It’s a beautiful curve and I’m very fond of it,” I muse, stroking the silicone cock in reference with the tips of my fingers. “This one’s supposed to glow in the dark.”
“Ah. So you can use my dick when you’re trying to read a book at night?”