Page 29 of Tyler (Bummerset Shore University #2)

My attention flickers to the big flat box again. What could a fan possibly send me that would fit in there? It’s too flat to be anything other than a cardboard sign from a concert or something like that. Maybe from some wayward fan wanting us to have a piece of their night.

“Was there a return sender on it?” I ask Asher as I veer around the coffee table and lift the box. Yeah, it’s very light. That only confirms my theory. Can’t be anything offensive, though; it’s already been checked.

I catch myself smiling, already kind of excited. I love those signs. The love and heart our fans put into them? It fucking gets me. And I especially love all the neon they put into it. It’s flashy as hell, but Ava nailed that aesthetic. It fits us perfectly.

I tilt the box at an angle to peer through the open flap, but can’t quite make out what’s in there.

Suddenly Mick and Bowie are next to me, helping hold it steady so I can slide out the—

That’s not a sign. The shape is all wrong.

We pull it all the way out, and yeah, it’s a full-size cardboard cutout of… what? I flip it upright, my brows soaring as high as then can go, and—

Holy shit.

I blink. Bite my bottom lip to keep the amused snort from bubbling out of my throat.

Oh, I’m going to have so much fucking fun with this. The whole day just got a hell of a lot better. Fuck it, my entire week got a hell of a lot better.

“Oh look, there’s a little flap at the back so it can stand up,” Bowie says, fiddling with it. We get it upright, and there it is.

A life-size version of the hottest photo I’ve ever seen of my quarterback.

Holy hell. It’s in full high-res, glossy finish. I can see every fucking vein on Ty’s tawny arms where they’re crossed over his chest, every tiny dot of dark stubble along his jaw, even the goddamn outline of his magnificent dick through those black shorts with orange side stripes.

“Really? Is this what he thinks is a good gift or something? Is it supposed to be romantic ?” Mick scoffs behind me, and I can hear the fucking disdain in his voice.

Because yeah, he’s right. This really is so not Ty’s style, and it’s not romantic at all. It’s hot as fuck .

“This looks more like foreplay to me,” Ava chimes in, and I glance over my shoulder to see both girls nodding in tandem. “If you start dry-humping that thing, I’m filming it. Just so you know.”

I shrug. “Is it weird that I kind of want to hump it?” Shit, it’s even the right size. The board’s just as tall as he is. My arms actually itch to pull it close, hell, to drag it to my bunk and sleep on top of it or something.

I can think of other things to do with it, too. And take pics while doing them, just for him.

“Jesus,” Bowie mutters, circling the cutout. “He even has muscles in his neck. That’s not normal, right?”

I don’t know why I do it, but I grab the orange and black scarf that’s haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch—the one Ty’s mom, Anne, made me for Christmas—and wrap it around cardboard-Ty’s neck in a rush.

It’s stupid, I know that. But it’s my cardboard-Ty.

And everyone else can fuck right off with their snickering.

Mick immediately reaches out and fingers the edge of the scarf.

“Cute accessory,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were into dressing up your boy toys.”

He tugs on it like he’s about to straighten it, or yank it off, and my spine fucking stiffens.

“Don’t touch that,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.

Shit. I don’t even wear the actual scarf right now, it’s the middle of summer, but I just..

. like having something from home close by.

So it tends to wander around the bus. Ends up every-fucking-where.

Mick cocks his head slowly, raising his hands up like he’s ohhh-so innocent. “Relax. Just admiring the pretty colors.”

I swear, the next time he touches that scarf, I’m calling Anne and have her FedEx me one of her knitting needles so I can stab Mick in the goddamn eye.

Deciding to ignore him before I do something stupid, I grab my phone, snap a quick pic of Ty-with-the-scarf, and send it to the real human version while my friends continue unpacking the fan mail.

Me: THANK YOU 3 3 3

The reply is instant.

Tyler: Oh holy duck balls. What the hell is that monstrosity?

Me: You didn’t send it?

Tyler: In what WORLD would I send that?? ?

I bite my bottom lip, grinning like an idiot.

Me: I like it. 3

Tyler: I’m going to kill Lamar. Slowly. I knew he was up to something when the pictures came in.

Yup. Could’ve known it was him.

Me: Don’t. Hug him instead. I really really like it

Tyler: I don’t even know what the appropriate response is for this. Can you return it? This is so weird.

Me: I don’t think they’ll take it back if it’s covered in cum stains.

Tyler: Oh shit… Jacie…

“Strike a pose, babe,” Ava butts in, and I look up from the thread I’m way too fucking invested in. “I love this thing. Give me a couple cute pics we can put in our biography when we’re old and have wrinkled asses.”

I let out a chuckle and do as she says, entertaining her with a few ridiculous poses, maybe holding the board too close.

Me: I might’ve just licked the vein that runs on your forearm. I love that vein.

Tyler: I know. Ava just sent me a picture. Why is she saying she can “fix” the board?

Oh Christ. I look up from my phone just in time to see Ava slap an orange dildo—complete with a goddamn suction cup—onto cardboard-Ty’s crotch.

“There,” she says proudly. “Now you can actually use it.”

I burst out laughing with the rest of them, sans Mick, who apparently disappeared while I was texting, and snap another pic for Ty.

“Is that even sanitary?” Missy asks, raising a very valid eyebrow.

“No worries. It’s a new one. I thought the color was fitting.”

Tyler: I don’t know if I’m supposed to be offended or not.

And then suddenly the instigator pops up in my messages.

Lamar: YOU ARE THE UTMOST FUCKING WELCOME

I shake my head, still laughing as I glance over at the life-size cardboard cutout of my boyfriend, my partner, in all his quarterback-glory, now accessorized with a scarf and a bright orange dildo suction-cupped to his shorts.

Yeah. The next four weeks might actually be a bit more bearable after all.

Even with the never-ending media shit about Mick and me, the exhausting shows and interviews, the homesickness for Ty clawing at me when I least expect it, or most expect it… Even with the fucking threat of that stupid deportation hanging over my head like a guillotine.

Because I’ve got this , these ridiculous and loving idiots around me. Ava and her dildo DIY projects, Missy’s dry commentary, and Asher being Asher. Even Bowie, who, thank fuck, is the exact opposite of his brother.

Because I’ve got him. Even if the real one’s miles away, and there now is a dildo stuck to Ty 2.0, standing proudly next to our tiny kitchen like some X-rated motivational speaker.

Somehow, it helps.

It’s stupid, and it’s weird, and it’s so fucking perfect.

It makes me feel closer to him. Like he’s here. Like we’re gonna be okay. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to hold me together for a little longer.

Four more weeks.

We’ve got this.