Tyed

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 chanting 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.

Fuck. Fuck, f*ck.

Brain yells at Hormones, But what about what’s-her-face? And those three girls? And his tomcat reputation? Hormones wave Brain off and order me to say yes.

I’m nodding my agreement. There is something liberating about admitting it. I want him to kiss me, even if I’ll hate myself for it later.

I mentally prepare myself for a French kiss, taking a deep breath and parting my lips.

But Ty has other plans. Before I know it, he’s disconnected our bodies completely. I almost fall forward, unprepared for his withdrawal.