by Abby Donne
“Don’t run away after class. I want to talk,” He whispered.
“I have another class to get to.”
Technically, she did. Just a half hour and not a few minutes later. In the same building complex, too. She had plenty of time to talk. She always booked it out of the classroom to avoid getting trapped in his lazy gaze.
“After that, then. Just a few minutes. I want to apologize. I want –”
A shadow hovered over them. Layla felt her cheeks heat under the Jackie’s scrutinizing look. She peeked at their workbooks, lingering on Layla’s tiny little paragraph before making a little noise. “Interesting concept, Layla. A tad short, though. Show up on time next week and you might have something to work with. Oh, and please keep your conversations appropriate and class related.”
She had a lot of room to talk about showing up on time, but Layla still gave a sheepish smile and apologized as she wiggled her hand out of Tyson’s. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that she kind of missed how warm his touch was. Warm… just like it was when he had her pinned to her bed while he licked up her neck. If she was having a hard time focusing before that imagery, it sure as hell wasn’t a cakewalk now. Plus Tyson’s not so awesome story about a drunken night with friends wasn’t the most fascinating thing at eight thirty in the morning.
“So what did you think?” She asked lamely once she finished reading his story.
“I didn’t know he was your brother.”
Ignoring that, she said, “I think your story is a little predictable. Maybe if he found a video of something crazy, like a Jackass parody or something. But the whole thing is kind of boring.”
“I’m sorry. I just, I got a call from my agent. There’s a scout from my favorite team coming on our opening night.”
“Congratulations,” She smiled at him. She didn’t know shit about hockey, but that sounded like a big deal. “But your story still sucks.”
“I don’t give a shit,” He muttered. He scooted his chair closer. “I’m just saying I know I acted stupid, okay? I was in a weird headspace. After Monday… Jesus, Layla. It was so fucking hot.”
Hot was an understatement.
Heath leaned over the table and inserted himself into their conversation, making a crude jerking off gesture. “He’s been doing a lot more laundry since Monday.”
“Fuck off,” Tyson grunted.
Because like Pete, Layla was a masochist she couldn’t help but think of Tyson masturbating. Tyson masturbating to the thought of her. If only he knew she laid awake thinking the same dirty thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter,” She lied. She needed to try to get a sense of power back. She was feeling a little snarky and a lot fucked up since breakfast with Wade and she couldn’t help but add, “It could be the hottest sex in the world and I still wouldn’t want to fuck someone who accused me of sleeping with my brother.”
“What the fuck is your guys’ life? Honestly,” Pete snorted.
“I didn’t know he was her brother.”
Tyson’s gaze was heavy on hers. His eyes focused on her mouth, then her chest. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t decide on the ribbed snap button top that perfectly showcased the girls without him in mind.
“Your story is stupid,” She concluded.
“Yours sucks, too. What the hell is a trident tattoo anyway?”
“Like Poseidon.”
Wade was really into mythology… not that she was going to tell Tyson that. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Well, technically she did since it was part of their critiquing exercise. She didn’t have to spill her guts but she needed to fill the air before Jackie came over and started in on how they needed to take the class more seriously.
“Beneath the Sea has this song about this badass warrior fighting a kraken and saving the world. It’s one of my favorites, and Wade wrote it all by himself. Lucky him, he got all the creative genes in the family. Anyway, it seemed like an interesting start. No idea where I’d go with it.”
“That’s your brother’s band? They have that one song, oh shit, the one in Warpath?”
“Carry On,” Layla said with a sigh. Warpath was one of the hottest video game series in existence. She wasn’t sure how much the company paid to buyout the royalties, but her brother was still living in a house outside of Cleveland with all of his bandmates so she didn’t think it was all that much. It was nice their name was getting out there more and more but she was also wickedly defensive of Wade and his career.
“You almost laid out a hardcore vocalist, man. Wicked props,” Heath nodded at Tyson.
“I did not,” Tyson scoffed. He looked at Layla out of the corner of his eyes. “If he wasn’t your brother, though, I probably would’ve.”
“That’s nice, but can we get back to our stories because I think Jackie is two seconds from kicking us all out.”
“After class,” Tyson reminded her, tapping his pen against the table.
After class she was going to book it up three flights of stairs to sit in an empty room for thirty minutes trying to calm down from spending ninety minutes sitting next to Tyson. It was a ritual as of late.
“We have to talk about our presentation, still,” He added, a wicked little look crossing over his face. “You can’t hide from me forever.”
And because she was that fucking desperate and horny, apparently, when it came to anything involving Tyson she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when the big bad wolf finally caught her.
chapter eleven
“Bro, before the Potato Famine the Irish were eating fourteen pounds of potatoes a day. How wild is that?”
Tyson looked up from his desk at Nate, who barged into his room unannounced. He wrinkled his nose. “What?”
“So I’m in this European history class, right? We’re talking about the Potato Famine. I was like really, did these people only eat potatoes? Turns out that’s spot on. Can you imagine eating fourteen fucking pounds of potatoes in one day?”
“Sounds like fucking Thanksgiving. Am I right?” Heath hollered from next door.
“The Rock eats like, fifteen pounds of fish every day. Imagine that but potatoes,” Nate carried on.
Tyson opened up a new tab on his laptop and searched ‘The Rock diet’. Calling bullshit, he rolled his eyes. “He eats three pounds of fish a day. Ten pounds of food total.”
“Thanksgiving!” Heath yelled again. There was a bang and then he appeared next to Nate, phone in hand. “This article has an excel spreadsheet of meals and shit if you want to try it. I’m going to fucking do it.”
“I’ve never seen you eat fish. How the hell are you going to eat three pounds of it a day?” Tyson snorted.
“I like fish!” Heath waggled his eyebrows, earning an elbow to the gut from Nate. “Seriously, man, I do! My dad used to take us fishing all the time.”
“He eats like eleven meals a day or some shit. I don’t know if you have that kind of dedication.”
“Fuck off, man.” He shoved his phone in Tyson’s face. “I just have to work a little more weight lifting into my workouts and boom, I’m set. I’ll bulk up and crush this season.”
“You already have a hard time carrying your fat ass on the ice. You really want to add more weight to that?” Nate asked with a smirk.
The two started wrestling in Tyson’s doorway. As entertaining as it was, he really needed to get some homework done. He watched for a few seconds before standing up and toing his door shut once they spilled out into the hallway. He locked his door for good measure. Tyson wasn’t a huge procrastinator, but he really didn’t want to do homework. He had a bullshit discussion board for his Gender and Sports class, which was the only online course he was taking that semester, and some prep work to do before he met with his mentor at the local high school before he started his practicum. Tyson wasn’t super into basketball, but it was the only sport offered at the school that lined up with his hockey schedule. Plus, Coach was tight with the athletic director at Stanberry High and was
able to work out a pretty decent schedule for his one-on-one time with the team and their coach. And then, of course, there was Mount Everest. His Craft of Fiction homework.
Tyson started up his Spotify playlist again and opened up the Google Doc he started for the Ernest Hemingway project. Other than the shit he’d done, there was nothing on the page. Letting his irritation, and frankly his curiosity, get the best of him Tyson picked up his phone and called Layla.
It went to voicemail, because why would she answer her phone? so he decided to send her a text.
Tyson: Have you done any work on our project yet?
When she didn’t respond after the few minutes he took to check all his social media – frowning when he saw a new post on Instagram from Layla featuring her and Wade at some record store – he tucked his phone away and worked on his discussion board. Even with his music turned up it was hard to think over the noises in the house. The ruckus in the hall turned into Heath shouting in the next room while he played video games. Steve apparently had a girl over, judging by the porn quality sounds coming from his room. He didn’t want to think about Steve fucking some chick, especially since he was into some kinky stuff, but her performance was top notch and Tyson had to admit it was getting to him. He shot off a quick email to his mentor at the school before grabbing his wallet and keys from the top of his dresser.
Apparently it was a lucky day for everyone in the house except him because when Tyson hit the bottom stairs he heard moans coming from Nate’s room. At first Tyson was going to make a quick dinner at home before heading out but there was no way he was listening to the nasally over the top moans coming from Nate’s room. At least the chick upstairs had some star quality. Tyson grabbed a protein bar and headed outside.
Obviously he wasn’t in the right state of mind because there was no other way to explain his short drive to an apartment complex he’d only visited once. Retracing his steps up to the second floor he thought, this is so fucked, but there wasn’t any going back now. Especially not since he knocked on the door.
He knew she was home because her car was in the lot. Suddenly feeling like a stalker he went to step back and leave but the door opened.
Wearing a scowl the size of Texas with his arms crossed stood Wade. “What are you doing here?”
“I need some flour. I’m making cupcakes. I hand deliver them to nursing homes across the city,” Tyson quipped, forcing a smile. There was something about Layla’s brother that brought the worst out in him.
That night after the bar he spent an hour trying to put the pieces together in his head. When it clicked he felt like the biggest douche. He and Layla had talked about her brother once before, at the party he and the guys threw at their place. He was a few drinks deep and pretty caught up in her bare skin, but he remembered their conversation. A bit delayed, obviously, but he remembered. He was in a band. Layla’s hero. Following his dreams.
Once she spilled the beans on the name of his band Tyson looked them up on Spotify. They were pretty damn popular, though he’d never really listened to them. Their music was intense and heavy. The complete opposite of what he liked. He tried picturing Layla in high school following a van of guys half a decade older than her around the Midwest and it felt like a sucker punch. It was fucking stupid, and possessiveness curdled in his stomach. There was no way he’d ever let Tara or Tabby pull a stunt like that.
Possessiveness or jealousy? Because he sure as hell didn’t feel the same way about Layla as he did his sisters.
“Funny.”
Layla appeared beside Wade, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Unfurrowing her brows she said, “Stop. Why are you here, Tyson?”
“Flour,” He deadpanned. His jaw clicked and he could feel his heart pulsing in ears. “And maybe to talk. You promised me some time after class today.”
She wiggled her way from beside her brother and out into the hall. It brought her so close to Tyson he could see the freckles on her chest. She turned and spoke to Wade. “Give me a minute.”
“Fine,” He scowled, pulling the door shut.
And then it was Tyson and Layla, as alone as they could be in the halls of a college apartment building with thin walls. She crossed her arms and looked at him. He couldn’t pick apart her expression. Soft eyes, nervous hands. He wanted to kiss her.
“You drove here to talk, so talk.”
As much as he wanted to be cocky and stupid and ask about their project or hell, keep going with the cupcake bit, he couldn’t bring himself to put up that front with her. Layla wasn’t Heath. She wasn’t any of the guys on the team. She wasn’t anyone but her, and that was what freaked him out so much. Tyson spent a lot of his free time thinking about her and it was messing with his head. How the hell was he supposed to tell her that?
“I really am sorry about last night. About Monday night. I was an ass. I promise, I’m not normally so… wound up. I don’t know. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you, and it pisses me off. I don’t have time for relationships. I barely have time for class, but I want to make time for you. Monday I overreacted, I know, but it pissed me off that you just acted like nothing happened. Then when I saw you in the bar with a stranger who had his hands on you I lost it. You’re mine and I just lost it.”
“But I’m not yours,” She whispered after a stunted second.
He wanted to touch her, even just to hold her hand, but Tyson had no idea where they stood. This was the first moment of raw honesty between them. They skirted around how badly they wanted each other every time they were alone. Hell, even when they weren’t alone.
Tyson wasn’t a coward. He took chances. He played the odds.
So fuck it, he reached over and grabbed her hand. She watched with wide eyes as he brought it to his chest. There were questions in her eyes, but when he slowly moved their hands down his chest to his shorts the questions burned away in front of him. Her fingers flexed around his erection and he groaned. “Want to tell me now that doesn’t feel like yours?”
“Tyson.” Her voice was so soft he wondered if he imagined it. She chewed on her lip again. It had his cock flexing against his shorts, right into her waiting hand. Jesus, she was going to kill him. After letting out a little surprised gasp she released him, much to his displeasure, and looked at the door to her apartment. “Can you give me twenty minutes?”
Relief pulsed through him as much as arousal did. He nodded sharply, stepping back to give her room to open the door. He wasn’t sure if she intended him to follow her in, but he did anyway. Leaned against the wall near the kitchen with a tiny duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Wade regarded them with his perpetual frown. He shoved his phone in his pocket and kicked off the wall.
“I better hit the road. Sorry it took so long for me to come down.”
Awkwardly shuffling into a half hug, Layla said, “It’s okay. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving, right?”
“I’ll have to check our tour schedule. I don’t know if we have a break then or not.”
“Oh.” Layla shrunk a little before nodding her head and walking with him the short distance to her front door. “Well drive safe, I guess.”
Tyson watched their stiff goodbye, growing more restless with every passing second. Layla closed her apartment door and her shoulders sank. Unable to stand still any longer, he crossed the room in two strides and wrapped an arm around her waist. She sniffled and leaned into his embrace. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t worth it to cry over her brother. That she was so damn special. None of that felt right so he just hugged her a little tighter.
After a few minutes she pulled back with a little laugh. “Sorry. I know crying isn’t sexy.”
“I’m not here just for sex, Layla. Jesus.”
“Then what are you here for?”
Hell if he knew.
“Are you okay?” He asked instead of answering her question.
She sat on her bed and pulled her legs up. Wrapping her arms around them, she tilted her head to look away from Tyson a
nd said, “Yeah. This is how it always is with Wade. I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up that it’ll be different.”
“I’m sorry.” He sat next to her and searched for the right words to say. He kept coming up blank. “It’s always been like this?”
She gave another sad laugh. “I mean, I’m sure when we were really little maybe it was different. He’s six years older than me. We’ve always had a hard time connecting. Or he has, I guess. All I’ve ever done is try to have that normal sibling relationship with him. He’s always been off doing his own thing, and I’ve always been right behind him. I know he loves me, but he’s just really bad at showing it. Now he’s busy with his band, and I’m so happy he’s successful but I see him less than five times a year.” She moved her head and looked at him. Her eyes were free of tears, but she still looked so damn sad. “He spent Christmas last year in Germany. The year before that he was in Dallas and didn’t want to fly home. The year before that he was too broke to afford a plane ticket. He missed my high school graduation. I ran track my freshman year of high school and he didn’t show up to a single meet. He refused to help move me in to my dorm. This is only the second time he’s visited me in basically the four years I’ve been here.”
Her words sliced him open. Of course he was upset for her. He hated she had to go through all those moments without her brother. But he couldn’t help but see the similarities to his own family. He always thought of his family as close. Well, as close as they could be now with him hundreds of miles from home. But when was the last time he called one of his sisters on FaceTime? Had he ever made it home on break to really visit? Thanksgiving break was short and they always had practice the day before and after so it wasn’t worth it to go home. They had two games over Christmas break, which cut his time with his family almost in half. And every year he took a trip with the guys somewhere for spring break. Hell, even over the summer when he was home he wasn’t really present.
