Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief)

by Tretheway, Heidi Joy

  There are no reporters outside and I’m grateful. Cheryl follows me upstairs, a small overnight bag bouncing on her hip.

  I ask her to wait in the living area while I get Tyler’s room ready for her but she ignores me, kicking off her heels and leaving her suit jacket on the couch before following me upstairs to survey the bloody wreckage of Tyler’s bed.

  Oh, boy. My empty stomach lurches but I steel myself against the sight of the blood and strip the sheets and mattress pad.

  Cheryl pads downstairs and I hear her talking on her phone, and she returns with an armload of clean linens.

  We make the bed together, and I worry what she must think of me, freeloading by living at her son’s loft or worse, sleeping with him. I nudge his bedside table drawer closed—the one with the condoms—and hope she didn’t see them.

  Who am I kidding? Of course she saw. I trip over my words explaining that my bedroom is downstairs.

  Cheryl cuts me off. “Stella, it’s OK. I had Tyler when I was nineteen. You think I don’t know how much trouble you kids can get into?”

  I balk. I am so not ready to have a sex talk with my not-quite-boyfriend’s mother.

  “The point is, you love him. And he loves you. You two will make good decisions most of the time. But I don’t expect you to live your lives without trouble. Get into it. Get over it. Move on.”

  Cheryl’s phone rings and she shimmies downstairs to answer it. “Back in a minute!” she calls up to me as I stuff pillows in new cases.

  She returns holding two fragrant sacks. “Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy Chinese food, which is practically the same thing. Get down here, Stella, you’re starving.”

  She’s right, and I join her on the couch as we share several cartons of fried, sauced, carbohydrate-laden goodness.

  It’s hard to imagine that this vivacious woman is old enough to be Tyler’s mother, but as she jokes and tells me stories of his childhood and then stories of her own dating woes, she becomes more human and more relatable.

  When we’re done, I collapse on my air mattress and Cheryl climbs the stairs to Tyler’s bed. Sleep pulls me under.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Good news or bad news? What do you think? Are you a betting woman, Stella?” Tyler strides to the kitchen holding an envelope in the air just out of my grasp, taunting me.

  “The last time I bet you, I’m pretty sure you let me win.”

  Tyler scrunches his mouth to hide a smile. “I did no such thing. You beat me fair and square with that lyric from Blood Brothers.”

  “So are we going to bet again? Or are you going to just open the stupid thing?”

  Tyler nods, his finger digging for the corner of the envelope’s flap. He rips it and the sound echoes in our quiet loft.

  Tyler reads the results in silence.

  “Negative—for the drug test,” he says, and I snort. That’s more than Kim Archer can say. Last weekend, five days after she went public with news of Tyler’s alleged baby, she was busted while going through airport security with an ounce of weed hidden in her baby girl’s diaper bag.

  Kim’s Mother of the Year image is ruined, and media sympathy vaporized.

  “What’s the other one say?”

  “Negative.” Tyler blows out a breath. “Her baby isn’t mine. I knew it couldn’t be true.”

  “How could you know for sure? Shit happens. Condoms fail.” I shrug as if it wouldn’t have mattered to me either way, but it does. I don’t want Tyler to be the father of someone else’s child.

  “I never meant to sleep with her.”

  My eyes fly to Tyler’s face. “You what?”

  “I never, well, I’ll spare you the gory details, but I never, you know, meant to.”

  “But you thought—you said you thought there was a chance?”

  “She kept saying she was on the pill, that we were protected, but I wouldn’t do it without a condom. And she said she was allergic to latex. So she was going to get some special kind …”

  Tyler trails off and I cringe. He’s right. I don’t want the gory details.

  “I slept in her bed one night. And in the morning, I woke up and found her on me. Trying to, you know, get me off.” Tyler rubs his face. “I let it go too far. I lost control.”

  “She took advantage of you. Why didn’t you …?” I fumble for what Tyler could have done, but it would have been his word against hers. A battle he’d never win.

  Shame colors his face. “I thought the best way was just to pretend it never happened. I thought I’d never have to see her again when we went on tour.”

  I put the pieces together in my head. The timeline. The slim but still real possibility that he’d been the father. The depths to which Kim betrayed Tyler, again and again.

  It’s a wonder he ever wanted anything to do with me.

  And so I ask him.

  “Why me, Tyler? After all this time, all the girls who threw themselves at you and the band, why did you pick me?”

  “Guess I like a challenge.” Tyler drops the test results on the counter and his arms circle my waist. “And I like that you’re real. That first night I saw you? You weren’t made-up and panting like the groupies. You were broken and hurting, trying to mend things with Beryl. You just looked like you needed a friend.”

  “I needed you.”

  “This—us—it’s not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  Tyler’s brow furrows and I can tell he’s really thinking about his answer.

  “This isn’t typical for me,” he says. “I mean, Gavin and Jayce had plenty of … experience, even before Tattoo Thief got big. But I didn’t. Just a few.”

  “Why?”

  “I was awkward. Girls were pretty alien to me in high school, and even most of college. So when I started bulking up and the band started gigging on the reg, it was weird to have so many women come after me.” Tyler chews on his lip. “It was awesome until it was scary.”

  “What scared you?”

  “The want,” Tyler says and pulls me closer. “They always wanted something more than just me. Whether it was money or access or the fact that they could say they were dating a rocker. I never felt like they were just into me.”

  I pull Tyler against my chest and kiss his hair, breathing in his rich, woodsy smell that reminds me of a forest floor. “I’m into you. Just you, Tyler.”

  “I know. I knew it the minute you brought me all those pastries. You were so freaked out that I was mad at you and I realized that you really cared about what I thought of you, and not because of what you could get from me. Even after I pushed you away. Twice.”

  I exhale, the reasons for Tyler’s resistance finally falling into place. It’s not that he didn’t want me—he didn’t want a user. He didn’t want a groupie or a nosy reporter. He just wants to be loved for who he is without all the rock star bullshit.

  Tyler pulls my head away from his chest so he can look at my face. “You’ve been a bit luckier in love than I have. Why are you so into bad boys?”

  My face and neck flush. That’s a very polite way of pointing out that I’ve never played hard to get. I’m glad he doesn’t know all the gory details, but if being with him is really going to have a future, I’ve got to own my past.

  “I’ve always said a bad boy can’t break your heart. Because with a bad boy, I don’t expect flowers and sweetness and commitment. If I start craving those things, I’m always going to be disappointed.”

  “Not always.” I hear the promise in Tyler’s voice but I plow ahead.

  “Good guys expect virgins and obedience. Bad guys expect sluts and no strings. Being a good girl never got me anything but a broken heart, so I decided bad boys were for me.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I thought I was once.” I look away from Tyler but he doesn’t let me go. His hand slides up and down my side, from my hip to my ribcage. “I thought he loved me but I was wrong. He used me.”

  Deta
ils about my three-month affair with Dixon Ross finally come spilling out, and Tyler lets me talk. I tell him about baby Blue, the rift with my parents, and giving up my Broadway dream. There’s no judgment, no questions, just his gentle fingers trailing up and down my spine.

  Finally, I tell him about the settlement. The wire transfer hit my account three days ago and I’m afraid he’ll think I went after Dixon for money the way Kim went after him. I try to explain it wasn’t like that, but when I finish, he’s quiet for too many heartbeats.

  “Kim acted like she was crazy about me, but it always came with strings,” Tyler says. “It was too much pressure. I didn’t want to bring her into our group the way Gavin brought in Lulu. So when our tour came up and we went on the road, I just stopped calling her.”

  “That’s a chickenshit move, Tyler. No girl likes that.”

  Tyler hangs his head. “Hey, I never said I was good with women. Just the opposite.”

  “You’re good with me,” I say, and pull our bodies closer together, chest to chest. His hand continues to trace my skin as if he’s caressing a new instrument.

  Tyler chuckles. “I was so awkward. But nothing easy is worth having.”

  I hide my face against his chest, not wanting to admit that his words feel aimed straight at my heart. I was easy, with my string of one-night stands and bad boys. But I want Tyler to believe I’m worth having.

  Tyler hums a tune I don’t know as he pets my hair, his fingers combing through the short strands at the nape of my neck. “A bad guy will want to change you, Stella. A good guy will see your potential. He’ll appreciate who you are, no matter how many battle scars you carry.”

  “You say that now—”

  Tyler hushes me with a kiss. “Broken, mixed-up, damaged, or a little bit crazy. Doesn’t matter, as long as you’re you.”

  Tyler keeps humming and pulls me toward the practice space. He seats me on the drum stool and picks up his bass, plucking a couple of chords to match his tune.

  His chest rumbles as he adds words to a low, slow song I’ve never heard before.

  A little tarnish on your halo

  A little tear in your dress

  A ragged wing, angel,

  Couldn’t make me love you less

  You’re not perfect

  Never can be, should be, want to

  You’ve got mistakes to make

  Hearts to break

  A life to live

  Full of try, try, try

  And sometimes fail

  And sometimes fly

  You’re not perfect

  Never can be, should be, want to

  Perfect’s not what I need

  Perfect’s what I’ve got

  When I’m with you.

  I smile and warmth spreads through my chest. I peek at the ragged angel wings on my wrist.

  Tyler leans his bass on the stand. “Do you understand what I mean now?”

  “Yes.” A ridiculously hot rock star just wrote me a love song! And it’s not even my birthday.

  Tyler hikes me up around his body in a bear hug. His hands grip my rear as he carries me upstairs to his bedroom.

  He sets me down on my feet and his fingers hook the waistband of my skirt to tug it down my hips. Tyler’s hands are smooth and deliberate, removing my shirt and my bra as his eyes feast on me.

  It’s been a week since Tyler left the hospital and I’ve been afraid to ask for this with the specter of Kim Archer hanging over us. Tyler hasn’t pushed us further either, each night content to just twine our bodies together and stroke my back as we fell asleep.

  But now his intention is unmistakable.

  “I always knew where I stood with you, Stella. I knew when you wanted me, when I pissed you off, and when you wanted to run away. I knew the minute you wondered if you loved me, and the moment you knew it was true.”

  My mouth falls open at the L word, the one I crave. Tyler traces my lower lip with his thumb. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “No. You’re damn near impossible sometimes.” He grins. “But I’ll keep trying.”

  Tyler draws my panties down my legs, then lays me back against the cool sheets. He spreads my arms and legs wide, as if I’m a giant X.

  “Bed hog,” Tyler snickers, as he shoves down his jeans and pulls off his T-shirt.

  “I thought you wanted me like this?” I stretch my limbs out further, trying to occupy all of Tyler’s massive, king-sized bed.

  “Oh, I want you.” Tyler leans over me and covers my body with his, stopping barely an inch from my skin so I can feel the heat of his chest but not his weight on me. “Do you want me? Even after everything?”

  “More than anything,” I breathe, and pull him down against me. Chest to chest, skin to skin, legs tangled in mine. I run my nails up his shoulders and down to his ass, feeling his reaction hot and hard against my thigh.

  Tyler grabs my wrist and traces the wings of my tattoo. Alis volat propriis. She flies with her own wings. “Next time you want more permanence in your life, just say the word. You don’t have to ink it on your skin. I’ll give it from my heart.”

  I grip his hair, pulling his mouth to mine in a kiss that’s crackling with need. I’m dizzy when he finally pulls away.

  Tyler sits up on his knees and wraps my legs around his waist. He studies me, fingers feather-light as they explore. I don’t feel shame at being so exposed to him, only hungry, breathless as I wait for him to take the next step.

  Tyler’s fingers find each of my pleasure points and work them first gently, then with urgency. His touch sends sparks through my body; he feints and dodges, teasing me until I arch into his hand, begging him to stroke the spot that we both know he’s circling.

  When I’m whimpering with anticipation, his palm covers my mound and his thumb presses against my sensitive bud, making little earthquakes that shake my body with ever-greater force.

  A slow smile creeps across his face. His finger moves faster and I grip the sheet beneath me.

  I feel the seismic shift and the energy finally explodes inside me, pulses radiating from Tyler’s fingers that must have their own Richter scale. Tyler’s teeth nip at my lower lip and his hand brings an aftershock, deep and intense.

  He shifts his body and his tongue explores the trail his fingers blazed, his hands tilting my hips to give his mouth better access. I feel like I’m floating with only Tyler’s touch tethering me to earth, and sounds escape my throat that tell him exactly how well he’s mastering my most sensitive areas.

  Tyler moves back up my body, looking down at me with tenderness, his liquid brown eyes flecked with gold and copper.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t say this too soon. I’ve heard it so many times, from fans who just threw it away like it was nothing. It’s not that I don’t know it. I do, down to my soul. But I didn’t want to say it until I was sure you knew what it means from me. Stella, I love you.”

  The breath leaves my chest as Tyler’s mouth covers mine, his lips forming the last three words over and over without sound. I kiss him back like my life depends on it, like he’s the last man I’ll ever kiss.

  I hope that he is.

  Tyler centers me against his tip, making me ache with want. My hand flies up in the direction of the bedside table drawer, my green-light signal for Lights, camera, action!

  Tyler laughs at my lust-clouded clumsiness when I drop the condom twice before I manage to tear open the foil packet. He rolls it on and our eyes lock the way they did when I watched him in concert. I feel the intensity of his desire all the way into my bones.

  He grins. “Safety check complete, captain? Are we ready for takeoff?”

  “Ready for takeoff,” I confirm. I breathe deeply and close my eyes, craving the feeling of fullness again, but instead I feel pressure and a pause.

  My eyes open and his gaze is hot and raw, devouring me while he teases my entrance. I shift my hips but his hands still them, unwilling to be rushed.

  “I want you to see me, Stella.
I’m here with you, not anyone from your past, no one who’s hurt you. Just me. Just us.”

  I nod, unable to form words as the pressure builds. My body is screaming to take him inside me but he waits and I count a dozen heartbeats. Finally, I whisper, “Just us.”

  This breaks the dam and Tyler thrusts inside me, his body quivering like an arrow shot from a bow, straight and true toward its target. My breath releases in a loud whoosh as he pierces me.

  He begins a slow withdrawal and I wrap my legs more tightly around his hips, begging him not to pull away. Tyler growls and his body coils again for another thrust, his muscles straining to cement our connection.

  “All systems go?”

  “All of them. Go, Tyler. Let’s fly.”

  And we do, in gentle strokes and hard ones, with smooth caresses and fingers digging into each other’s flesh. I ride waves of pleasure that build inside me like air currents, updrafts that send birds soaring without a single flap of their wings.

  “Stella.” Tyler says my name like a prayer, like it’s a word invented only for him to speak. I tilt my hips and he hits a new spot inside me that sends my world spinning, and I can’t fight this current for control.

  So I let go in deep, quaking waves, and feel Tyler’s release spill over in the same torrent of sensation. I clench to hold him as tightly as I can, then release as he collapses, rolling us on our sides, the big spoon and the little spoon.

  He pulls me closer, as if he can’t bear to allow a breath of air to separate our skin.

  “I love you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I love you back,” I tell him, and finally give him the first promise he asked from me: “I’m all in.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The sun rises with Tyler still curled around me and I stretch, trying to get feeling back into the leg Tyler crushed between his own while we slept.

  My phone chimes and I debate whether to look at the text, but curiosity wins. I stretch as far as I can reach and nab my phone from the table on my side of the bed.