Part 3 (1/2)

I shook my head and kept my eyes facing forward. His touch on my skin was incendiary-burning like dynamite and almost ready to explode.

”It is,” he said. ”And you're just as beautiful as I remember.”

I stumbled over my feet but quickly righted myself and cursed.

”Affected?” he asked, laughing softly.

”Just clumsy,” I muttered, feeling a heat spread to my cheeks.

”Don't remember that about you.”

”People change, Tyson.”

His hand flinched off my back, and then his fingers dug into the fabric of my pale pink top. Even now, with just his fingertips pressing against me, I could feel the strength of him radiating through my clothing and into my skin.

I hadn't changed. I had always been naturally clumsy. I just used to try to hide it better when I was with him. I used to try to hide my natural self from everyone. My mom's constant reprimands to act like a Galecki were drilled into my mind, and they often left me feeling like I could never be myself. Tyson was the only one who got glimpses of it, but even then I never fully shed the Galecki skin until I grew comfortable on Eleanor's farm.

Something about chasing around loose chickens that had escaped from their coop forced you to drop all pretenses of perfection. I couldn't exactly look calm and collected when sprawled out in mud with chickens pecking at my upturned a.s.s, while a pile of eggs lay splattered beneath me.

I stayed silent while a hostess led us to a booth at the back of the restaurant. It was more private, quieter, and slightly darker than the rest of the booths. There was an illusion of complete privacy, and I instantly didn't like it.

Being so close to Tyson was shaking my already wobbly nerves.

I slid into the booth until I was hidden away in the darkened corner and jumped when his knee brushed against mine. I avoided eye contact with him while the waitress came and took our drink orders.

Once my Moscow Mule was set in front of me, I immediately ordered a chef salad. My stomach was tight and I didn't think I'd be able to eat much. I was unsettled by this whole day, helping Eleanor on the farm before I took off, rus.h.i.+ng through the airport, the plane ride, and everything that was Tyson.

The vodka helped me, slightly. Mostly it shot straight to my brain, leaving me even fuzzier than before, but at least my pulse had slowed a bit.

”What were you doing in Denver?” I asked Tyson after the silence became unbearable. I didn't know if he was waiting for me to speak, or trying to put his own questions into words.

His thumb trailed down his dark brown beer bottle, picking up small drops of condensation. I wanted to be those water drops. My lips parted as I watched him bring his thumb to his mouth and slowly lick them off.

I swallowed thickly. It was hot in this restaurant. The air-conditioning must have been broken or something. Sweat beaded at the back of my neck, and I squirmed in my chair, becoming even more uncomfortable.

”Meeting with a client,” he finally said. One perfect eyebrow arched up. ”And you?”

I licked my lips and took a sip of my own cool drink. I was stalling and I didn't miss the disappointment that flashed in his eyes when I didn't immediately answer.

”I lived there,” I whispered, staring at my plate. I didn't want to get into this, and as I took a bite of my salad, I began to feel everything pressing down on me. The past, the day...I didn't want to answer the questions I knew he had because it meant having to face my own.

Either way, it meant I would finally have confirmation that Tyson had lied to me, or I would have to face the new doubt that had just surfaced: wondering if my dad had lied to me.

”Hey,” Tyson said, nudging my knee with his under the table. When I pulled my eyes up to his, his smile softened.

Seeing him relaxed made something melt inside of me.

It might have been my heart, melting into a pile of mushy goo.

”How about we forget the past for tonight? Forget the questions we both have and just enjoy each other?”

It was like he had a way to slither inside my brain and steal all my thoughts.

I licked my lips after flas.h.i.+ng him a grateful smile, and watched as his eyes dipped and followed the slow movement of my tongue.

That mushy feeling increased and I nodded.

”That sounds really good.”

He grinned. It lit up the darkened corner where we were hidden and he nodded, just once. ”Good, then.”

Chapter 3.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

I opened my eyes and immediately cringed away from the bright sunlight pouring in through the windows.

”Ugh,” I groaned, and rolled over.

Straight into a brick wall.

Odd, I thought my room was larger than this.

I lifted my hand, ran it along the wall...and I became fully awake when I realized it was not a wall. Quickly I flipped through my hazy memories of the day before. The plane ride. The alcohol after. The company.

Oh, c.r.a.p.

”Tyson?” I asked, as the thumping grew louder. I pressed a hand to my forehead to silence the pounding inside my head, but then I realized it wasn't coming from my head, but the door.

Double c.r.a.p.

”Mmm?”

I curled my fingers around his shoulder and shook him. He was so hot and firm and muscular. For a moment I wanted to dig in, roll him over, and climb right on top of him.

How in the heck did we end up together? In my bed? I didn't have time to ask before another knock thumped on my door.

”Tyson,” I hissed and shook him harder. ”Someone's here.”

”Wantmetoget.i.t?” His voice was slurred, m.u.f.fled by the fact that his face was mushed into the pillow next to me.

”No, but you need to hide.”

Only one person could show up at my hotel room. Only one person knew I was in town.

And I was in bed with someone he hated.