Tyed(58)

“Well, I'd be even crazier if I decide to listen to his excuses. No, Izz.”

The banging on the door becomes louder and firmer, and it’s distracting me from wallowing in self-pity.

“Blaire, open the fuck up. Let me in.” The urgency in his voice makes the hair on my skin stand up. I’ve never heard him so…panicked?

“He sounds desperate. I should open the door.” Izzy chews on the corner of her lip, going back and forth. She is wearing a canary yellow Vera Wang.

“Don’t open the door. He won’t strangle you. I will,” I warn.

“Fuck, Blaire, fuck!” He punches the door hard.

I hear a door open down the hallway. I hope it's not my parents. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s someone else. Just because someone is yelling their daughter’s name, doesn’t mean it’s them. Have faith, Blaire.

“Excuse me?” I hear my mother asking Ty, and by the low, throaty coughs, my father is by her side.

Screw you life, we’re done.

Izzy yanks me by the elbow and we both shoot to the door, she is placing her ear against the cool wood to hear how this one plays out. I wince, hoping he isn't going to make more of a jackass of himself.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stern, right?” Ty's tone goes down a notch. “Not the kind of introduction I wanted to have with Blaire’s parents. I’m her boyfriend, Ty.” He presents himself assertively. “What I’m about to do here is going to get you worked up, so let me start by promising I’ll try and change your mind about me after this crisis is over. Obviously, I’ll pay for the damage too.”

I can feel his presence on the other side of the door. The heat. The passion. But also the man who fucked me over and kept me in the dark about him humping HUNDREDS OF WOMEN FOR CASH AND CAREER OPPORTUNITIES.

“Blaire, Izzy, open up in five seconds or I’m breaking this shit down. Five.”

Izzy’s eyes bug out at me, and I shake my head no.

“Four.”

Izzy takes a step back, and I roll my eyes at her. As if…right?

“Three.”

Izzy grips me by the midriff and tugs me away from the door.

“Two.”

Her eyes are pleading for me to give him a chance to explain himself. That I should at least open the door. I can’t. The guy did enough damage already. Why are we even having this eye conversation?

“One.”

Silence. I huff and shoot her an “I told you he won’t do anything” sneer, when the sound of shattering wood fills the air. I gape as I see Ty’s foot in the air. His kick has sent the door flying open and cracked its frame.

Holy Moly Guacamole.

Ty storms into the room and picks me up like a caveman, draping me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He pivots back to the door and marches out wordlessly. I notice my parents standing in the hallway, downright stunned. Shouldn’t Dad be fighting him off? Well, he doesn’t.

Izzy follows us while Mom follows Izzy. Then Dad snaps out of his stupor, rushing furiously after all of us. We’re a chain of crazy people running down the hallway of a Vegas hotel, and we stumble upon half-eaten room service trays and the bewildered stares of other guests.

“Is he really her boyfriend?” I hear Mom panting to Izzy as they try to catch up with Ty’s long stride.

“Yes. But she’s not talking to him!”

I can barely see any of them from my angle, as most of the view I get is of Ty’s tight ass and shoulder tattoos. He is not wearing much, thank God. Black sports shorts and a sleeveless top. Is it wrong that I love the scent of his sweat, especially now, after everything that happened? I know it is, no need to answer that.

“Should I call the police?” Mom asks.

“No, he’s not going to do anything to her. If anything, she’s the one who is in bitch-slap mode,” Izzy says. “Where are you taking her, Ty? She’s wearing a vintage Valentino. Can’t you kidnap her in one of her signature Target sweatpants or something?”

“Thanks, Izzy.” I send her two thumbs up, because lifting my head after all the alcohol is a bad idea.

“Sorry, sissy.”

Ty stops at the end of the hallway, puts me down in front of the elevator and presses the button.

He palms my cheeks, storm in his black eyes.

“Take me to Shane’s room before I kick open every door in this place,” he demands. I’ve never seen Ty so agitated.

Is that what this douchebag cares about? Retaliation?

I put on an indifferent mask. "How did you figure out I was in Vegas?"

He reaches for his pocket, taking out my iPhone cover—a hipster cat with a trendy hat and Harry Potter glasses. Pointing the cover at me, he arches one brow. Yeah, I kind of gave myself away the minute I threw my phone in the parking lot of The Heat.