❝Sadist,❞ I accused. ❝You only brought me to New York so you could torture me.❞
❝Masochist.❞ Grinning, he pressed his forehead to mine. ❝You stay because you like it.❞ His charming green eyes promised me more. ❝Enjoy it; I want you to. When your m...
We avoided the hassle of the airport, flying home on a private jet. The limo pulled right up to the aircraft; a white-gloved attendant helped me out with one hand, the other extending a mimosa cocktail in a very deep flute. Tasting forbidden fruit with bubbles, I licked my lips at the wonderful aftertaste, smiling in amazement as my boyfriend stepped out of the car, stretching. He yawned from behind his Ray-Bans, bored, tired, both. Just another day in the life of a popstar.
We greeted the crew and thanked them, Tyler giving dap to one of the attendants before falling in line behind me. Up the steps we filed, ducking the door frame as we entered the plane, taking a right down a short aisle to a cabin that smelled like new money and pledge. An hour later, still buzzing from the bubbly, I stumbled from the restroom, followed by a grinning Tyler still zipping his pants. He chased me back to our seats, kissing between my giggle fits. There was nothing like good lips and good champagne in the morning.
"Oh my god. Wow." I skipped the swivel chairs, choosing a seat on the sofa to admire the view in comfort. "Everything looks like... toys from up here." I touched the glass. "Like you could just reach out the window and grab whatever you want."
Tyler's side-grin - the same smirk that made crowds go ape-shit between songs, was turned on me full-wattage. His arm lounging on the seat rest, Tyler leaned in.
"You can have whatever you want, Ali. You're with me now." He tilted my chin, his breath sweet as sugar on my lips. "I just want you to be okay. I know senior year was kinda rough."
Rough was an understatement. I had the Benzos to prove it.
"I'm fine, really." I smiled back, lip between my teeth as Tyler's hand skimmed my collarbone, brushing the curls from my shoulder.
"Good. Because New York can get kinda crazy. Especially when we start living together." Still grinning, he pulled the headphones from his Blue Tooth headset, diving into the notebook he wrote music in.
What happened to figuring things out together?
He didn't notice my smile fade, or how I gazed, earnestly, through the window. When is a good time to tell your boyfriend you don't want to live with him? I held back the sigh. Answers aren't found in the clouds.
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"I have a surprise for you."
"Well I sure hope it's your glasses, Tyler, because I'm not getting in that Bentley until they're on your face."
It had been a short flight from A to B. I was home, back to the the overcast skies and the smell of the sea. Home, where the streets were clear and winding, houses were painted in cotton candy colors, and a fountain bubbled in the town square. By the time we touched down, our rental was already warm, the engine silent as a whisper. Tyler's future victims would never hear him coming.
Tyler had yet to miss a beat on stage, but when it came to his driving skills, my boyfriend was as accident-prone as the days were long. And the fact that he had zero knowledge of cars only made him that much more of a hazard. Tyler once had a Ferrari towed to my aunt's husband's auto shop because he didn't know you were supposed to change the oil more than once. Aunt Trina's husband was my surrogate father. He taught me everything he knew about cars--knowledge I happily passed to Tyler.
