“Such a child.” I shake my head.
As if to prove my point, he swings our hands between us. I laugh, nudging him with my shoulder, and he looks at me, his grin widening even further.
“It was a pretty smooth move. Admit it.”
“What? Nudging my hand like we’re in second grade and you’re too shy to just take it?”
“Aw, come on, Liv. You thought I was just pissing you off by hitting your hand. Then bam. I take it and you’re all smiley.”
“I am not smiley!”
He stops us and runs his finger along the curve of my mouth. “If it feels like a smile and it looks like a smile, it’s a smile, bitchypants.”
“Bitchypants? Did you get your brain switched with a second-grader? Are you about to take me to a café for milk and cookies?”
A loud laugh leaves him, and he tugs me onto the boardwalk. “No. I’m just in a good mood. That happens, you know? And sometimes, when I’m in a good mood, I get a little—”
“Idiotic?”
“I was going to choose silly, personally. Idiotic I save for a drunken good mood.”
I can’t help my smile. This is a side to Tyler I’ve never seen. A carefree, playful, mischievous side. It’s endearing and infectious and I like it. A lot.
“Okay.” I lean into him. “Where are we going then?”
“I don’t really know. I thought we could just walk and see where we end up. I figured if we went far enough, we’d end up in Mexico.”
Oh my god. I cover my hand with my mouth to muffle my giggles. “Honey, if you want to walk to Mexico, you’re going alone.”
He tries for a pout but completely ruins it by laughing. He makes a quick turn and leads us onto the beach. I let go of his hand to pull off my sandals, and no sooner have I straightened up than he links our fingers again.
His hand is warm in mine. I didn’t pay attention to it before, but here, on the beach, in the dark, I’m feeling it acutely. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, his fingers twitch in my hold, and he squeezes ever so slightly with every step we take. I wonder if he realizes that he’s doing it or if it’s subconscious.
“Can I tell you something?” he says after a minute of walking.
“You can tell me anything.”
“True, but don’t do that freaking-out thing you do.”
“I do not—” I pause. “I promise I’ll try not to.”
“Good enough,” he mutters. He releases my hand and wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind. His chin settles on my shoulder, and he turns his lips toward my ear. “You asked me why I was here. The answer is because I missed you.”
His words spread through me, sending adrenaline pumping through my veins, giving my heart a reason to thump extra loud. They finally settle into a warm glow in my lower stomach.
“Ty?”
“Yeah?”
I cross my arms and slide my hands along his forearms. My face tilts toward his until his lips are touching the corner of my mouth.
“I missed you, too.”
He nudges my face around a little further and brushes my lips with his. “What if I told you I managed to convince your boss to give you five days off of work?”
“What?” I jolt back. “You got Donny to give me another five days off? Why?”
“Dayton is going to Paris to meet with her dress designer—for real this time.” He smiles wryly. “Aaron is going, too, and since I have nothing booked for next week, I thought we’d join them.”
Paris? For five days? With Tyler?
“Where would we stay? At their place there?”
He shakes his head. “My parents own a hotel there. I reserved us a suite earlier today.”
Paris? For five days? With Tyler? Alone?
“Why?” I narrow my eyes.
“No need to look so skeptical.” He steps toward me and cups my chin. “I have an ulterior motive for whisking you off to Europe.”
I wrap my fingers around his wrist with a small smile. “Surely that’s reason for skepticism.”
He opens his mouth then closes it again. He nods once, his eyes sparkling. “Fair enough. No, I want to shoot you. For fun. Paris is a breathtakingly beautiful city.” He leans in so his lips touch mine when he speaks. “And I can’t think of a more perfect place to put you.”
My lips twitch against his. “I have nothing packed for it.”
“Dayton’s at your apartment right now. They’re meeting us at the airport in Paris.”
“But we don’t have tickets.”
“We don’t need tickets.”
I blink at him. “Um, to fly on a plane, you need tickets.”
Tyler pauses. Then his lips quirk, and he fights a laugh. “Oh, Liv, babe… We’re not flying Air France. We’re flying Air Stone courtesy of my parents.”
Of course we are.
22
“Have you ever had a proper French pastry?”
“What part of ‘I’ve never been to France’ don’t you understand?”
Tyler grins and pushes me back down on the bed. “You know, when I call you my bitch, I don’t mean it in a literal sense?”
I poke my tongue out at him, snuggle back under the sheets, and yawn.
“Okay, tired bitch, I’m going to get you pastries. I’ll be a while, so get some more sleep if you can.” He leans over and kisses my forehead.
I sigh as the front door closes. I’ve never had jet lag like this before. I’ve never been so time-fucked that I want to carve out my brain with a dessert spoon.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand and I reach over blindly. I smack the top of the stand several times before I find it and tuck it under the covers with me.
What are you doing today?
Dayton texts.
Waiting in bed for some hot British guy to bring me pastries.
Under the thumb!
Or hankering to be my boyfriend that’s really a boyfriend.
And boy, he really is. When we landed late last night, he wouldn’t let me so much as touch my suitcase before he handed them off to a porter. Then when we got up to our suite, he made me tea and called down for toast and bacon.
Now, he’s getting pastries.
But shit. The guy brought me to France. And our relationship that isn’t really a relationship is beginning to feel exactly like a real relationship. I mean, the forehead kiss. You don’t forehead kiss a girl you’re just f**king or a girl you care about. Nope. You forehead kiss a girl you want to be with because you know if she wants you too, it’ll make her spine tingle.