“Really, Barbie? I’m the one who should be scared after this. Silence really is fucking golden.”
I tug the towel tighter over my breasts, pulling at its hem to make sure my lady parts are concealed. This is so crazy I don’t have the time to dwell on the fact he deeply insulted my singing. I can still hear the TV in the background. The host is talking about the guy standing in front of me.
Since these two warriors first met, it seems like they’ve gotten under each other’s skin. It’s been escalating for a long time…
“What are you doing in the girls’ locker room?” I shriek again.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bite.” His eyes scan me head to toe. He shakes his head, eying my hand clutching the towel. “Unless you want me to.”
He is wearing a black suit, tailored perfectly to his wide shoulders and a crisp white shirt open at his throat, revealing a tiny sliver of tattoo.
“Why are you here?” I repeat, squeezing myself past his lethal body to my locker.
“Pussy patrol.” He doesn’t butt out of the way, even when he sees me squirming in an attempt to escape the unavoidable brush of our skin. Then he must notice my face paling, because he finally awards me with a serious answer. “Scott said you were looking for me.”
Let’s just hope both of them will fight clean, the commentator says from the screen.
I tug my underwear and jeans up my thighs under the towel, extra cautious not to show any skin.
As usual, Ty is staring. And as usual, he isn’t trying to hide it in any way.
“And did it not occur to you that it’s the girls’ locker room and that I might—shock, horror—be taking a shower?”
“It did. That’s why I came in.” He flashes me one of his signature, dimpled smiles.
Whoa, good shot by Wilder.
The more articles of clothing I put on, the more confident I feel. I get straight to the point before he bombards me with more reason to stutter. “I was looking for you because I want to interview you. Can you spare me ten minutes?”
“Nope.” He swivels to the door and starts marching.
“Wait!” I cry. My head drops when I realize how desperate I sound.
I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!
“It’s vital for my assignment,” I say quietly.
He comes to a halt, his body still angled toward the door. “I don't do interviews, and even if I did, it’s not like the article will ever get published. It’s just a stupid school thing. Don’t have the time to waste on this shit. What’s in it for me?” He suddenly sounds half-interested.
Monrose is putting up a fight against Wilder, but Wilder is too loose and confident to make a mistake…
“Don’t be an ass,” I tell him.
This makes him turn around.
“I see feisty Barbie is back.” He takes a few steps closer, the right corner of his lips pulling into a crescent.
“Give me ten minutes with you.” I swallow. I watch the TV from behind him, and see how he throws a head kick, his opponent dropping to the floor. Ty wastes no time leaning down and squeezing his opponent’s head like a vicious snake, until the referee steps between them. Monrose taps the floor multiple times with his right hand, signaling his submission.
Ty takes a few long steps and stops when he is mere inches away from me. Face to face. Nose to nose. My pulse rate edges up three notches.
Thump.Thump.Thump-thump. Thumpthumpthump.
“Ask me,” he purrs, sending tremors down my spine. I swear those dark, demanding eyes are drinking my soul, emptying out every coherent thought I possess, burning my skin, his pupils feeding the flames.
I stare at the vee of his shirt and wonder how the tattoo on his chest looks like up close. Jesus Christ.
Stop being curious, Blaire. Focus.
“Ty, can you please do a ten minute interview for my journalism project?” I roll my eyes.
He puts his hands on my waist and yanks me closer. I’m melting into him, beyond excited, and judging by the huge bulge on my thigh, so is he.
“Only if you’ll go on a date with me,” he says into my forehead, his breath tickling my hairline.
Another shiver travels down my spine, and this time it’s bringing all of its friends.
His thumb is lifting the hem of my shirt and rubbing my waist in leisurely circles. It makes me giddy, and Hormones are clunking their champagne glasses as Brain, handcuffed in the far corner of the room, sarcastically exclaims, She still hasn’t answered him, ya’ know.
"No," I hear myself saying.
"No?" His brow furrows.
"I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea."
"And why's that?" Amusement laces his voice.
Because I built up walls, high and strong, and I don't let anyone through them. Ty wants in. But why should I open up to him? Because he's hot? Because he's used to getting his way? No, he needs to scale those long-ass walls, just like everyone else.