Tyed

***

I think I have a boyfriend. I mean, I may have a boyfriend. We haven't discussed it yet, though. Tyler and I are always together. When we're not together, we text each other. When we're not texting and not together, I think about him. All the time.

Sometimes I ask him to help me out with my assignment. To read a new paragraph I wrote, to explain things I didn't quite get about the XWL or about the differences between the martial arts. What I adore about him is how he takes this so seriously. How he acts like my work and my school matter.

On the day I ask him to go over the first draft of the whole article I wrote, he shows up at Ned's unannounced, orders a Bud Light and takes out the article that he printed from his duffel bag.

"Can I get you anything else, cutie? It's on the house." I wink at him while he sits at the bar.

He lifts one finger, gesturing for me to wait, his eyes skimming through the text. "I'm reading this fascinating article a chick I know wrote. I think she may be talented on top of being seriously hot. Lethal combination."

"Tell me when you're done." I walk toward the other side of the bar so he won't see how incredibly pink my face is every time he gives me a compliment. What am I, like, five now?

Bree shoves a finger down her throat in amusement when I inch closer to her, far enough from Ty, and points at me with a superior smile. "Doomed, girl. You're doomed."

I offer her an exaggerated bow, confirming she is right. Maybe I am. Hell, maybe I want to be. Just because he looks like a bad boy, is rumored to be one and acted like one when we first met, doesn't mean that he is. He's been nothing but amazing so far, even when I wasn't, and I definitely wasn't anywhere near amazing to him when I ran away from that date and then proceeded to disappear for a week.

"You still think he's trouble?" I smirk, trying to look entertained by the conversation. Actually, I'm kind of hoping Bree will give me the green light.

"It's way too late for you to care about what I think." She squeezes my arm warmly, then wiggles her finger directly in my face. "Make him wear a rubber. No exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ten minutes later, Ty slaps the paper on the wooden bar and announces loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Yeah, definitely boyfriend material.

***

We watch his favorite movies (The Terminator, The Bourne Ultimatum, First Blood, Mad Max) and listen to my kick-ass music.

We go to The Grind together. He works out with Dawson and his teammates and I take classes.

We make healthy dinners together.

We accidentally make out in front of a kindergarten (no judging, remember?).

Three weeks in...we have sex.

It's actually pretty spontaneous. There's no set-up, and no candles, roses, dim lights or Champagne. We get back to his place after a night out and start out with a casual make-out session on the couch. I've had a few beers and he had one Bud Light and a soda, so the mood is right. Since I'm in charge of the music (damn right I am), I introduce him to Youth In Revolt. I think he appreciates the fast-paced music, because things get steamy within seconds of Ty kicking the door shut behind us.

We fool around as usual, only this time, he raises my shirt over my head at some point, leaning back down to unhook my bra. It's cool. I'm so freaking hot and ready for him right now I'm down with whatever it is he wants to do, and in-between kisses and little bites, I manage to strip him out of his shirt too.

Oh, Jesus Christ, his abs. And tattoos. Having this guy on top of me is like getting all my Christmas presents in one go. Almost too good to take.

He buries his face in my neck, biting, teasing and hitting all the right spots with his tongue, proving that he knows exactly what he's doing, that he mastered the art of pleasuring a woman long ago. Then it happens. His hand reaches down to my jeans, releasing two buttons and pulling them with his pointer fingers in one go.

I lay there in my underwear and nothing more, and I know exactly where this is going.

"I'm scared." I bite my lower lip, desperate to read his expression. I'm trying to downplay my nervousness, because I'm like, level eight hysterical right now. Normally I walk around a mellow two, even when I face stressful situations.

He flashes me a dimpled smile. "That's either the most flattering…" His gaze drops to his crotch. "Or disturbing…" He sends a slanted look toward his MMA gear at the far corner of the room. "Thing I've ever heard in bed. Why are you scared? You're not...?" He trails off.