Tyed

Jesse.

I crouch down immediately, surprised by my own instincts, and crawl underneath Ty's Hummer. Thankfully, it is huge. Wait, thankfully? Why am I even hiding? Ty is the one who has some explaining to do, yet I'm the one tucked underneath his car.

Shane is right, I'm way different whenever Ty is around.

“Shit, man, Doherty’s going down!” I hear Jesse’s hearty laugh. Then I hear Ty's throaty chuckle. He is out here, too. They both sound so close to me, too close to me.

I try to breathe as silently as I can. Shhhhh, Blaire. Oxygen is overrated.

“Let’s see these bad boys in action.” Jesse is jumping up and down beside the Hummer, like he is warming up.

I shrink lower and peer under the car, praying they'd walk away.

“Guy’s as good as dead,” Ty says, laughing.

God, I've missed his laugh.

They seem in good spirit, and I find myself easing a little. He didn’t answer my calls because he was practicing. There are no girls here. No funny business. Just work.

“I saw him with his trainer earlier,” Jesse says. “He looks jittery, unfocused. You’ve got this, bro.”

My heart is beating like a motherfucker. It’s not like I can’t just stand up now and yell surprise!

Damn. I can’t get caught. Eavesdropping is a complete breach of faith, and although slashing my best friend’s tires and keying his Mustang doesn’t precisely scream boyfriend material, I know Ty has more style than to hide and listen to my conversations. I have no way to explain this situation. And I already demonstrated a healthy dose of nuttiness in front of Ty without adding stalker to my list of personality faults.

I hear a car squeal into the parking lot. It’s obviously being driven by someone with a ballistic missile shoved up their ass. A stray cat shoots in my direction before the car—Mercedes actually, I now see—screeches to a stop in front of the Hummer.

“What the fuck, man,” I hear Ty say. “He almost flattened that cat.”’

If the driver was driving like a human being, and not like a NASCAR driver on steroids, Ty might have spotted me, but the distraction gives me time to dart from the Hummer to behind the truck in the next parking space.

I crouch down behind the huge tires of the jacked-up Ram truck. For once, reckless driving is not a liability.

NASCAR Wannabe’s car door slams. I peer under the Hummer and see a pair of shiny snakeskin boots. “Gentlemen! Good to see you, Ty. I wanted to talk to you.”

By the guy’s voice, I’m guessing he’s at least in his forties. He’s got a slight Southern drawl. I peek between the truck and the Hummer and see him hitching up his pants, walking toward Ty, his legs spread, like his balls are made of titanium.

I don’t recognize him, yet I find myself disliking him immediately.

"Cut to the chase, Ray. I'm busy." Ty steps into his face.

"A little birdie told me you're a little hard up for cash with all the money you've spent getting yourself ready to fight. I figured you might appreciate a side gig, maybe a little encore for old time's sake. Dina's in town, you know."

Ty, who usually reeks of blasé, Ty, who would probably roll his eyes in boredom at the announcement of the zombie apocalypse is letting out an exasperated growl.

Ray shuffles back to Jesse and flicks something. I smell the stink of a cigar.

"Seriously, Ray?” Ty barks, tone annoyed. “I told you I was done. It's been months. Stop bringing this shit up now,"

“Jesse, how about you give us a minute,” Ray says. “Run along now. Shoo.”

I’m expecting to hear Jesse’s fist hitting bone. I’m stunned when I realize he’s just walked away.

"So Ty, what’d you say?” Ray says. “One last gig, plenty of cash. Dina's always been your biggest fan."

My blood freezes in my veins. Please, don't tell me it's true.

"Ray, man, you're just not getting it, are you?” Ty sounds frustrated. “I'm done. I was done six months ago. I won't get back into this, ever. For any money, anytime, anywhere. I hated every second of it. I did it because I had to. I had to because I was getting shit fights and couldn't afford the freaking gym membership when I first started."

Oh, damn. This went on for a while, then. Ty started fighting for XWL four years ago.

"Last fight was the last time, and that’s final,” Ty spits. “Tell Dina I'm sorry...you know what? Don't. Don't apologize. Paying for sex is sick, whether it's a man or a woman."

I want to hug him so bad right now. I press my palms against the hot asphalt to resist the urge. Ty’s doing the right thing, and there isn’t a trace of doubt in his voice.

And yet, I know that he's ruined for me. Shane was right. He is not a bad boy...he is just bad. For me.