Tyler is standing in the hall when I get back to the house. His arms are folded across his chest, his jaw clenched, eyes fierce. He looks as though he’s about to step foot into a boxing ring, ready to knock some brain damage into his opponent. The problem is that I don’t know who the enemy is.
“What’d she say?” he spits in contempt. As he approaches me, he drops his arms and curls his hands into fists. “What did you say?”
I shake my head as I peer around his tall frame, glancing into the living room. Ella is gone and so are the photo albums. “Where’s your mom?”
“Picking up Chase,” he says quickly, his voice gruff. “Now what the hell happened?”
I take a deep breath, my eyes trained on his hardened features as I try to make sense of everything. I’m scared to death. “Someone saw us last night,” I splutter, and bile rises in my throat once more. “Austin Cameron… He told Tiffani.”
Tyler’s eyes widen in shock before faltering back into a cold glare. “Are you kidding me?” he growls. A wave of adrenaline seems to flow down his arms, and he hurls one fist at his other palm, creating a loud slap as his knuckles smack his own skin. “I will floor that motherfu—”
“They don’t know it was me,” I cut in quickly, my voice quiet and raspy as I interlock my fingers over and over again. My eyes fall to the floor as my chest tightens. “She’s devastated, Tyler.”
She’s not just upset; she’s furious. I feel like she might be on to us. She now knows that both Tyler and I lied about where we were last night, and despite my horrendous attempt at trying to explain, she made it clear that she plans to figure out what I’m hiding. In retrospect, I probably could have come up with something better than I did. But I was under pressure, so I rambled that I’d lied because Dad and Ella would only let me leave the house if they knew I was going somewhere safe. Convincing? Not for Tiffani. I don’t think I can possibly face her again.
Silence ensues for a moment. Tyler relaxes his fists as he heaves a sigh. From beneath my eyelashes, I watch as he rubs the back of his neck before running his hand back through his hair. “I’ll fix this,” he says quietly. His words make me look up again, my eyes meeting his. “Look, she’s pissed off. I get it, but I can make it up to her. I’ll tell her I made a mistake, I’ll buy her something nice, and then she’ll forget about it and everything will be fine again. And then we can figure the rest out.”
I stare at him in disbelief. With my lips pressed into a firm line, I grit my teeth and glower at him. “Everything won’t be fine,” I say tersely, spitting out each word. “Nothing is fine, Tyler! This needs to stop.”
“What needs to stop?”
“This.” I throw my hands up in surrender as I motion back and forth between the two of us. I shouldn’t have let any of this get this far in the first place. Now I’m in too deep. Three make-out sessions too deep. “You have a girlfriend, Tyler. I refuse to be a cheater.”
“You won’t be,” he says firmly, but then the corners of his lips curl into a smile, and he takes a few steps toward me and reaches for my elbow. The warmth of his skin creates a wave of goose bumps down my arms as he pulls me toward him, and I glance up to meet his closing eyes as he leans down to lock his lips with mine. Immediately, I yank my arm out of his grasp and spiral away from his body. He stands there, his hands hovering in midair as his eyes slowly snap open to glare at me.
But I only blink at him as I try to figure out what is running through his mind right now. He’s quite clearly insane. After a long pause, I finally ask, “Are you serious? Now really isn’t the time. Even if you could completely guarantee that she wouldn’t find out—which she will—I still wouldn’t do this anyway.” I take a step back and wave my hands in front of me, my head shaking, a lump in my throat. “I am not doing this.”
“C’mon.” He has wiped the smile from his lips, but the smugness in his eyes still remains. In disgust, I spin around and march halfway up the staircase before he mumbles, “We can figure this out.”
“How, Tyler?” I demand as I twirl back around, gripping the banister and peering down at him. “We only have two options.”
“Only two?”
“Two,” I confirm. I stare down at his smoldering eyes, and I picture Tiffani and her smeared mascara and muffled sobs and tear-stained pillows. He couldn’t care less. “You have to break up with her.”
“No,” he objects with a firm shake of his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask.