CHAPTER 40

Sex can’t change a person. I get that intellectually. But as I lie next to Timothy in the hotel bed, I want to argue with that statement. A smile tugs across my face, and it’s reflected in Timothy’s expression as he shifts over me. “Hi,” he murmurs. “Hi.” His body’s beautiful, strong, and muscled. As I trace the lines of his bare shoulders, his pec, his bicep, the ink has me staring again. “Your food get lost on the way?” he asks. I glance past him at the door, thinking for the first time in a long time about my meal. “Maybe they heard the noises and turned back.” Timothy presses his smiling mouth to my shoulder, and I grin too. My fingers dig into his arms, holding him still as my attention drags back to the ink on his chest. “I can’t believe you’ve had all these done since you left. Tell me about them?” “Pick one and I will.” I bite my lip. “The boat and the waves.” “I got it after I left Dallas and spent the week at my dad’s bedside. I remember feeling as if I was being tossed about in the storm. One night, all I could think was, ‘I can’t control the storm. I need a bigger boat’.” I trace the lines of the ship. “So, you got one.” “I can’t control the world, but I can control myself. That there are things life can never take from me.” “Maybe you should write the songs,” I murmur. “That’s kind of beautiful. How do you come out with that?” He leans down on both elbows, caging me in. “How do you write the lyrics you write?” I wet my lips under his heavy stare. “Easy. When the boy you love leaves, there’s an infinite supply of heartache to go around.” Pain flashes in his eyes. “Never again.” He lowers his lips to my jaw, and I thread my fingers into his hair. “But don’t diminish yourself. You might’ve written when I left, but I’m not the reason. You have a talent that goes beyond the words. It’s how you see the world.” I smile. “I love writing. Maybe even more than being on stage.” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Timothy doesn’t look at me as if I’m nuts. In fact, he doesn’t look surprised. “If that’s what you want, I’m all in.” Warmth washes over me. “Can we stay here forever?” I take in the mountain of plush hotel blankets. “We could build a fort.” He skims lower, to my breast, and my laugh is cut off. “Go nuts, baby. I’ll be right there.” God, he’s good at touching me. Was he always this good, even without the practice? Or is it me—that I’ve wanted him so bad for so long that even the slightest reward has me going off? My body is a shimmer of sensation, the pleasure from his hands tracing a leisurely path down my sides to my hips blending with the lingering high from the orgasms. When his hot mouth closes over my nipple, the sharp tug of need makes me moan. Judging from the way his hands get impatient and one slips between my thighs again, teasing me where I’m still wet from him, he likes that too. There’s a knock on the door. Timothy ignores it, until it comes again. “My food,” I mumble. With a groan and a blanket around his waist, Timothy goes to answer it. A moment later he comes inside, setting a paper bag on the desk. He peers inside before cutting me a look, one brow lifted. “You ordered cheese fries without me.” I laugh. “Clearly, I knew you’d be coming.” Before I can tell him to forget the food, that I need him back here with me, Timothy’s phone rings. He rubs a hand over his face before hitting a button. “Hey, man.” “Did she leave?” Jacob demands over the speaker. I’m already missing Timothy’s body heat, but when he cocks his head, grinning at me, I can forgive him. “She didn’t leave. She’s here.” “Hi, Jacob,” I call, shifting off the bed naked and crossing to grab one of the cheese fries off the desk before it gets cold. Fucking yum. “Hey, Manatee. Listen, Ty, your studio boys want an answer. They’ve been buzzing at the door all day.” “They’ve been blowing up my phone, too.” Timothy paces the length of the room, phone in one hand, rubbing the other through his hair until it sticks straight up. God, he’s beautiful. I still can’t believe he didn’t want to sign before talking to me. I cross to him. My hand slides around his neck, feathering the hair at his nape, and he stops. He doesn’t move, just lets me touch him as he watches me with pure and simple love. “They sent one of those edible arrangements with fruit and chocolate and shit to the apartment,” comes Jacob’s disembodied voice through the phone, reminding me he’s still with us. “Not just the crappy cantaloupe, but strawberries and pineapple—” “Thanks, Jacob,” Timothy says, his gaze locked on mine. “We’ll catch a flight back tonight, so we’ll be back in the morning.” “You guys really need to—” Timothy clicks off and tosses the phone past me without looking. I ask, “Are you going to take that offer?” “What do you think I should do?” His hands find my sides, skimming slowly down my hips in a way that makes me suck in a breath. “I think you should read it. With a lawyer—” “You’re cold.” I frown. “Timothy, that’s what they do for a living. I’m surprised you haven’t—oh.” I follow his gaze down to my pebbled nipples. “Keep talking.” He pulls my hips against his, where he’s already getting hard again. His length is pinned between us, but the glimpses of his cock have me swallowing. “Um… do you have a copy of the contract with you?” Ti6thy backs me against the wall, grinding himself between my thighs as his mouth finds mine. “Uh-huh,” he mutters between kisses. His fingers stroke down my stomach, up the inside of my thighs. I suck in a breath and try to concentrate. “There are probably some clauses to look out for.” I remember overhearing Haley and my dad talk about one of his contracts, but the moment Timothy’s fingers slick across my skin and dip inside me, I can’t for the life of me remember the details. “Good.” He sinks to his knees, nudging my legs wider while he lifts his gorgeous face to meet my gaze. Holy hell. “What are you doing?” I pant. “While you’re making sure they don’t fuck me, I’m gonna fuck you.” Timothy and I catch a red-eye back to New York. We spring for in-flight internet and look up lawyers on the way, and by the time we land, he has a meeting with a Midtown entertainment attorney to review Zeke’s deal. Timothy insists our car drop me off first and walks me to the doors at Vanier. “Have fun today.” “Thanks.” With the flight and transport from the airport, I missed Entertainment Management and Tamayo’s class. The first isn’t a big deal, but I’m going to apologize in person for the latter. “Good luck meeting Zeke.” Timothy kisses me long and hard before pulling back, brushing his thumb across my jaw. I watch him go, biting my lip as he slides into the car. Is it ever going to sink in that he’s mine? I hope not. I take my bags upstairs, but no one’s there—probably because it’s still the middle of the day. Sure enough, the dining hall’s half-full with the pre-lunch coffee crowd when I pass on my way to the classrooms. I linger by the door of Tamayo’s class until it lets out. “Hey, traveler,” Andie chirps when she sees me. I grab her in a hug. “It’s really good to see you.” “You too. Did you hug Rica like this? I’d pay to see that.” I pull back, smiling. “Haven’t seen her yet. Just dropped my bags off.” “Miss Carlton.” My good mood fades a little as I look over Andie’s shoulder at Tamayo. “I’m sorry I missed class. I—” “Please come see me at my office in thirty minutes.” “Um. Okay.” I hadn’t expected it to warrant an entire meeting, but I nod as she passes us, books in hand. “That sounds ominous,” Andie says. “Right?” “You missed a crazy few days,” she continues as we start down the hallway. “All hell broke loose after the showcase. A few people got approached by agents, but the shit with Timothy was the craziest. Jacob told me their entire apartment is full of gifts from people who want to meet Timothy.” “That is crazy.” “You guys good?” I grin. “Yeah, actually. We are.” When I head to the central administration on the third floor, the admin assistant offers me a chair while I wait, and I wave her off with a smile, perusing the full-color photos on the wall. All are of people on stage: musicians, dancers, actors. There’s grace in what they do, and competence, and triumph. None of the blood and sweat and tears are in these photos. I know the personal toll it takes. We’ve lost students this year who’ve dropped out. I’ve seen the dancers with their bleeding feet weep when they sustain an injury, when normal people would be grateful for the reprieve from constant torture. Actors get contorted into so many roles and forms they don’t know where they end and their characters begin. And the musicians… Well, we spend our days and nights chasing something fleeting. The perfect song or verse or moment of connection with an audience—one that will be gone the moment it happens, unless like Jacob with Timothy, someone managed to capture it. We bend over backward to create something extraordinary. None of us fit in, so we trade our souls, our bodies, our egos, our emotions, for a chance to stand out. “Miss Carlton.” The admin assistant motions me into Tamayo’s office, and I follow her, gathering myself and smoothing down my outfit. Tamayo looks impassively at me as I take a seat across from her. The door clicks quietly closed before she speaks. “Do you know why you’re here?” “I assume it’s about missing class today. I’m sorry. I had a chance to perform with Frank—Mr. Harvey—in LA. I promise I won’t miss any more classes this semester.” She rounds the desk to take her seat, folding her lined hands in her lap and leveling me with cool eyes. “And what about the showcase? What’s your excuse for missing that?” “That was… a bold choice,” I concede. “You turned your back on an opportunity every student waits their entire life for.” “I did it for someone I care about. And I’d do it again.” “Why?” “When I came to Vanier, I wanted to prove myself, and I thought that meant getting attention at all costs. But some things matter more than the spotlight.” Her brows twitch, but I continue. “Since coming here, I’ve learned there’s a lot more than a bunch of talented people who want to be famous. Everyone has their own reason for being here”—I think of Timothy, of Jacob and Andie and Rica—“but we all want to connect to something. To be part of something bigger than us.” I shift forward in my seat. “I don’t just want to make people see me. I want to make people see themselves. To believe in something more than they think they can.” I take a deep breath. “I want to write. Like you do.” If I’d thought it was impossible to surprise my acting professor, apparently, I was wrong. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, as if I just spit a string of colorful curses onto her desk. But she recovers, straightening. “Your showcase piece,” she says at last. “It was very moving. Writing, in the long run, is less about the words and more about the writer. A fresh voice, an interesting perspective. How honest they’re willing to be with an audience.” I nod. “I understand. At least I think I do,” I go on at her expectant look. “Good. In that case, as penance for missing my class, I’d like you to write something for me.” My phone buzzes with a text as I head out of Tamayo’s office. Timothy: It’s done. I’m signed. A wave of excitement rolls through me. Emily: That’s huge. We should celebrate. Tonight? Timothy: I have a midterm tomorrow. We go out tonight, I’m getting zero studying done. I can’t resist teasing him. Emily: I could have you in bed by midnight. Timothy: I could have you against my dresser, in my shower, on my kitchen table. Timothy: You could play me a song on my own guitar while you sit in my lap and I fuck you from underneath. Holy. It takes every ounce of strength not to melt into a puddle in the middle of the hall. Emily: Right. Ummm… tomorrow then? Timothy: Deal. And I’ve got plans. On impulse, I head to P69 and knock on the door. There’s no answer. I’m turning away when the door cracks and Jacob looks out at me in surprise. “Hey, Manatee. You get the good word about my roomie’s deal?” “He just told me.” I step inside and look over Jacob’s shoulder at his computer. “Damn. Half a million followers now. Are you going to keep posting about Timothy?” He rubs a hand through his hair. “It’s what they want.” There’s a bit of sadness in his voice, and I fold my arms. “Well, I knew how good Timothy was, and I still followed your vlog for you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Oh, I’m good with it. We sign up for the thousands of hours in places like this”—he gestures around the closet—“in the hopes that someday it’ll come together. That someone’ll see us and say, ‘He’s the one we’ve been looking for.’” His mouth curves. “I’m glad it’s happening to Timothy.” I reach out a hand and run my fingers through his dark hair. “I see you, Jacob. Don’t give up.” “Back at you.” He checks his watch. “It’s still early in the day. My big break is waiting.” His wink has me grinning. “Yours could be, too.”