Page 27 of Long Story Short

I let out a sigh as my shoulders sag in defeat. “I should, but I don’t know if I can.”

His eyes roam over my face. He tries his best to fight a smile, his lip twitching with the threat of it. Eventually, he loses the fight. Both corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. “Let me distract you, then.”

I shake my head in disbelief at how unexpected the night has turned out to be. I thought I’d spend the entire night frustrated with myself, staring at my manuscript and glaring at the editor’s notes that I don’t know how to bring to fruition, until I eventually gave up and went to bed. Instead, I’ve found myself standing entirely too close to Tyson Bishop, wanting to accept his offer of being a distraction.

He must take me shaking my head as a no because his hand immediately drops to his side as he takes a step back. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to drop off the cake⁠—”

“Tyson,” I say, his name coming out hurriedly because I don’t want to lose the nerve to say what I’m about to say.

His gaze flicks from Mouse at his feet back to me. “Yes?”

“Want to come inside?” The question comes out fast, my mouth moving faster than my brain as I rush to get the words out before I can think better of them.

Tyson’s stare stays pinned on mine as he runs a hand through the long strands of hair at the top of his head. “You sure?”

I bite my lip. I’ve never been so sure and unsure of something at the same time. I know the right decision would probably be to not invite him inside and try to finish my night strong by getting words on the page. But I don’t want to do that. I need a reprieve from feeling upset with myself for not producing any work, and Tyson came at just the right time to distract me from that.

“Yes. But only if you want to.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You already know I want to.”

I bite back a smile. The man has a way of turning me into a puddle at his feet with one simple sentence. I angle my head to the door behind me, my heart racing at the prospect of having him inside my house. “Then come in.”

I keep my eyes trained on him as I take a step back. I reach my hand behind my back and feel around until my fingers find the handle, turning it and pushing the door open.

Mouse meows from Tyson’s feet. I’ve been so locked into my conversation with Tyson that I almost forgot all about my cat, but luckily, instead of making a break for it while outside, he seemed content to just stay at Tyson’s feet instead.

Tyson closes the distance between us, his arm reaching over my head as his palm connects with the door. “Let me hold this open for you,” he insists, cocking his head inside my house in a silent demand for me to go in.

I listen to him and step inside, my gaze moving from his to my cat at his feet. “Come inside, Mouse.”

Mouse stares at me, but instead of listening, he flicks his tail through the air and circles between Tyson’s legs.

This makes Tyson laugh. “C’mon, Mouse.” He steps inside my house and holds the door open for my cat.

I can’t help but let out a disgruntled scoff as my cat happily follows Tyson’s directions and goes inside.

Tyson softly shuts the door behind him, his blue eyes finding mine as we stare at each other in my entryway.

“Why does my cat listen to you and not me?”

This makes Tyson smile. “I’ve heard cats have great judgment of character. “

I roll my eyes and look over my shoulder, suddenly self-conscious about how the house looks. I’m not a messy person—ever. Messes typically stress me out, but especially on a deadline, I find myself cleaning and organizing more than necessary as a way to feel productive while avoiding what I’m actually supposed to be doing. Luckily, the house doesn’t seem to be too bad, but I still feel nervous because I wasn’t expecting company.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” I ask, thinking about what I even have. I know I have wine, but I don’t know if that’s what he prefers.

“I’m okay,” Tyson responds, his feet staying planted in the entryway. He watches me carefully, and I’ve never wished more to be able to read someone’s mind than I do right now.

“Okay,” I whisper, glancing around the space before looking back at him. I feel weird, standing in front of him in a pair of sleep shorts and a shirt while he’s still dressed in a suit, but I don’t voice that out loud. Instead, I stare at him as I twist my hands in front of me, wondering what exactly my plan was by inviting him inside.

SIXTEEN

TYSON

Josie stares at me with wide eyes. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet as her eyes trace over me, pulling her lip between her teeth before she looks at the box in her hand.

“So, no drink for you, but what about cake?” She holds the box up as a tentative smile takes form on her lips. Her entire face lights up, the view of it absolutely radiant.