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I set my glass down, take out my phone and pull up my conversation with Ty.
Dad is right. Enough of this.
Party’s over.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I pull at my tie, taking a deep breath as I knock on the door before me. A sense of both relief and anticipation falls over me as I hear footsteps approach on the other side.
When Ty opens his door, his expression changes from confusion to surprise.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi…” His eyes travel down my suit. “What are you…”
I push past him, into his apartment. “I came back.”
“I see that.” He closes the door and eyes me as I shrug my suit jacket off, tossing it on the couch.
“I couldn’t do it anymore.” I shake my head, pulling my tie off. “It was fucking awful. They were all like, don’t do that, do this, pull your sleeves down,” I say in a mocking tone. “Ugh.”
Ty continues to stand there, both shock and confusion written all over his face.
I take in his comfortable sweatpants and t-shirt. “I could use some of those.”
He gives me a slight, awkward nod before disappearing into his bedroom, returning a moment later with comfortable clothes for me. He remains quiet as he just watches me unbutton my shirt.
“What?” I ask. “Am I interrupting your fun watercolor or something?” I look around, but don’t see any paints or easels anywhere.
Ty slowly shakes his head. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Why are you here?”
I undo the last button on my shirt and drop my hands with a sigh. “Why do you think?”
He doesn’t say anything, staring back at me with a look that almost seems… hopeful.
“Do you not want me here?” I ask, giving him a little smirk and bringing my hands to my belt buckle.
His eyes follow my movement, watching me as I undo my belt.
“That’s what I thought.” I step towards him. “I got you something.”
He looks up at me, and his brows draw together as I pull my shirt off. “You think you’re a fucking gift?”
“Hey.” I point my finger at him. “First of all, yes. Second of all, I’m not the gift. And third of all, it’s not necessarily a gift…”
He doesn’t look impressed, so I sigh, turning to show him my ribs.
His gaze drops, and I watch as his eyes roam over the stars I got tattooed around the moon. His expression doesn’t change, and a mixture of anxiety and annoyance settles within me.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” I say, keeping my eyes on him, “I tattoo just about everything on me without much thought.” There’s a bite to my tone, which wasn’t completely intentional, but he’s not giving me much to go off here.
His eyes meet mine, and I can’t read them.
Well, what the fuck.
