A Life More Complete(56)
“Will you be nice to her? Please? For me?” I beg, pouting just slightly. I push my bottom lip out and glance at him sideways. “She and I have been through a lot together. I’ve been her publicist since she was twelve.”
“Which “nice” would you like?” He pulls me against him and he begins to kiss his way down my neck to my breasts. He pulls the cup of my bra down just slightly as he kisses me softly in just the right spot. My lips part and I moan just a bit. “There’s this kind of nice,” he mumbles into my breasts, then he suddenly steps back. “Or there’s this nice.” He extends a hand to me and smiles sharply.
“Tyler, you are such a tease. I want you to be the appropriate nice.” I glare at him and wrinkle my nose. I pull him back to me and kiss him. “I have to get dressed and now you’re distracting me. Don’t you have a flight to catch?” He laughs at me and walks into the other room.
I step into the living room as Tyler is packing up his laptop. He stops dead and stares at me.
“Baby, you look amazing, but there is no way in hell you are leaving the house wearing that, especially without me.” He shakes his head and walks over to me. “I don’t think you realize this but that,” he pauses and looks me up and down, “is not a dress. It’s a top and you’re missing your pants.”
“Funny, Ty, but I’m wearing it. Bossy boyfriends are not cool, just so you know. Enjoy the view while it last, because it’s walking out the door in two minutes.” I know the dress is short, but it’s not that short. Plus I look good. It’s a black, sequin embellished minidress that I borrowed from Melinda. If he thinks it’s short on me he should see it on her. She’s got at least two inches on my five foot six frame.
“I’m not being bossy. I’m just not sure I want my girlfriend parading around in a dress that’s fit for a hooker. Albeit a high priced one, but still.”
I’m sure the look on my face tells him exactly what I’m thinking, but I still say it. “Wrong choice of words, sweetie.” I purse my lips and head to the garage door. “I gotta go. Have a good flight. See you tomorrow.” I leave without kissing him good-bye because right now, I’m mad. I’m not used to being told what to do, let alone what to wear. I look down at the enormous ring on my finger and just as I’m about to slip it off Tyler appears next to my car. I step out into his arms. He pulls me tightly against him and any thought of being angry with him disperses.
With his head buried in my hair, he tells me I look amazing. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to feeling this way about someone. Jealously doesn’t suit me.”
“Ty, I’m yours. No worries. They may look, but no one will touch. Ever. Have a safe flight. Text me as soon as you land. I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’m sorry,” he whispers, almost embarrassed by his behavior. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He says he loves me again as I climb into the car. I can’t help but have a stupid grin on my face. Just when I’m beginning to think I’ve made a huge mistake he pulls me back.
When I arrive at the event I’m just glad to see Melinda and Bob waiting for me near the entrance to the country club. Any event is better with the two of them nearby. We do what we do best and sell the shit out of our client to every media outlet that is there. Champagne in hand, project the image of having a good time, yet not too drunk, and make our client look stunning in the process. It’s a boring night, so Melinda suggests we hit the bars for old time’s sake. Bob says he’ll join us for one, but he has to get home to Jon. Melinda mocks him with an “Awe, it’s so cute.”
We sit down at a bar table and Bob grabs drinks for us. I avoid anything with tequila...just for tonight though. I know we’ll be best friends again by tomorrow.
“Eww, I had the worst hangover this morning,” I tell Melinda. “I woke up feeling like I sucked on a cotton ball and my headache was awful.”
“Me, too. No more margaritas. Well, unless they have them on special. Who can pass up a deal?”
“Speaking of waking up...whose bed did you wake up in this morning?” I ask, teasingly.
“My own, for your information. But I’m going on a date with him tomorrow. A real date, not a fake one where we eat Taco Bell after we have sex.”
Bob walks up and asks, “Who’s eating Taco Bell after sex? You Mel?”
“She’s not. She has a real date, with a bartender. Can you believe it?” I say.