Page 35 of Grip Me Tight
When the elevator dings, we step into another hallway, this one designed with warm lights and soft cream carpets that muffle our footsteps. Ahead of us, the guards fan out, while Tanner leads me to a door, waving me in as security gives the all-clear. Inside, I turn in the foyer and head away from the bedrooms, to the back of the suite overlooking the lake view. In here, the large, L-shaped couch looks pretty inviting, and I head back to the foyer to grab my bag from the console table. I set up my tablet with a keyboard and take out my phone. I silenced notifications from Jake’s number after I texted him to leave me alone and he did, for about one whole day. I see he’s texted me a series of photos and I delete them without looking. Rolling my shoulders, I hear Tanner’s murmured responses to the guards before he wanders in where I am.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I glance up, noting the roses and the trays of fruit and cheese laid out on a dining room table behind him. “There’s food over there.”
He looks over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. They delivered that stuff when the driver said we were on our way back. It’s just nibbles though.”
“Nibbles?” I can’t help but smile.
He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Yeah, stuff to snack on while I decide what I really want. I’m starving after a show.”
“What about the guys? Are they staying here too?” I didn’t look in the bedrooms, but that didn’t mean Noah isn’t in here somewhere, ready to pop out at any minute.
“No. We have our own rooms. We share space all the time on the tour buses, although sometimes we split up on those, so at the end of a tour leg, like this, they set us up like kings so we don’t kill each other.”
“Makes sense. If I had to share a room with Noah and his mess, I’d strangle him with a gym sock.”
Tanner laughs. “Yeah, he’s gotten a bit better, but I’m still kicking his clothes out of the way half the time.” A loud rumble fills the room, and he rubs his stomach. “Sorry. I wasn’t joking about being hungry.”
His big hand pulls at his shirt and I catch a glimpse of the muscular planes where his sweatpants dip down, making my mouth water. I’m definitely hungry, but it’s not for food. I look away. “Must take a lot of energy to be on stage like that.”
“Yeah, I can run for miles, but a two-hour show feels like a marathon sometimes. So, burgers? Pizza? Wearein Chicago.”
“Burgers and pizza? I figured you for a steamed chicken and spinach kind of guy.”
“I eat healthy. Everything in moderation.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Steamed chicken and spinach? Is that the food equivalent of what you think of me? Boring?”
I flush. “Not boring. Just clean. Noah says you work out all the time and I hear you even have a nutritionist on tour.”
He folds his arms across his chest, one hip cocking to the side and I studiously note that the motion makes his sweatpants dip lower. I bite my lip. Are they going to just slide entirely off while he’s standing there in front of me?
“You ask Noah about me?”
I pull my gaze upwards, meeting his amused expression. “Sorry?”
“You were asking Noah about my habits?”
“No. Believe it or not, my interests do not begin with Tanner and end with Steele.” He doesn’t need any more ego fuel so the last thing he needs to know is the amount of space he occupies in my head. Especially at night, when I wake up aching, legs twisted in bed, wishing it was his arms gripping me tight instead of tangled sheets. I push the thought away. “Noah mentioned it to Dad and suggested that I could talk to the nutritionist about my diet while on tour.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Why would he suggest that? You don’t need a diet. You look perfect to me.”
His eyes meet mine and I can read the desire in them, as clear as it was at the lake the other night. He blinks first. “You shouldn’t worry about that stuff.”
I look perfect to him. My breath catches even though I’m certain he says that to every fan worried about how she looks in a selfie. He shouldn’t feel like he has to say it to me. “Listen, Sexiest Man Alive, it’s not about losing weight.”
After years and years of being the skinny, sick kid, I’m happy to have some meat on my bones. I’m as healthy as I can be, thriving as a donor recipient. I stay fit, and yes, my medication means I’m never going to be model skinny or look like the women who get invited to the VIP with the band, but I’m okay with that. “It’s about being healthy. You know I have to take medication for my kidney. To get the most out of it, I need to stay in shape and eat healthy. Noah suggested it because I sometimes see a nutritionist at my check-ups, but he thought it might make Dad feel better if he knew I had access to one to make sure I was maintaining my meals and stuff while we travel on tour.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Of course. Whatever you need. Have you been sick? Do we need to bring a doctor in too? I can do that.” He rubs his stomach again. “Maybe you shouldn’t be working late. Do we need to hire an assistant for you?
“I don’t need a doctor and I don’t need an assistant. I really don’t need you worrying about this or bringing it up in front of people. Please, Tanner. I’m fine and I just want the people I work with to think I’m normal.”
“Does anyone not make you feel normal? I’ll –”
“You mean like you? You were my friend until I got better, and then when I tried to… act like a normal teenager, you ran away.” I shake my head. “People treat me different when they find out I’m only alive because someone died, and I got a kidney that way.”
“They don’t know. You could have gotten a live donor.”
“But I didn’t. I’m so grateful to be a donor recipient, but it’s difficult to process that someone died and that is what gave me a second chance at life.”
