Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) Read Online Free PDF

Jayce.”
    Jayce scowls. “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “Then quit hassling me about the gig on Thursday.”
    Dave’s head snaps up. “What gig?” I know he was their business manager for years and I imagine he’s still protective of their time.
    “Just a guest spot.” Tyler shakes it off as if it’s nothing. “Felix asked me to play before Gavin got back.”
    “Fine,” Dave mutters. “But don’t do anything that gets us blowback like ‘Wilderness’.”
    I wince and feel even smaller.
    “Scout’s honor,” Tyler promises. He holds up a snappy three-fingered Boy Scout salute. I mentally add it to the list of things I’ve observed tonight that are so out of character compared to what most people think of Tattoo Thief.
    They’re bad boys. Rough, hard-partying, tattooed, and smoking hot. That’s the persona I’ve always seen, which is why the sensitive good-boy vibe of “Wilderness” made such waves.
    Tyler pops a pair of aviator shades over his eyes and pulls me out of the restaurant to the curb, looking quickly in both directions. Is he checking for fans? For paparazzi?
    He jumps into the street, raises one arm and forces a shrill whistle from his mouth. Huh. He’s hailing a cab. How—ordinary. I assumed he’d have a limo outside, but Tyler lacks the affectation of some stars who’ve made it.
    Not that I get to talk to those folks much. As the second-string music reporter for The Indie Voice , I’m stuck with the un-famous scraps.
    What’s the opposite of a rock star? A black hole? A pebble? Whatever it is, most musicians I interview haven’t made it, and many are so shamelessly self-promotional it makes me ill. They suck up to me hoping I’ll write the world’s most flattering piece about them.
    I won’t. I’ve been at this for a year and I want to write an article that actually makes a band, but I’ll lose my credibility if I write puff pieces instead of real reviews.
    A taxi screeches to a halt by Tyler and he pulls open the door, looking back at me frozen on the sidewalk. I give myself a mental prod and trip forward in my super-tall shoes, ducking into the cab and wondering if Tyler’s eyes are on my ass.
    I slide over and Tyler jumps in behind me. “Tenth and West Twenty-Ninth Street,” Tyler tells the driver. I’m shoulder to shoulder with him, feeling his lean, muscled thigh against mine and smelling his leather jacket and a woodsy, spicy scent.
    It makes me lightheaded.
    I turn to look at him, brushing my hair out of my eyes. His aviator shades are still on and his expression gives nothing away.
    “Ty—”
    “Shh.” Tyler presses his index finger on my lips. “Wait ’til we get home.”
    Holy smokes. His light touch shoots a current deep inside me. I’m not used to this. Bad boys, in my experience, don’t show this kind of restraint.
    If this trip to the band’s practice space is a booty call, why isn’t he groping me? Why isn’t he shoving his tongue down my throat?
    These questions swirl in my brain and mix with the kind of questions I’m supposed to ask for an interview, such as, “How is your sound evolving?” and “Which album do you consider your best work?” and “Tell me about your creative process.”
    Tyler flips a twenty through the little window behind the cab driver and we exit on a quiet industrial street a few blocks removed from the main street bustle.
    We walk west beneath yellowish streetlights. My heels are killing me and I try not to limp as I keep pace with his long-legged strides.
    “Why not have the cab drop us off closer to your place?” I ask after a block.
    “Because I don’t have a doorman.”
    I quirk my eyebrows at Tyler and he explains: “I don’t want to take the chance that the driver recognizes me and tells someone—it would be pretty hard to keep fans away from my building. When they found Gavin’s place they were all over it and it drove him crazy. It almost got him kicked out of his co-op. That’s why I didn’t want you to