Taming the Storm

by Samantha Towle

  “Too much info as usual,” I say, dragging my eyes from Tom to Cale. “And please don’t piss in the sink,” I add, knowing that has happened on more than one occasion in the past.

  “Spoilsport.” He chuckles. “Mornin’,” he says as he moves past Tom to the kitchen cupboard.

  Tom gives him one of those manly chin nods.

  Cale comes back, bowl and spoon in hand. “Scoot over,” he says.

  I shuffle over, making room, and take my now empty coffee mug with me.

  “You sleep okay?” Cale asks me, knowing that I always struggle to sleep well on the first night in a new bed.

  “The alcohol I drank last night helped.” I grin at him.

  “Getting into the rock-star lifestyle already?” he teases.

  I give him the middle finger.

  Chuckling, he slings his arm around my neck and pulls me to him before planting a kiss on the top of my head. Laughing, I push him away.

  I grab the box of cereal and pour some into his bowl. “Eat your breakfast, and stop hassling me.”

  Shaking his head, smiling, Cale reaches over to get the milk.

  That’s when my eyes meet with Tom’s.

  He’s silently watching Cale and me. Arms folded tight across his chest, his face is perfectly blank, but in his eyes, I see a flare of anger.

  He seems to realize that I’m staring at him, and he loosens his arms and gaze.

  “We’ll be stopping to refuel soon, so if you need anything, get it then because we won’t be stopping again until we reach Boise.” Then, Tom walks away.

  I watch him move down the galley to the driver’s area, and he slams the door shut, the same door we always keep open.

  Is Tom angry because Cale interrupted was about to happen between us? Or is it because of the affectionate way Cale was with me?

  Cale is always that affectionate with me, so it’s not unusual.

  Because if he is pissed over Cale, then that would mean—

  No.

  I’m not thinking about what any of this means, and I’m definitely not thinking of the fact that I came pretty close to kissing Tom.

  Or that I just gave him my life story.

  The only ones who know my shit are Dex and Cale, and even Cale doesn’t know all of it.

  But now Tom knows, and I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what’s happening between us.

  One thing I do know is that I trust Tom with my past. And to me that means a lot. A real lot.

  Later That Day—A Club, Boise

  “Are you fucking Cale?”

  I turn, wide-eyed, ignoring the heat of Tom pressed against my side. His breath hot as he speaks into my ear over the loud music.

  We’re in a club in Boise, and we just finished playing our set fifteen minutes ago. We decided to stay, have a drink, and listen to the rest of the bands play before we have to get back on the road.

  I’m at the bar, waiting to order drinks for me and the guys. Cale, Van, and Sonny are already out fishing, and Tom, so it seems, has a seriously inappropriate question for me.

  “What?” I say slowly.

  His jade green eyes are burning down on me.

  I expect him to retract, or maybe I made a mistake and didn’t hear him correctly.

  He keeps his gaze fixed on mine as he leans in, putting his face close. He tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there.

  “I said, are you fucking Cale?”

  I push away from him. “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Deadly.”

  I stare at him, completely taken aback.

  I’ve hardly seen him all day, and when I did, he was a moody bastard.

  Now, the first words he speaks directly to me all night is to ask if I’m having sex with Cale.

  Ignoring him, I turn back to the bar just as the bartender approaches. “Three beers and a vodka and tonic, thanks.”

  The bartender’s eyes shift to Tom. I wonder if he knows who Tom is.

  “Add a double Jack to that order.” Tom hands the bartender his credit card.

  “I don’t need you to buy me a drink.” I scowl at him.

  “I thought maybe you’d answer my question if I did.”

  “Why does it matter to you if I am sleeping with Cale?”

  Saying nothing, he stares at me.

  I start to fold under his intensity.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “I need to know what the members of my band are doing.”

  “Even their bedroom activities?”

  He steps close to me. “Even that. Knowledge is power.”

  “Well, Sonny should make you plenty powerful then.”

  He barks out a laugh. Then, moves in closer, his hand going to my exposed lower back. “Answer the question, Lyla.”

  His fingers press into my skin. Heat infuses me.

  I’m pissed at his question, knowing the reason he gave for asking is complete bullshit, but I’m getting more than turned-on by his touch.

  It’s seriously confusing wanting to punch a guy and fuck his brains out at the same time.

  “Have you asked the guys this same question?”

  He gives me a slow smile. “Not yet.”

  “You know, I don’t recall Dina asking us this question when she was managing us.”

  “Yeah, well, Dina’s not thorough. I am.”

  Something tells me Tom is very thorough in all he does.

  The drinks appear on the bar. Grabbing mine, I toss it back. I wince from the burn, my lips tingling. I place the glass down on the bar and look up at Tom.

  “Not that it’s your business, but no, I’m not fucking Cale. He’s my best friend. End of.” I turn from him and start to walk away.

  Destination—hide in the restroom.

  “So, you’re not screwing Cale. Are you fucking anyone else?” he calls from behind me.

  Mortified, I spin around, my face flaming, and I stare at him in shock. I feel like all eyes in the bar are on me when most people probably didn’t hear Tom over the loud music. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling even more pissed off.

  I give him a death stare and start to walk away again.

  “Answer the question, Firecracker.”

  I look back at him over my shoulder. “Here’s an answer for you.” I lift my fist in the air and shoot my middle finger up at him.

  I hear his rumbling laughter from behind me.

  Asshole!

  I stomp across the club to Cale, who is sitting on a bar stool at a table with a redhead situated between his thighs.

  “Your beer is at the bar with Tom,” I toss the words at him in my angry stomp-by.

  Cale catches my arm, stopping me. He moves the redhead aside and slides off the stool before coming to stand in front of me. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  He examines my face in that way he does.

  I know I look annoyed. I’m frowning, so I relax my features. “Really, nothing’s wrong. I’m just going to the restroom. Get back to your”—I look over his shoulder at the redhead, who is now throwing daggers at me—“fun.” I bring my eyes back to his.

  “Am I missing something here?” he asks.

  Yes! Tom is being an ass, and he’s asking inappropriate questions.

  And I’m attracted to him and turned-on pretty much twenty-four/seven because I have to live on the same bus as him. For a woman who is on a sex ban, that’s like sticking a dieter in the middle of a chocolate factory!

  But of course, I say none of that because I don’t want Cale to get all pissy with Tom and end up getting his ass kicked over me.

  So, I paste on my breezy smile. “You’re not missing anything. Get back to your redhead. I’ll be back soon.” I turn my eyes away from him.

  He tugs on my arm, forcing me to look back to him. “No one is more important to me than you, Ly. You know that, right?”

  “I know.” I smile, for real this time. “And the same goes for you. But i
f you don’t attend to your redhead, you’ll be flying solo tonight.”

  “I never fly solo, not when I’ve got my girl right here.” He cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Restroom, and come straight back to me.”

  “Yes, boss.” I salute.

  The stalls are empty when I go in, which allows me the opportunity to give myself a good mirror talking-to.

  No more letting Tom Carter get to me. And no more sexy feelings while I’m around him.

  I’m getting back to kick ass, Lyla, who doesn’t let a man get to her.

  So, screw you Tom Carter.

  Feeling pumped I wash up and head back out into the club.

  Glancing around, I see a few women surrounding Tom. Sonny is with him, enjoying the attention that Tom always brings.

  One of the women hands Tom a pen. Then, she shimmies up close to him, shoving aside the other women, and she pulls her top down, revealing her chest to him. Tom grins and starts to write on her chest.

  I roll my eyes.

  Getting your tits signed by a celebrity. Classy.

  “Breast-signing is so last season,” a male voice says from behind me.

  Laughing, I turn to see Robbi Kraft, lead singer of The Turnstiles. I’m a fan of their music, but I haven’t officially met anyone from the band.

  Robbi is very good-looking. The dangerous kind of good-looking. Dirty-blond hair. Inky blue eyes. Eyebrow pierced. Tattoos covering his arms and one on the side of his neck.

  “Yeah, I hear it’s all about ass-signings nowadays.” I smirk.

  Robbi laughs. He has a great laugh. It’s not deep and manly like Tom’s. It’s a happy, contagious sound.

  I watch Robbi’s eyes work their way down my body before they land back on my face.

  “Robbi.” He holds a hand out to me.

  “I know who you are.” I smile shyly as I slide my hand into his. “Lyla—”

  “Summers,” he finishes for me. “I know who you are.”

  Blushing, I take my hand back.

  “You sounded great before,” Robbi says. “I really like your music.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, pleased by his compliment. “I’m really looking forward to hearing you guys perform tonight. I’ve been following you since your Vegas days.”

  The Turnstiles started off by recording their live shows in Vegas and uploading them to YouTube. They quickly got a big following. On the heels of that came a record deal with none other than Rally Records.

  I’m surprised Rally didn’t try to put the kibosh on Vintage performing here at the same time as one of his bands.

  Or maybe he did, and I just don’t know about it.

  Robbi pushes a hand into his blond hair and gives me a cocky grin. “A fan.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, biting my lip.

  Butterflies have taken flight in my stomach. What’s that all about?

  Robbi’s eyes move down to my empty hands. “You don’t have a drink. I can’t have a beautiful fan of ours watching the show without a drink. Let me buy you one?”

  I don’t get a chance to answer.

  A guy with greasy long hair taps Robbi on the shoulder. “You’re needed backstage. Seth and Dougie are going at it again.”

  Seth and Dougie are his band members. It’s well known that members of The Turnstiles have a volatile relationship.

  I couldn’t imagine what that would be like, fighting with your band members all the time. I would hate it.

  I’m lucky to have Cale, Sonny, and Van.

  Robbi heaves out a sigh. “I’m coming,” he says to greasy-hair guy. Robbi looks back to me. “I’m sorry. Gotta go – band stuff.”

  “It’s okay.” I offer him a smile. “Hope you get it sorted before you go onstage. I’d hate to miss out on hearing you play live tonight.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m a pro at sorting those two out.” He starts to leave but then turns back. “You never answered my question about whether you wanted that drink or not?”

  Holding out my empty hands, I smile softly. “Guess you’ll never know.”

  Putting his hand in his pocket, he pulls something out and takes a step toward me. “You ever feel like giving me the answer, call me.” He presses a card into my hand. With a charming smile, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.

  I’m left with those damn butterflies and a tingly warm feeling in my chest.

  I don’t even get a chance to move when I hear Tom’s voice in my ear. “So, are you gonna call him?”

  The scent of him washes over me, and my earlier pep talk flies out the window.

  “Seriously”—I round on him—“what is it with you tonight? Questioning if I’m sleeping with Cale and the rest of the male population. And now, Robbi?”

  Tom studies my face for a moment. I can feel my body heating under his gaze.

  He gives a wry smile. “I never asked if you were sleeping with Robbi. I asked if you were going to call him.”

  “Whatever,” I bite out, my hands going to my hips. “Why the sudden interest in my love life?”

  “Maybe I just care about your well-being.”

  I scoff at that notion.

  His eyes narrow. “I’m just looking out for you. Robbi Kraft is a player.”

  “So are you!” I throw my hands up.

  He leans into my face. His dark gaze penetrates me, and his heat is all over me, licking at my skin. He’s confusing the hell out of me. And I don’t like it one bit.

  “That might be,” he says, his voice rugged and low. “But I’m not trying to get into your panties.”

  I step back, shaking my cluttered mind. “Not anymore you’re aren’t, but you were not so long ago.”

  Then, it hits me, and I wonder if that’s part of the problem.

  Did I actually like it when Tom was hitting on me before? Does it bother me now that he’s not?

  Suddenly, I feel like crying. My throat thickens, and my eyes water. My emotions are all over the place, and it’s because of him. I pin my eyes to the floor, trying to regain control of my feelings.

  Seeming to sense my rising emotions, he steps back, giving me space. In a kinder voice, he says, “I’m just looking out for you. Right now, on this tour, you’re my responsibility. As your manager, I’m telling you, a girl like you does not want to call a guy like him.”

  My eyes snap to his. “A girl like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He looks like he’s struggling for words. “You’re a good girl. Robbi’s a bad guy. You’re moving up, and he would drag you right back down. I know girls like you, Firecracker. And I know even more about guys like Robbi. He’s not somewhere you want to go.”

  “You don’t know me,” I scoff.

  He does know me, more than I care to admit. And that’s because I can’t seem to stop spilling my sad guts to him.

  His eyes darken. “Yeah, I do.”

  I feel off balance. So, I do what I do best. I react to feelings I can’t control.

  I let out a hollow laugh. “You keep telling yourself that.” I crumble up Robbi’s card in my hand and toss it at Tom’s chest. “You don’t know shit about me. If you did, you would know that I had no intention of calling Robbi. I’m off men. Being screwed over by one will do that.”

  I turn to leave, but Tom pulls me back to him. With one hand on my arm, his other cups the side of my face.

  “Who screwed you over?”

  The concern on Tom’s face sends my insides reeling. It’s all too much to take at once.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure seems like it matters. And I need to know whose ass I have to kick.”

  My eyes meet his. “Wouldn’t that be considered fighting over a woman? Not something I thought you’d be down for.”

  Something in his eyes shifts. “We’re friends. I don’t like it if someone hurts my friends. I wouldn’t see it as fighting over a woman…more like fighting for one.”
>
  He thinks I’m worth fighting for.

  Words, Lyla. They’re just words.

  Men are real good at words. Actions are where they fail.

  Needing a moment away from Tom, away from the ease of his touch and words, I move and sit down on the recently vacated sofa nearby.

  Tom takes the empty space beside me, filling it up and putting himself close to me. He catches the attention of a passing waiter and orders us some drinks.

  I don’t start talking until I have my vodka and tonic in my hand.

  Running my index finger up the side of the glass collecting condensation droplets, I let out a sigh. “My ex-boyfriend, Chad…is bisexual. Something he failed to tell me when we got together.”

  Tom stares at me. “Okay…so you went out with someone named Chad, who likes cock and pussy…and you didn’t like that he used to bang dudes?”

  “No. The problem was that it wasn’t used to. He continued to bang dudes while we were together—well, not dudes. Just one specific dude.”

  My brother.

  “He cheated on you,” he murmurs in understanding.

  He just doesn’t get the whole picture.

  I nod in answer, and then I take a large drink of my vodka, relishing the burn in my throat as I swallow.

  “Well, I gotta say, you’re starting to make a lot more sense to me now.”

  My eyes lift to his.

  “And as for Chad, the cheating fuckhole of an ex—well, he’s clearly an idiot. I mean, he had you…and these”—he gestures to my girls—“the best rack I have ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a lot of tits—racks in my life. Chad had the best ever in his hands every day, literally, and he traded them for cock?”

  “Um…thanks, I think.”

  “You’re welcome,” he deadpans. “Seriously, I don’t get the whole dude-screwing-another-dude thing. Sure, I love to fuck ass but a woman’s ass. You—I mean, women in general,” he corrects, “are just pure sex. So soft and warm, and you have those”—he gestures to my girls again—“which are amazing. God was on the right track the day he designed women. Give me a tight, warm pussy any day, and I’m a happy man.”

  “Um…way too much info, Tom. Really. And isn’t that the problem? You’ve been a happy man for a long time now. What will you do if you run out of women? You might have to turn to men.”