I can’t seem to control myself around him. All he has to do is put his hands on me, and all my senses along with my inhibitions just fly right on out.
I was just glad for the interruption—again. But I can’t keep relying on interruptions to save me.
I have to find a way to be strong around Tom. I have to stop teasing him. It’s not fair.
What Tom thinks of me matters. I don’t want him to dislike me. Before all the kissing, we got to a good place where we were friends. I want to get back to that place even though the kissing is awesome.
Jesus, I’m so confused.
Rubbing my head, I huff out a sigh.
Van looks at me. “You all right?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
Nodding, I say, “Yep. All good here.” I give him a dazzling smile.
Then, I look down at my plate. I cut a piece of pancake off with my fork. I stab the fork into it, letting the syrup drip to the plate. I lean forward and deposit the piece of pancake into my mouth. I decided to have breakfast for dinner. My appetite is off, but I needed something, and I thought pancakes would go down easy.
I chew slowly, trying to focus on the sweetness of the syrup, but I’m too distracted by the sound of Tom’s voice. He’s sitting one seat over and across from me, next to Van, and he’s talking to Cale about guitars.
I never knew how hard it could be, trying not to look at someone. But with Tom, it is. I have to physically restrain myself from looking at him. My eyes seem drawn to him, like bees to honey.
Blinking hard, I set my face forward and stare ahead, fixing my gaze on the picture on the wall behind Van’s head. It’s a boring painting of a field and trees with some cows and sheep in it, but I force myself to intricately examine every part of that painting.
I’ve just reached the third sheep when I feel my phone vibrating against my butt. Sliding a hand into my pocket, I pull it out and find Tom’s name lighting up the screen.
Heart in my throat, I look at him. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are on Cale, listening to him talk.
Looking back down to my phone, I open the text.
I can still taste you.
Holy shit! Where did that come from?
Guess he meant what he said earlier about not giving up.
Whamming against my rib cage, my heart lurches in two different directions—one straight toward Tom, the other running out this diner.
I stare at him and place my phone down on the table, letting him know that I’m ignoring him.
He smirks. Then, he picks up his phone again.
Mine vibrates a few seconds later.
I sigh and ignore it for about two minutes. Then, curiosity wins, and I pick it up.
I bet your pussy tastes as sweet as that mouth of yours. I can’t wait to find out.
Jesus. My thighs clench, my core tightens, my body tilts in Tom’s direction.
Steadying myself against the table, I take a calming deep breath and type out what my head is telling me, not listening to my traitorous body.
Stop it.
I hit Send and set my phone on my thigh.
I hear the buzzing of Tom’s cell vibrating against the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he picks up his cell and reads my text.
His gaze is impassive.
Then, he looks up, but I quickly direct my eyes back on the painting.
A few moments later, my phone vibrates.
Ugh!
I lift my angry eyes to his.
He’s staring right at me with a determined look, which makes my stomach flip.
Looking down at my cell, I leave it where it sits on my thigh and open the text.
I told you, I’m not stopping until I have you. And maybe I won’t even stop then.
This is harassment. I could sue you for stalking.
I hear him chuckle softly. Then…
It would be worth every fucking cent.
I almost growl in frustration.
Tom, get this through your head. We are never happening. Ever. Last night was a mistake. And this morning was an even bigger mistake.
I stare at him, trying to enforce my point. He picks up his phone and reads the message. I see his eyebrow lift, and then his fingers move over the screen.
A few seconds later, my phone vibrates against my thigh.
The only mistake was me letting you walk out of that bedroom. It will happen again, Lyla. Again and again. And again.
No. No and no. And no!
The waitress comes over and refills our coffees, distracting the table, so I take the chance and catch Tom’s attention.
Shaking my head lightly, I mouth the word, No, to him, wanting to drive my point home.
I need him to leave me alone.
I can’t get involved with Tom. Being with someone like him would get me hurt.
And I can’t get hurt again.
He frowns, giving me a hard look. Yes, he mouths back.
My mind and body are working separately. I want him so bad.
My body is craving his words, loving that he’s not yet given up on me.
But my mind is terrified, telling me to run far, far away.
The waitress leaves, and conversation picks back up at the table.
I think that’s it. I’m home free.
I’m wrong.
My cell buzzes against my thigh. The need to read it is overwhelming. I open up the message.
I know you want me, so there’s no way I’m backing off.
I really don’t want you.
Don’t fucking lie. I can smell your arousal from here. And it’s making me hard, Ly. Rock. Fucking. Hard.
Holy crap.
Tom, please…
I’m pleading now because I don’t know what else to do. If he comes anywhere near me, pushes me further, I will cave to him again. And the next time, we’ll do more than kiss.
I can’t wait for you to wrap that begging mouth of yours around my cock.
Oh God.
My sweating palm tightens around my cell. My body flushes from the top of my head down to my toes. Every part of me is turned on by his dirty words. My arousal is drenching me.
I flick my eyes to Tom, and his are on mine, still determined.
I press my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache he’s created from a few words in a text message.
I think for a moment, my fingers hovering over my phone screen.
I want…
I pause, struggling with what to say. Then, I accidently hit Send.
Shit.
My stomach turns at the open-ended message I just sent him.
A second later Bruno Mars’s “Gorilla” starts to play loudly. It takes me a second to realize that it’s coming from Tom’s phone, signaling the text I sent.
I freeze.
He just turned on his ringtone?
Why?
To get my attention.
Well, if it that’s the reason, then he’s got it. And not just because of what the song is about, but also because of the exact part he has set as his message tone.
I think you know which part I mean—motherfucker.
I look at him. He’s staring back at me with lust and defiance in his eyes.
I move my gaze away.
The guys don’t even seem fazed by the lyrics belting out from Tom’s phone. Cale has even started singing along with it.
Tom waits, letting the ringtone finish, before he picks up his cell and reads my text.
Cale says, “I fucking love that song.”
I mumble in agreement.
“That song is genius. It’s gotten me laid so many times. I now worship at the altar of Bruno Mars,” Sonny says around a mouthful of burger.
“Nice,” I say.
I now can’t take my eyes off of Tom, knowing what he’s reading.
Tom’s eyes flash to mine. They’re filled with question, confusion, but mostly hunger.
“Ly, you not eating those?”
I drag my eyes from Tom to see Van holding a for
k over my plate, pointing at my pancakes.
“No, you can have them.” I push my plate toward him.
My phone vibrates.
What do you want, baby? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.
I hover over the screen, torn between my body’s truth and my mind’s right-thing-to-do.
I decide to go with my mind.
I want you to leave me the fuck alone.
I place my phone down, waiting for the retort.
But it never comes.
I wait for what seems like ages but nothing.
And when I look at Tom, he’s not looking at me. He’s talking to Shannon, and his cell is nowhere to be seen.
Panic scratches just beneath the surface, but I shove it away.
This is good. This is what I wanted.
Then, my cell starts to ring, frightening the crap out of me.
It’s a cell number I don’t recognize.
I hesitate for a moment and then answer, “Hello?”
“Lyla, it’s Robbi, Robbi Kraft.”
My stomach does a little somersault. “Oh, Robbi, hi.”
I glance at Tom to see if he heard me. He did.
I don’t know how I expect him to react from knowing that Robbi is on the phone—anger maybe.
But that’s not what I get.
There’s nothing at all.
No reaction.
His face is perfectly blank.
Shannon says something to him, and he looks back at her.
Feeling oddly empty but a little tingly that Robbi is calling, I get up from my seat and move away from the table. I walk over toward the exit, so I can take the call privately.
The first thing out of my mouth though is, “Um…how did you get my number?”
I hear him take in a breath.
He sounds nervous as he says, “Okay, so I know this might sound a little stalkerish, but I promise, it’s not. Okay, maybe it is a little bit. But you never called, and I have a friend…in the police. He got your number for me.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” I say around smile.
“I’m pretty sure you’re right, but if I say that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Idaho, would that help?”
“I don’t know. That’s a pretty serious crime you’ve committed.”
“Okay, how about you agree to have dinner with me? If you still feel the same about my criminal, stalker ways, I’ll personally turn myself into the cops.”
“You mean your cop friend who broke the law with you?”
He chuckles. “The very one.”
I tap my finger against my chin. “I’m not sure if going to dinner with a criminal and stalker would be a good idea.”
He lets out a tsking noise. “Yeah, I think you might be right. Shit. I’ve screwed this up at the first hurdle.”
I giggle. “You haven’t totally screwed it up.”
“I haven’t?”
I like the hope I hear in his voice.
“How about next time we see each other, you buy me that drink you didn’t get a chance to buy me last time?”
I hear paper rustling.
Then, he says, “Five days. Pittsburgh. We’re both playing there. It’s a date.”
“I never said it was a date, Robbi,” I say, adding levity to my voice so not to sound bitchy.
“Okay, no date. Just a drink between two friends. Just promise me one thing…”
“I don’t generally make promises.”
“Can you make an exception this time for me?”
He sounds so charming, and I can’t help but say, “Okay, shoot.”
“Promise me that you won’t let anyone buy you a drink between now and Pittsburgh.”
“Hey, a girl’s gotta drink!” I laugh. “How about I promise not to let anyone who isn’t a friend buy me a drink between now and Pittsburgh?”
I can almost feel his smile down the line.
“Perfect. So, I’ll see you in five days, Lyla.”
“You’ll see me in five days.”
A smile on my face, I hang up the phone and push it into my back pocket. I start to walk back toward our table. As I lift my gaze, I meet Tom’s eyes.
And he’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before.
Like he’s looking through me. Distant. Almost as if he isn’t really seeing me anymore.
And I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt.
Five Days Later—Onstage at a Club, Pittsburgh
Okay. So, Tom is not avoiding me. He’s not ignoring me.
He’s being nice to me.
Which is good, right? It’s what I wanted.
Well, it should be good…but it’s not.
Because he’s been too nice. Too mother-effing nice.
Cordial. Well mannered.
Basically, not the Tom I know.
There’s been no joking. No flirting. No sex texts. No attempts at getting me alone.
Nothing.
For five freaking days.
Nothing!
And it’s driving me crazy. He’s driving me crazy. Slowly.
Every time I walk into a room and he’s in there alone, he gives me a polite smile before he gets up and walks out. Like I have the plague or something.
At first, I wondered if it was a game he was playing, trying to wear me down until I crack and give in to him.
But after day three, I realized it wasn’t a game. He really has given up on me.
I know this because on day three of Nice Tom, I saw him flirting with Ashlee, and he wasn’t doing it because he thought I was there. He wasn’t trying to bring my feelings to the surface with jealousy.
He had no idea I was there, and he was, flirting with her.
Seeing him with her—his hand resting on her shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair—hurt like a bitch.
But I told myself that it was okay. I wanted him to leave me alone.
He’s doing what I asked.
So, it’s good.
Except, it doesn’t feel good. I don’t want this anymore.
I want it to go back to the way it was.
I want Tom back.
The only thing keeping me sane during these past five days is the attention I’ve been getting from Robbi Kraft.
After his stalker call, I received a sweet text from him the next day. I texted back. We’ve been texting a few times a day since then.
He’s sweet.
He doesn’t give me hot fire in my belly like Tom does.
But fire is dangerous. Fire gets you burned.
I don’t really see this thing with Robbi going anywhere. I’m still not in the market for anyone. I’m just enjoying Robbi’s attention.
Tom might have temporarily broken the straps on my chastity belt, but I padlocked that fucker back up, and I’m not ready to take it off for anyone else.
It’s just nice to have something to take my mind off Tom.
I am looking forward to getting to know Robbi a little better, though. The geeky fan in me is excited to talk music with him.
Tonight, we’re in Pittsburgh, and Pittsburgh is my non-date drink with Robbi.
I’m onstage, singing my anger out before finishing up our set.
I haven’t seen Robbi yet. The Turnstiles played earlier, and then another band went on between our sets, so I’m guessing I’ll see him when I go offstage.
Pressing my lips to the mic, I sing the last line of “Better Than You.”
A few days ago, Tom decided that it should be our closing song. The single has been doing really well on the airwaves, and the number of downloads are looking great. He said if it keeps going this way, we stand to chart well, which is awesome.
I just wish I felt awesome.
When Sonny’s sticks hit the drums for the last time tonight, I yell into the mic, “Thank you, Pittsburgh! You’ve been amazing!”
With a wave of my hand, I exit the stage, easing the strap of my guitar over my head. The moment I’m offstage, I hand my gui
tar to Jon, one of our roadies, with a, “Thanks.”
I come down the steps and see Tom waiting for us, like he always does. He looks deliciously hot in low-slung jeans and a vintage David Bowie, Live Santa Monica ’72 T-shirt.
Unfortunately, Ashlee is here and standing close beside him.
She’s wearing a tight, short red dress that displays all her assets. She looks good.
But I don’t feel inferior tonight because I know I look really good. Shannon gave me the full works earlier since I told her I would be meeting Robbi for a drink tonight, and she took that to mean this is a date. No matter how many times I told her it isn’t, she wasn’t listening, so she went to town on me. Which I’m glad for now.
My lips are red, nails painted to match, and I’m wearing a kick-ass dress. It’s short and black with full sleeves, but the best part about this dress is the cut to the navel. This is a no-bra, boobs-taped-in-place, shit-hot dress. And to round it off, I’m wearing a pair of high-heeled black suede ankle boots.
I look good—no, I look hot, and my girls look amazing.
Head up, I stick my best assets out, the assets I know Tom is fixated on, and I strut my way over to them.
“Hey.” I smile.
Ashlee looks me up and down. “Shannon asked me to give you your purse.” She holds it out to me.
So much for pleasantries. “Thanks,” I say, taking it from her.
She gives me a fake smile.
Tom aside, I really dislike this girl.
“Great set as always,” Tom says, eyes on my face. “Your vocals were on fire tonight.” Then, he smiles his polite smile at me. He doesn’t even look at my boobs.
Well, he might as well have just kicked me in my virginia.
I have to contain the scream of frustration crawling up my throat. Even more so when I see the smug look on Ashlee’s face.
Pissed off and feeling stupid for trying to get his attention with my breasts, I give him a sharp nod. “Cool. Well, I’ll be at the bar if anyone wants me.”
I spin on my stiletto heels, not even bothering to wait for Cale, Sonny, and Van, and I stomp away.
I’m vexed, and I’m pretty sure it’s showing in every step I take.
Not that Tom will notice. He’ll be too busy looking at Ashlee’s fake tits.
Meow.
Reaching the bar, I slam my credit card down and drop my purse next to it. “Shot of tequila, and keep them coming.”
The cute bartender raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. He takes my card and puts it by the cash register. Then, he puts a shot glass on the bar and pours the tequila.
Taming the Storm Page 14
