I stare up into his eyes. My mouth is suddenly dry, and my brain is fogged up with the clean scent of his cologne.
“I’ll make sure Shannon knows that we’re not seeing each other.”
His words lift me out of my fog.
“Good.” I straighten my back and step away from him. “And make sure you do it soon. I don’t want Shannon telling other people that you and I are together.”
He follows me forward, closing the gap between us again. “Why is the thought of being with me so bad?”
It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Really? I thought that would be plainly obvious. One”—I tick off on my finger—“this is my first tour, and you’re my tour manager. I don’t want to get a reputation in the industry as someone who tries to sleep her way to the top. Two, you’re my tour manager! And three, I hate beards!”
I don’t actually know why I said that last bit because I don’t really hate beards. I do kind of like the way Tom looks with his.
His expression is wounded as he runs a hand over the growth covering his chin. The sound of his coarse hair scratching against his rough fingers brings a shiver to my body.
“Come on, Firecracker, don’t hate on the beard. I’m going for the roadie look. Don’t you think it’s working for me?”
“No. You look like a hobo.”
He throws back his head and roars out a laugh.
The sound hits me like rapid fire. I feel it in every one of my censored hot spots.
I bite my lip to stop the giggle that wants to escape. “Your hair is okay though. I like it longer.”
“Whoa there, Firecracker. Was that a compliment?”
“No.” My eyes catch his smiling ones.
“So, if I get rid of the beard but keep the hair, would you pretend to be my girlfriend to save me from the Shannons of this tour?”
“Um…” I rub my forehead in thought. “No.”
“Damn.” He chuckles.
I start walking again, and Tom follows.
When we reach the stage door, I turn to him. I’m keen to push the question again, so I can try to get a real answer this time. “Why would you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend to put women off anyway? I thought banging lots of women was your favorite pastime.”
“Like I said, things change.” He shrugs as he averts his eyes, looking down the hallway. “I thought I was the last perfect man.”
“What?”
His face comes back to mine, and he nods down at my shirt.
“Oh, right.” I let out a laugh, smoothing my hand over the picture of Homer. “Nope, not a chance. Homer wins out every time over any man. He’s the ideal.” I flash a cheeky grin.
“Big guts and big butts are your ideal—duly noted. Makes sense to me now why you kept turning me down. Thank fuck that’s cleared up. My ego is now fully restored.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”
“I fucking hope so, Firecracker. With the size of my junk, I’d worry if I wasn’t.”
“Oh my God!” I laugh. “You just can’t help yourself.”
He gives a boyish grin followed by a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders. I feel that chuckle like a whispered breath over my skin.
Lord, help me.
“You know, Lyla,” he says, his voice lowered, “Henry looks a bit like Homer Simpson. I bet if you stripped him down to his tighty whities, you’d have your ideal man right there.”
I sputter out a laugh, which turns into me choking on my own spit.
Classy, Lyla. Real classy.
“Easy there, tiger.” Tom leans over and pats my back while I hack out a cough. “With it being the first show of the tour and all, we need your vocals in good shape for tonight.”
I rub at my chest, trying to right myself, while taking deep breaths.
“You okay?” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder.
He’s not even touching my skin directly, but the gentle grip of his fingertips sears through the cotton of my T-shirt and burns into my skin, branding me.
My heart starts to hammer in my chest.
His hand on me feels right…too right.
The air is suddenly thick with something—
No.
I drop my shoulder, quickly pulling from his touch.
“So, what is it with you and cartoon T-shirts anyway?” Tom asks, talking past that moment “That’s the third one I’ve seen you wear in two days.”
He’s keeping count?
I wore my blue My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic T-shirt teamed with my blue pajama shorts for bed last night.
Yes, Tom saw me in my pajamas. He was climbing in his bunk as I was exiting the bathroom.
“I love cartoons.” I shrug, leaving out the fact that I collect cartoon T-shirts because of my mom.
It started when Mom had to go to Paris for a show. I couldn’t go with her, and she felt guilty, so she went to Disneyland and brought me home a bucket load of toys and clothes to make up for it. Out of everything she got me, the thing I loved most was a Little Mermaid T-shirt. I had a serious love for Prince Eric. I wore that T-shirt all the time, even for bed. Apparently, I drove her nuts with it. So, to get me wearing something different, the next trip she took, she bought me a new cartoon shirt with Beauty and the Beast. Of course, I loved it. I wore it in rotation with my Little Mermaid shirt.
After that, it became our thing. Every time she took a trip, I would get a new cartoon T-shirt.
Mom is out of town permanently now, so in her homage, I buy myself a new shirt whenever I travel. I’m going to have to carve out time to buy a new shirt in every town we hit on tour—well, at least one in each state.
I hear the soothing sound of guitars firing up through the door behind me. My bandmates are gearing up for tonight. Then, Sonny start banging on the drums, drumming a beat I’m all too familiar with. It spreads warmth throughout me.
Smiling, I say, “I should get onstage.” I reach for the door handle.
“Lyla?”
I turn back.
“I am sorry…about before. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” I give him a curt nod and yank open the door, hurrying onto the stage to join my boys, leaving Tom where he stands.
The Next Day—Tour Bus, en route to Boise
I awake with the feeling of last night’s show still buzzing in my veins.
For the first show and considering the level of nerves we were all feeling, it went amazingly. Afterward, we had a few drinks backstage with some of the other bands.
Tom was noticeably absent.