“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 if 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.”