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.”
He looks momentarily horrified at that thought. Then, relaxing, he settles back into the sofa, his arm going around behind me. “That’ll never happen.”
“You go through women at the speed of light. Even though you’re seemingly having a hiatus or rest or whatever, you being you will restart, and it’s possible that you could screw the entire female population of the U.S. by the end of this decade—excluding me, of course.”
“Of course.” He smirks, bringing his whiskey glass to his lips, and he takes a drink.
I ignore his pointed look. “So, what will you do then? Start recycling?”
He clanks his glass down on the table. “Nope. I’m not an environmentally friendly kind of guy. And just so you know, I might have gone through a lot of women in my time, but when I fuck—I fuck long and slow…real fucking slow.”
An image of Tom and me having sex flashes through my mind.
My heart speeds up. I can feel my body heating at the thought of Tom and sex and me.
Him and me…fucking.
I know my chest is flushed. I don’t have to look down to see. I know it is because Tom’s eyes are on it, staring, right now.
Stupid, traitorous, underused, and currently oversexed body.
Tom’s eyes lift, meeting mine, with knowledge.
Looking away, I force my spine straight as I hold the glass to my chest, trying to cool myself down. “And I need to know your screwing speed, why?”
He leans in close, real close this time, leaving our mouths centimeters apart.
I gulp down.
His whiskey-scented hot breath blows through my parted lips and fires down signals to my long-unused girl parts, sending them into a frenzy.
Shit.
Squeezing my thighs together, I bite down on my lower lip to regain control.