“You never said you didn’t.”
“Dick.”
“Dick? Yes, I have one.” He leans in close. “And it’s fucking huge.”
I push a hand against his chest. Sparks ignite at the connection.
“Like I said…disgusting.” I grin, so he knows I’m messing with him.
He tosses out a laugh. “As in…it’s disgusting just how big my cock is.”
A giggle escapes me. I could slap myself.
Turning, I say over my shoulder, “I’ve never seen it, so I can’t comment.”
“Easily rectified.”
I spin around just as his hands are going to his jeans.
“Stop it!” I hold my hand up.
“Stop what?”
“Getting your…thing out.”
“My cock?”
I nod.
“Say it, Firecracker.”
“Say what?” I bite my lip. “Cock?”
His eyes flash with intensity and lust. My stomach tightens. Another flash of heat ignites between my legs.
He steps closer. “Say it again.”
I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. This is the effect he has on me.
“Cock.” I’m surprised by how breathy my voice sounds.
He touches his thumb to my lower lip. I hold my breath.
“Do you know that your mouth makes a perfect O when you say cock?”
Dumbstruck, I shake my head.
His eyes are on my lips.
And I can’t move.
He’s going to kiss me. It’s actually going to happen.
There’s no one awake to walk in and interrupt this time.
Do I want him to kiss me?
Yes!
No.
If he makes a move, I’ll push him off.
I think.
He slides his fingers along my jaw, cupping it. His skin is rough against mine.
“Lyla…” he breathes my name.
I melt into a puddle on the floor.
Then, “Zzz-zzzz-zzzzz-hngggggh-ppbhww-zzzzzzzz.”
Tom’s hand drops from my face.
We both look in the direction of the bunks and then back to each other as we burst into laughter, our kissing spell instantly broken.
I clap my hand over my mouth. “Sonny,” I say, the word muffled under my palm.
Tom removes my hand from my mouth, but he doesn’t let go, holding my hand between us.
“No kidding. The dude has the bunk across from mine, and only curtains are separating us, remember?”
It’s hard for me to concentrate on anything but my hand in his, as he ever so lightly runs his thumb over the soft skin on the top of my hand.
“Of course. You must be missing sleep.”
“Goes with the tour bus territory. I had to put up with Denny’s snoring for years. Earbuds were my friend for a long time.”
I’m smiling, but my heart is currently doing a thump-thump-thumpity-thump dance in my chest.
“Well, if you ever want a break from Sonny the Dragon Snorer, you can always take the bed.”
“You offering to give me a side?” He tilts his head, grinning.
And that full body flush I always get under his scrutiny is back in force.
“If you want to get me in bed, Firecracker, you only have to tell me.” His fingers tighten around my hand, gently squeezing.
I roll my eyes. “Ha! You wish. I’m offering you the bed, minus me. I’ll take your bunk.”
“And where would the fun be in that? Seems stupid for you to go in my bunk when we could both get a good night’s sleep in the same bed.”
I can’t imagine getting a second of sleep with him lying beside me.
Knowing how much my body would like that, my brain quickly advises me that it would be the worst idea ever.
I tug my hand free and give him a gentle poke in that hard chest of his. “Nice try, Carter.”
“What?” He holds up his hands in innocence, but his face shows me anything but.
“I’m not having sex with you.”
His eyes widen. “Who said anything about sex? Jeez, Lyla, I was just talking about sleeping. You have a really dirty mind, you know.”
I open my mouth to come back with a retort, but all that comes out is a scoffing sound. Heat creeps up my neck, and I turn my back on him. I walk through to the kitchen, and I reach up on my toes, opening the cupboard. “I’m making hot chocolate. You want some?”
“No, thanks.”
I busy myself with getting a mug and the hot chocolate. I fill the kettle with water, plug it in and turn it on.
It’s so quiet in here that I’m positive Tom has snuck off to bed, but when I turn, he’s still here, shoulder leaning against the wall of the archway, as he watches me.
Half-smiling, I lean my back against the counter, curling my fingers around the edge. “You hanging around for a bit?”
He gives me a slow nod and then his eyes fix onto mine. “Are you over him?”
My body stiffens. “Am I over whom?”
“The ex—Chad,” Tom says with a surprising level of venom.
And hearing Chad’s name serves as a reminder of that night. The betrayal.
My hands slide from the counter and come around to my chest, pressing down on the ache I feel.
“Yeah, I’m over him. I have been for a while.”
Tom’s expression remains stoic. “But he’s the reason you always sing ‘Cry Me a River,’ right?”
Shaken to the core, I realize that he’s thought about this, thought about me. I shake my head gently. “What makes you think I sing that song because of him?”
He gives me a confounding look. “Because we’re musicians, Ly. Music bleeds into everything we do. We tie all feelings—pain, happiness, anger, sorrow—to music…lyrics. I know he hurt you…bad. And that song isn’t exactly light and roses, and you sing it all the time.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he says, “I have a song for every person I’ve lost.”
I want to ask him about the tattoo on his back, but I chicken out.
Instead, I softly say the one person I know he’s lost, “Jonny Creed.”
Tom’s face tightens, pain lancing through his eyes. He nods, and his voice is quiet as he says, “‘Hear You Me.’”
“Jimmy Eat World?”
“His folks played it at his funeral. I’ve listened to it every day since.”
In this moment, I hate that he’s felt pain and still feels it now. It makes me want to go over to him and wrap my arms around him, hold him tight.
But, of course, I do nothing.
“‘Cry Me a River’ isn’t Chad’s song,” I admit.