Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (13 page)

"It's an illusion. I'm actually a heinous bitch," I say.

Miles laughs. He pulls out a coffee grinder and fills it with fresh beans. It turns on with a loud whir.

Tom cringes. He lets out this loud groan that sounds equal parts anguished and turned on.

My cheeks flush.

Yes. Again.

Miles is watching me. Smiling. He taps the side of the grinder and turns it back. Whir.

Tom's groan is louder and even more anguished. "Fuck. You have to do that now?"

"Do what?" Miles grins away.

Whir. Whir. Whir.

"Fucking asshole." Tom grabs two pillows and covers his ears.

Miles laughs. He turns back to me. "What kind of guys do you like?"

Fuck it. I'm too frustrated to keep this to myself. "Guys who are clear about their intentions. Who don't blow hot and cold."

I can feel Tom's eyes on me. Sure enough, he's staring with this hurt look on his face.

Miles clears his throat. "Ah, dealing with a cunt-tease is no good. Kick that guy to the curb."

Tom looks at me. "Maybe he has an explanation. He was drunk and let his cock do the thinking for him. Maybe the guy realized he was crossing the line." His eyes go to the floor. "And it took every fucking ounce of will power he had to do the right thing."

Miles stares at Tom with a look that demands explanation.

Tom shoves his hands into his pockets. "You making coffee or you just giving me a headache?"

"Damn," Miles says. "Never seen you this pissy, Sticks. Those blue balls are getting to you."

"Fuck off," Tom growls.

"You're proving my point."

***

I
thank Miles for the coffee and sip in silence, counting down the seconds until I will no longer be in the same space as Tom.

Ages pass while we wait for Pete and Drew to arrive. Once we're all settled in, the bus takes off.

I hide behind my laptop, pretending I'm busy editing photos. There's nothing worth editing on here besides the pictures of Tom half naked and God knows that's not going to help my situation any.

A groan breaks my concentration. From the way heat is building between my legs, it must be Tom's. Sure enough, he's on the couch next to Miles, losing at a shooter video game. They're teasing each other, caught up in the competition.

When Tom's eyes catch mine, his expression changes. Confused. Regretful even. There's so much tension between us. Even when I look away, I can feel it spreading through the air.

I try to think about my future. After this tour, I'll have enough savings to open a studio, but I need a focus. Don't get me wrong—I'll take whatever work I can get—but no one is going to hire a photographer who is okay at everything. I need to be amazing at one thing.

Headshots are fine. A little too nice. Editorial work would be amazing, but it's hard to come by, and it doesn't pay well. I need something steady enough to support myself. There's no way I'm taking money from my parents. Even from Drew.

Boudoir has potential. There's an appealing rawness to it. A sexuality. Too much, really. How am I ever going to convince shy clients to feel comfortable when I'm utterly lost in the sex and love department?

When we arrive in Seattle, I get set up in my hotel room and pour myself into collecting photographic inspiration. I don't stop until my stomach growls. Okay. It's about dinnertime. I need something to do after I eat, something that will keep me from thinking about Tom. I surf the net for inspiration.

There. Perfect.
Fight Club
is playing at a hip theater downtown. Shirtless, sexy, alpha male Brad Pitt is sure to replace Tom as my fantasy man. And the other great stuff about the movie. Cinematography, snappy dialogue...

Other sexy shirtless men.

I grab a sandwich at the coffee shop outside the hotel and take a cab to the movie theater. It's a beautiful night. Crisp air. Dark sky. Everything is shades of blue and green. Even the theater. Its yellow marquee stands out against its soft blue exterior.

It's twenty minutes to show time. Perfect. I can grab a snack and a drink and relax before the movie.

Only there's no hope of relaxing.

Tom is here.

And there's a woman on his arm.

A
pretty twenty-something woman paws at Tom's shoulder. She follows his gaze to me and scowls. Does he know any women who talk or does he only hang out with silent scowlers?

Tom nods a hello. He introduces us. "Anna, this is my friend Willow."

"Nice to meet you." She stares daggers at me, then flips her long, purple-red hair over her shoulders. She whispers something in Tom's ear.

He chuckles. "Not today, honey."

"Why not?" She draws a circle on his exposed forearm. "Don't you want to?"

The look on her face is desperate and hungry. So she wants to fuck him. Channel Alanis Morissette and go down on him... during the feature.

I shake my head. Hard to blame her, but I'm not going to watch them negotiate what they are and aren't doing.

Anger dances in my stomach. So much for Tom laying off any sexual activity until he's at full power. He might as well make her come during the film. The movie is packed with gasps and the pounding of flesh on flesh. It will be hard to notice any extra noise.

My cheeks are burning. "Enjoy
the show
." I push past Tom and his floozy of the night. It's not nice thinking such vile things about a perfectly innocent woman, but I don't have it in me to think anything else.

I buy my ticket and hide out in the bathroom. Light bounces off the white tile floors and the stark white walls. I wash my hands for the hell of it then practice scrunching paper towels into tiny little balls and tossing them into the trashcan.

Tom's on a date. Or with a particularly grabby friend. Maybe that's why he has no sense of boundaries—he's surrounded by women who don't bother to ask before they touch.

Not that he crossed a line.

Not that I wanted him to stop touching me.

I attempt to pep talk the girl in the mirror staring back at me. "Put up or shut up, Wil. Go for him or get over it. If you want the man, tell him this
friends
thing isn't working out."

She stares back at me, confused and lost. I'm Hazel Alexander's assistant photographer. This is a damn opportunity. Nothing is going to ruin that for me. Certainly not how badly I want Tom.

I buy a box of chocolate covered raisins at the concession stand and make my way inside the theater. The lights are still on. There's a guy in front doing trivia for swag. T-shirts and DVDs and all that.

Tom's date is easy to find. Her burgundy hair matches the seats. She's pretty. Really pretty. And curvy. I feel even more like a little girl next to her.

Any hint of confidence fades away. My stomach is a mess of acid. I pop a handful of candy in my mouth to chase away the bitter taste. Chewy, sweet, delicious.

The girl runs her hand through Tom's hair, and the bitter taste is back.

There's no way I'll enjoy
Fight Club
with this in front of me. I clear my throat as I walk past Tom and his date and take an aisle seat three rows up.

I try my hand at trivia but I haven't got a clue what any of the answers are. Oh, well. The die-hard fans will appreciate the prizes more than I would.

The emcee announces five minutes to show time and walks out of the theater.

I play a game on my phone to keep my mind occupied. Someone comes up to my aisle and points to the seat next to mine.

There are two-dozen empty seats here. Why pick this one? Not my issue. Maybe the guy is hot, and I'll be the one making Tom jealous. Anything is possible. I pull my knees into my chest so the jean-clad man can pass.

He takes the seat next to mine. I keep my eyes on my phone, doing my best to ignore him. There's something familiar about his presence. He smells good. He has strong hands. Exposed forearms. And a tattoo on his—

Fuck.

That's Tom. He's sitting next to me,
sans
date.

"We had different ideas about what we'd do during the flick." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"You really cock-blocked yourself with that piercing, didn't you?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes it's fun not getting everything you want."

Not for me at the moment. I slide my phone into my purse and direct my attention to the movie screen. "Should I guess how your friend wanted to spend the feature?"

"If thoughts of me getting blown in a movie theater please you."

Only if it's by me.
The flush in my cheeks spreads to my chest. "You really have girls that desperate to drop to their knees?"

He nods.

"Why not rip off her panties and finger fuck her when the lights go out?"

"Finger fuck?" He scrunches up his face. "You really haven't had sex in years."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"I like this movie. I'm not interested in a distraction."

"You'd take
Fight Club
over a blow job?"

"Not in the mood." He shrugs. "I can snap my fingers and a get a woman on her knees." He looks around the room, counting. "At least four here."

I do my own count. There are about ten women in attendance but half of them are cuddled up with male dates.

"I envy your confidence," I say.

"You can get at least five guys here to fuck you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, sure." He points to the twenty something glasses wearing guy sitting in the row across from us. "He was checking you out before I took this seat."

"I'm sure you're trying to help—"

"Yeah. You need to break your dry spell. Get out of your head. Have some fun. Not saying that Mr. Plaid Shirt over there is the right choice, but somebody. Trust me. Once you come a few times, you'll see... sex is no big deal. You'll be attracted to guys left and right."

"You're offering to get me laid?"

He nods. "As your wing man. Unless you prefer Miles."

No, the problem is that I don't prefer Miles. I don't prefer Pete. I don't prefer Mr. Plaid Shirt. Hell, I don't even prefer Brad Pitt playing Tyler Durden.

Tom's elbow bumps against mine. He motions to the armrest. "You can have it."

"I'm good at sharing."

"How about we go out after this? There's a local band I know playing a late show. Should be a lot of guys there. Drummers even."

"I don't have a thing for drummers."

"Sure you do. We play hard, we fuck hard. We're animals."

My head fills with the mental image of Tom pounding into the red head until she's screaming his name over and over and over again.

Damn photographer's mind is too imaginative.

"Shit. Sorry. That's not helping you cool down, huh?" His fingers brush against mine. "This whole movie is shirtless dudes grabbing at each other. You're gonna be begging for it by the time it's over."

"Tom, I know you're trying but—"

"Come with me to the show. I want your company."

"As...?"

"A good friend."

Great. I'm his good friend. I can live with that. As long as he's done blowing hot. "Okay."

He offers me his soda. "Anna didn't get to drinking it. She had her heart set on getting her lips around something else."

God damn, he's casual and confident with that information.

He takes a sip, testing the flavor. "Diet cherry coke."

I take a long sip. Nothing like artificial cherry flavoring. Tastes like cough syrup. Like the days I stayed home from school sick when I was a kid, before Mom and Dad split, before Mom wrote me off the way she wrote off Dad and Drew.

"Thank you." I take the soda and drink greedily. I can do sharing. I offer Tom my box of chocolate covered raisins.

He takes one and pops it in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. There's this hint of chocolate on his lips.

"You've got a little." I motion to the spot. "I can get it."

"Alright."

He blinks as I run my finger over the corner of his mouth. The pad brushes his lip. Soft. I'm close enough I can smell his breath. No hint of alcohol today.

I wipe the hint of chocolate off his lips and suck it off my fingers. Now, I'm the one getting ideas. Please, brain, think of something besides how Tom would feel in my mouth.

I clear my throat. "How's your hangover?"

"Greasy burger did the trick." He takes another chocolate covered raisin. "How long have you been a vegetarian?"

"Since I was a kid. We went to a petting zoo in third grade. A field trip, take the city kids to the country kind of thing. I was enamored with this adorable goat. She had a big pink bow, just like a stuffed animal. I couldn't eat meat after that."

"It's commendable, living by your principles."

"I guess so. It's pretty easy in Berkley. I don't really think about it."

"You go on dates?" He asks. "Normally?"

"Every once in a while."

"How often do guys ask if you eat—" He leans in close, lowering his voice as if he's scandalized. "
Other kinds of meat?"

"Too often."

"What do you say?"

"This sounds like a way to ask without asking."

"I'm not." He leans back into his seat. "Already know the answer."

"How do you know the answer?"

Tom raises his brows. "You want to look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't been thinking about sucking me off?"

My God damn body buzzes like a power line.

"Don't lie. It's unbecoming." He takes a long sip of the soda. "I won't give you a hard time about it. Got a little carried away last night. Didn't mean to tease you. I..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Never mind."

"You were drunk."

"That's no excuse." He looks me in the eyes, confident and sure of himself. "I want to do this platonic friends thing. Pretty sure it doesn't involve you thinking about my cock as often as you do."

"Maybe you should stop talking about it then."

He nods. "Sure. You'll have to lead the way. Tell me if I'm crossing the line. Or being an asshole." He offers his hand to shake. "Deal?"

The lights turn off and a preview flashes on screen. Okay. Two and a half hours to divert my attraction to another hot man. Brad Pitt, I need you to step it up here. Take me back to my teenage fantasies.