Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (19 page)

At least I haven't eaten since lunch. Nothing to throw up.

He stares at the floor. "Tomorrow is the end of my six weeks, and Miles is making a big deal about taking me out, making sure I break my celibacy."

No. He's not saying these words. No. I take a step backwards. Another.

I hit the wall. "You're calling this off to fuck a stranger?"

"No, kid. That's not—"

"Don't call me that."

"This is going to hurt more if we have sex," he says. "This is what's best for you. For both of us."

"Fuck you. If this is what you want, fine, but I decide what's best for me."

"Willow."

"Why are you running away from this?" I ask. "Tell me. Please. If it's me, if you don't want someone like me, I understand."

"It's not you."

"Then what is it?"

He says nothing.

"Okay. Fine. I understand." I swallow hard. Anything to keep from crying. "Good luck at the show. Hope you enjoy fucking some random woman tomorrow. Hope it's really special."

"I'm not going to—"

"No. Do. I want you to enjoy your fucking piercing. We're nothing. You're a free agent. Free to fuck anybody you want."

I turn and rush to the women's bathroom. He says something, but it's not
You're right. I'm an idiot for running away from this. Let me press you against the wall and make it up to you. In fact, I'm going to skip the show. What does a rock song need drums for, anyway? I'd much rather bang you.

T
he music is throbbing. Much too loud for conversation. Thank God, because there's no way I can get any words out of mouth besides
what the hell am I doing here?

I get it. We're just friends. But that doesn't mean I want to watch Tom pick out his next sexual partner.

I'm going to throw up.

I adjust my cocktail dress. It's the sexiest thing I own—tight, short, low-cut enough to show off my chest piece and my cleavage. Not that I got dressed thinking of what would make Tom reconsider.

All the guys are here. I need to keep up my poker face or I'll quickly become the band's new pity project.

At least we're secluded in the VIP area. Traveling with rock stars has its perks. I cross and uncross my legs but nothing helps me get comfortable. These drinks are taking forever.

Tom plops on the couch next to me. His leg presses against mine, the rough fabric of skinny jeans sending shivers of electricity up my spine.

Miles holds up his cell phone to show off the time. Midnight. "There you go, Sticks. You survived. Six weeks. Let's take bets on how long he'll last. Who wants thirty seconds?"

"I'll take thirty seconds." Pete looks at me, staring through me, checking if I'm okay. My poker face must be pretty strong because he turns back to Miles with a light voice. "But we can't trust the honor system. Who's volunteering to watch and time it?"

Tom flips his brother off. "Can I get in on this?"

"Seems fair." Miles turns to me. "You have a guess? Ladies should
go
first, but I doubt Tom will manage that today."

"Uh..." I uncross and cross my legs. Anything to stem the heat building between them. How can my body be raring to go when my heart is ready to give out? My knee brushing against Tom's does nothing to help the situation.

"
Price is Right
rules, or closest?" Drew asks.

"Closest." Miles pulls a hundred dollars out of his wallet and slams it on the table. "I'll give him two minutes." He looks Tom in the eyes. "Don't say I never speak highly of you."

A cocktail waitress arrives with our drinks. Club soda for Miles. A bottle of whiskey and mixers to be shared between everyone else.

Tom pours whiskey on the rocks for him, Pete, and Drew and slides the glasses across the table. He looks at me. "You want one, kid?"

"Please don't call me that," I say.

Tom stares at me with this regret in his eyes. Fuck him and his regret. He's the one running away from this.

I adjust my top for maximum cleavage potential and stare back at Tom. "Whiskey and diet please."

"Since when do you drink?" Drew's expression gets intense and protective.

I shrug as if drinking is something I do all the time.

He and Miles share a knowing look.

"All right." Drew takes a long sip of his whiskey. "I'll stay for one drink, then I'm going to bed. Tom, I'm counting on you to make sure Wil doesn't get drunk."

"That's weak delegating," Miles says. "I'm hurt."

"You too." Drew turns from Miles to Tom. "Just, I know which of you three is usually the instigator."

"You in or not?" Miles asks.

"This is disgusting," Drew says.

"Not hearing a
no
." Miles makes the money gesture with his thumb and forefinger. "Come on, hundred bucks an entry." He looks at me. "I'll even pay for Willow's entry if she's interested."

"Uh..." I take a long, long sip of my whiskey and diet. It mostly tastes of cola and artificial sweetener.

"All right." Drew pulls five twenties from his wallet. "I'll take three minutes."

"Thanks for believing in me." Tom rolls his eyes.

Pete fishes a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet. "Clock starts at the moment of insertion?"

Miles nods.

"Are we talking oral or intercourse?" Pete asks. "Makes a difference."

"What do you say, Tom? Got plans for how you're breaking your fast?" Miles laughs, reveling in the awkwardness of the situation.

"Lady's choice," Tom says.

"Oh? You have anything to say, Willow?" Miles asks.

I have a lot to say but my mouth is sticky. I shake my head and take another sip. The bite of alcohol isn't bad. Even if it warms my throat and chest more than I'd like.

Tom's eyes catch mine. They fill with something I can't place then go to the floor.

Okay, time to finish this drink. It takes two sips and I'm slurping melted ice.

"Fuck it. I'll call it now. Intercourse." Tom slams his drink in one long sip. "I'll take five."

"That's it?" Miles asks.

"A man should know his limitations. If we're taking bets for round two, I'll take twenty." Tom pulls a hundred out of his wallet and adds it to the pile. "Any other commentary?"

"Condom?" Pete asks.

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Tom asks.

"You can sneak in some sensation dulling bullshit." Pete smiles.

He's enjoying this way too much.

"Got some that are specially made for piercings. Normal sensation."

"Capitalism at its finest." Miles laughs. "How much do those run?"

"What do you care?" Tom shakes his head. "Never knew you guys were obsessed with my cock. It's flattering, but I don't swing that way."

Pete laughs. "I'll go up to one minute unless you want to call it, Willow."

I pass my drink to Tom for a refill. Okay. Might as well be a part of the action. "I'll take fifteen."

Our eyes connect. Something passes between us. Something intimate and not at all just friends. Almost like he's considering how long he'd take with me.

"Damn, Sticks. The girl believes in you. She tripled the highest bet." Miles looks at me. "I'm not offering any odds. You can bet six and win with 5:31. Bet fifteen and you need 10:01 to win."

The gambling statistics mean nothing to me. "What can I say? I believe in Tom. He can do whatever he puts his mind to." I drink until my cheeks are burning.

Miles collects the money and slides it into his pocket. "That's five hundred dollars for whoever gets closest. Tom is honorable enough to report accurately."

"You guys need new hobbies." Drew slams his drink and pushes out of his seat.

Drew's eyes lock with mine. He studies me, assessing whether or not I'm okay. I guess the answer is yes. Or maybe he's realized I'm an adult, and I'm able to make my own mistakes.

God, being here is a mistake. But being somewhere else, wondering how it's going, would be worse.

"Call me if anything comes up, Wil," Drew says.

I nod an okay.

Tom finishes his drink and pours a refill. He watches Drew walk away then turns back to Miles and Pete. "I can't wait to spend your money."

Miles nods to a blonde woman in a short red dress. "Ask if she'll volunteer. Bet she'd do it right here so we could get an honest timing."

Tom shakes his head. "In your dreams."

The blonde woman looks in the direction of the group. She's making eyes at someone.

"Only two minutes from here to the alley." Miles sips his club soda.

"She's not my type," Tom says.

Miles and Pete shoot him
oh please
looks.

"What
is
your type, Tom?" I ask.

The look in his eyes says
don't
.

But my alcohol dulled inhibitions say
do
. "Really? What kind of girls do you like?"

"Breathing," Miles says.

"Willing." Pete adds.

"Fuck you, assholes. I can't help that I love the female body. As long as we're on the same page about things being casual, I don't discriminate," Tom says.

"But you must have a preference." I take a deep breath. I'm a glutton for punishment. As long as I'm going for it, might as well go for broke. "Tattoos or small breasts or unnaturally colored hair. Something."

Miles looks at me and raises a brow. My drink is nothing but ice again. Funny how that works out.

More liquor is a bad idea. My head is already spinning. I stand up and brush any lint off my dress. I'm here. Might as well make this as painful for Tom as it is for me.

I run my hand through my hair so it's properly
I'm too cool for this
messy. Then I drag my fingertips down my neck and over my chest piece.

Victory. Tom's eyes are glued to my chest. The tattoo then the cleavage then all the way up to my eyes.

"You going somewhere?" Tom asks.

"This is a dance club, isn't it?" I turn and walk with as much hip sway as I can. I can hear the guys muttering something. It's not as if my ass in a tight dress is going to convince Tom to reconsider, but I can't sit on the sidelines watching this go down.

I wait until I'm in the middle of the dance floor to look back to the VIP area. Miles and Pete stay put in their seats. But Tom is on his way over here.

Okay. I'm not spying. Absolutely not spying. I turn my back to the guys and find the beat of the song. There. I sway my hips in time with the music. I scan the crowd for anyone who might get my mind off Tom.

A hand slides around my waist. "You all right, kid?"

Tom. He moves closer. Until his chest is pressed against my back, his crotch against my ass.

"I asked you not to call me that," I say.

He's not hard. Yet. It's wrong that I want to grind against him until he's begging me to help him lose that bet.

His breath is warm on my neck. What the hell is he doing here? He knows how I feel. He's made his stance clear.

"You have a big night ahead of you." I shrug my shoulders to break his grip. "You should probably get to it."

"I want to dance with you."

"Why?"

"'Cause you believe in me." He slides his hands to my hips. "If you're not interested, I'll find someone else. It's a yes or no proposition."

"Okay. Let's dance."

He guides my hips.

I'm not playing nice. I sway with him, arching my back to rub my ass against his crotch. My heels put me at the perfect height to make this
hard
for him.

He leans in to whisper in my ear. "Are you really okay with this?"

I copy his favorite comeback. "You keep dancing like that and I'm going to get ideas."

He shifts his body away from mine. "You know what I'm asking."

Of course I'm not okay. But he knows that. There's no way I'm going to say it again. I turn and stare Tom in his eyes. "Try to make it last. I could use the five hundred dollars."

He stares though me like he's looking into my soul. "You don't look okay."

I can hold this poker face for another ten seconds. No, he's still close. Make that three seconds. Two.

I turn away from Tom. "I hope you enjoy yourself. Excuse me."

One. My facade crumbles. I cut through the crowd before he has the chance to look at me.

The dance floor is throbbing with warm bodies and pheromones. No one who wants company is going home alone. Not that Tom ever lacks for a partner.

I find the woman's bathroom and hide out until my breath returns to normal. I can face this. So I'm crazy for a guy who's about to take a stranger home for anonymous sex? So what? It's not like I'd fall to pieces over a little thing like my heart breaking.

After twenty minutes, I give up on solitude and go in search of Miles or Pete. They're sitting on the couch, whispering about something. Their expressions flare with concern when they spot me but they still wave me over.

I plop in the spot between them and try to tune in to the conversation about independent film. But my eyes have a mind of their own. They find Tom. He's dancing with a short, dark-haired woman. She paws at him, already more than willing.

"You have a favorite TV show, Willow?" Miles asks.

"
Murder, She Wrote
."

Her hands slide around his neck. She rises to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He nods and looks over at the couch.

Miles waves him towards the door.

Pete clears his throat. "You ever see
Monk
?"

"No. I'll have to check that out." I play with the hem of my dress, willing my eyes to stay on my knees.

They refuse. Tom nods back to Miles. Even though he's fifty feet away, his eyes catch mine. He stares through me again. It's like he's opening up my head and dissecting my thoughts.

But he's not. Because he's turning and he's leading that girl out of the club.

I listen to Pete and Miles discuss cozy mysteries for five minutes. Their words fly through my ears. Tom is going home with that woman.

My eyes sting. Something warm and salty rolls down my cheek.

Fuck. I'm crying.

I can't cry here.

I blink my eyelids together. The hotel is right around the corner. It's a three-minute walk. I can make it three minutes.