His eyes narrow. “I’m welcome?” He takes a few steps toward me, his long legs eating up the space between us.
I fight the urge to back up.
“Welcome for what exactly? You screaming at me like a banshee in a public bar or for the beer you threw in my face?” He slashes a hand down his beer-soaked T-shirt, which is clinging to his hard chest and thick biceps and— Focus, Lyla.
“Um…for saving you,” I say calmly. I feel anything but calm. My insides are rattled, and my thoughts are swirling like a storm.
“Saving me? From what?”
I give him a duh look. “From the blonde who wouldn’t leave you alone.”
His face goes from angry to confused and straight back to angry.
“You’re telling me that all that in there was because you thought I needed saving from the hot blonde who was minutes away from sucking my dick?” He takes another seething step closer. “Have you forgotten who I am? I’m not the fucking pope, Lyla! I’m Tom Carter, and it’s well known that I really like hot blondes, especially ones who are more than willing to get down on their knees and suck my cock!” Another step. “And just because you haven’t seen that from me this past week doesn’t make it any less true.”
His words pierce my chest like a knife. I shrink back.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted her.” Jesus, those words hurt. “I thought I was helping. I just…well, it seemed like you didn’t want women all over you, considering what happened with Shannon on the first day, and I bet Sonny—”
Shit.
Those jades of his narrow to slits. “You bet Sonny what?”
I swallow down. “Nothing. I bet nothing.”
I turn to leave, more than ready to chickenshit my way out of this and hightail it back to the bus, but Tom catches my upper arm, pulling me back to him.
“Finish the rest of that sentence.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath, removing my arm from his hand.
I push my hair back off my face and lift my chin. “Sonny was giving me a hard time, saying that you were going to sleep with that blonde and I’d have to give up my bed so that you could use it to do…whatever with her.” I wave my hand, trying not to choke on the words.
“So, I bet Sonny that you wouldn’t have sex with her because I actually thought you, um…wouldn’t.”
He lifts a brow, which does nothing for my confidence.
“Well, it was just…from things you’ve said to me and the whole Shannon thing and, um…just the way you’ve been in general…so, yeah.” I straighten my back and look him in the eye. “And because of those things, I thought my money was safe…but then you started looking like you were actually going to do something with her and, um”—the words are sticking in my throat—“I, um…didn’t want to lose the bet.” I look away.
Liar.
I didn’t want you to have sex with her because the thought of it makes me feel sick.
Blinking, I look up at him.
The look on his face. He’s pissed off, sure, but he looks…hurt.
I can see it there in the depths of his eyes.
And I feel like the bitch I am.
It’s too hard to look at him and say what I’m about to say, so I stare over his shoulder to the glowing lights of the bar behind him. “Look it was a real shitty thing to do…and I’m sorry, all right?”
His face is blank, but his eyes are saying a hell of a lot right now. None of it is good.
“How much?” His tone is brittle.
“What?” I look at him.
His eyes cut to mine. “How much fucking money did you bet Sonny?”
I swallow what feels like gravel. “Does it matter?”
“How. Much?”
“A hundred dollars.” I’m trembling on the inside.
Tom’s eyes widen, and he lets out an incredulous laugh. “A hundred dollars. That’s all I’m worth?” He thrusts his hands through his hair before linking them behind his neck. “Jesus Christ!” His gaze rips through me. “Nice, Lyla. Real fucking nice.”
“Look, I said I’m sorry.” I frown.
He drops his arms and folds them over his chest. “Did Sonny pay up?”
I know I’m stepping into something I really don’t want, but I have no other choice. “Yes.”
In one swift move, he pulls off his beer-soaked T-shirt, exposing that smooth expanse of total awesomeness. He shoves the shirt in the back pocket of his jeans, and then he’s moving. In a few steps, he’s on me, right up close. His chest is in my face. He’s everywhere, consuming me. I can’t breathe. I have to practically nail my feet to the ground to keep me from moving.
I tilt my head back to look up at him just as he leans down into my face.
He smells of beer. But mostly Tom. Everything that makes my toes curl.
“Okay, this is how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna go back to that bar. You’re gonna hand Sonny two hundred dollars—his own hundred back and the hundred for the bet you lost.”