Stumbling back from me, that hot chest of hers heaving, she shakes her head. “No. I can’t do this with you.”
I hate the way she says you. It’s like she would do this with any other guy but me.
She makes a move to go past me, but I stop her, catching her wrist.
“What do you mean, you can’t do this with me? There someone else you want screwing you?”
“You’re disgusting,” she hisses. “Don’t you ever stop?”
“No, I don’t. Not when it comes to you.” I lean down into her face. “You know what I think? I think you want me bad, Lyla. And it scares the shit out of the frigid bitch you became after what your brother and that dick of an ex did to you.”
It’s low, and I know it. But I can’t seem to help it around her. She brings out the bastard in me at times.
I see her eyes glaze with hurt, and it bothers me. I hate that I care enough for it to affect me.
And the worst thing is the silence that follows.
She doesn’t give a retort. She just calmly pulls her arm from my hand and starts to walk away.
Panic claws at my chest.
I don’t know what to do with it because I’ve never felt it before. Not in this way. Not over a woman.
“That’s it, Lyla. Run away. Do what you do best.”
She stops and turns to me. The hurt is gone, and her expression is blank.
I don’t know which is worse. Seeing her hurt, or seeing that she doesn’t care.
“I’m not running. I’m making the smart choice—and that’s getting away from you.”
Jesus, that fucking hurt.
My hand rubs across my chest as I shake my head slowly. “No, you’re running because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared of anything—least of all, you.”
I let a smile slide onto my lips even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing right now. “Yeah, you are. But there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m gonna show you that. You can keep running, but I will catch you and soon. I’m not giving up, Lyla.”
Her eyes adjust, and the cold in them chills me to the bone.
“But you should give up, Tom. You really should.”
Then, she’s out the door.
And I’m left here with a raging hard-on, the worst case of blue balls, and a pain in my chest that I can’t explain.
A Few Hours Later—Diner, St. Louis
We’ve come to a diner to have an early dinner before tonight’s show. The rest of the crew is setting up at the venue, so it’s just me, Cale, Sonny, Van, and Shannon. I have no clue where Ashlee is, and I don’t care to ask. I’m just glad I don’t have to watch her fawning all over Tom again.
Oh, yeah, and the man himself is with us.
He hasn’t tried to speak to me again since this morning. He’s barely looked at me.
It bothers me way more than I care to admit to myself right now.
Maybe he’s changed his mind about not giving up. And I’m not even going to go into how much that thought affects me.
He was pissed after I pulled away from our kiss. But then, I can’t blame him. I must have come across like a total tease.
I’m not.
I’m just confused and scared.
He was right about that part.
Tom lights up parts of me that I want to stay dark.
I can’t seem to control myself around him. All he has to do is put his hands on me, and all my senses along with my inhibitions just fly right on out.
I was just glad for the interruption—again. But I can’t keep relying on interruptions to save me.
I have to find a way to be strong around Tom. I have to stop teasing him. It’s not fair.
What Tom thinks of me matters. I don’t want him to dislike me. Before all the kissing, we got to a good place where we were friends. I want to get back to that place even though the kissing is awesome.
Jesus, I’m so confused.
Rubbing my head, I huff out a sigh.
Van looks at me. “You all right?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
Nodding, I say, “Yep. All good here.” I give him a dazzling smile.
Then, I look down at my plate. I cut a piece of pancake off with my fork. I stab the fork into it, letting the syrup drip to the plate. I lean forward and deposit the piece of pancake into my mouth. I decided to have breakfast for dinner. My appetite is off, but I needed something, and I thought pancakes would go down easy.
I chew slowly, trying to focus on the sweetness of the syrup, but I’m too distracted by the sound of Tom’s voice. He’s sitting one seat over and across from me, next to Van, and he’s talking to Cale about guitars.
I never knew how hard it could be, trying not to look at someone. But with Tom, it is. I have to physically restrain myself from looking at him. My eyes seem drawn to him, like bees to honey.
Blinking hard, I set my face forward and stare ahead, fixing my gaze on the picture on the wall behind Van’s head. It’s a boring painting of a field and trees with some cows and sheep in it, but I force myself to intricately examine every part of that painting.