Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (15 page)

"And that was Drew?"

"Bingo. Usually, when I tell the story, I throw in a threesome and a fight over the girl." Tom smiles. "Gotta keep people's interest up."

"Who is having the threesome?"

"Miles and Drew, of course."

I cringe. Not a mental image I need.

Tom laughs. "Don't worry. Pretty sure Drew is incapable of sharing."

"Please stop."

"But you're cute when your cheeks match your hair." He brushes a stray hair behind my ear.

And there it is. My heartbeat picks up. Heat spreads from my cheek to my chest to just below my belly. Tom is touching me. I need him touching me more. I need him touching me all the time.

I clear my throat. We're friends. I can do that. With the help of a distraction. "Miles found Drew. Then?"

"You sure you don't want to hear me speculate a bit more about Drew's sex life?"

"Positive."

Tom smiles, soaking in my discomfort. "I have a few more things to add. Really graphic details."

"Please don't."

He smiles but shifts back to his story. "Miles called me from a show. Drew was in this band. Dangerous Noise. And he told me to get the fuck up to the bay. He knew we'd be a million times better than Dangerous Noise or than any of the half-assed bands I was in at the moment."

"Is Drew really that good?"

"Yeah. Gives him lots of latitude to make my life difficult."

My brother, the diva. I can see it. He's always been really insistent about doing things his way or not at all. "Is he ever more trouble than he's worth?"

"Occasionally. In the pre-Kara days, all the time. Don't have to tell you that he's uptight."

I nod. Uptight is a Denton family tradition.

"Mostly, he just... he doesn't know what it's like to go without. Pete and I..." His expression hardens.

I'm not sure what he's going through, what he's thinking, but I have to do something to comfort him. I offer my hand.

He takes it without looking and squeezes. "Haven't gone hungry in a long time, and I'm not keen on remembering how much it fucking sucks. Fame isn't forever. Gotta capitalize on it now." He looks at me. "You want to call me a sellout too?"

"Depends on whether you were shilling for Coke or Pepsi."

He laughs. "I like you, kid."

I pull my hand away. "I like you too." Too much. But that isn't what we're doing. "It's been a while since I've had a guy friend. I've mostly avoided being alone with guys since my ex."

"That would make it hard to get laid."

"I haven't tried."

"Of course not." He looks me up and down. "If you applied yourself, you'd be taking home a different guy every night. With all due respect and platonic intention, you're smoking hot."

"I'm not smoking hot."

"Fishing for compliments is just as unbecoming as lying."

"I'm not fishing. I'm pretty. Cute even. But I'm not hot. My shoulders are too broad—"

"Your shoulders are hot."

"My boobs are too small."

His gaze goes straight to my chest. "In that getup, sure." He reaches for the zipper of my hoodie. "You mind?"

"No, it's fine."

He unzips slowly, slides the hoodie off my shoulders. His fingertips linger on the backs of my hands. Then they're gone and he's tying the hoodie around his chest like some preppy kid on his way to SAT classes.

"You look ridiculous," I say.

"Gotta tone down my sex appeal if I'm gonna be your wingman. Don't want guys to feel like they can't complete."

They can't. And judging by the confident smile on Tom's face, I'm pretty sure he knows it.

He brings his hands to the bottom of my tank top. He looks down at me as if to ask
okay?
I nod
sure
and he adjusts the top for maximum cleavage potential.

He stares at my chest. "Small, maybe, but very nice." His fingertips brush against my tattoo. "And this is fucking sexy."

My cheeks flush. Sense. I need to regain it. "I'm not saying I'm unattractive. Just not hot. I'm cute. Like your friend's little sister."

"You are my friend's little sister."

"You know what I mean."

Tom's eyes go to my chest. "Smaller breasts are more responsive."

I'm tempted to ask how he knows this, but the answer is probably experience with hundreds of pairs of breasts. That's hundreds of mental images I can do without.

"You're judging again."

"I'm not."

"It's science. All women have the same amount of nerves, give or take. The smaller the breast, the more concentrated the nerves."

"Educational."

"Plus you have nice tits."

My cheeks flush. "How do you know?"

"That see through tank top you were wearing to torture me. Worked you know. I was fucking—"

"Think you're crossing the line."

"See." He takes a step backwards. "Look how good we are at this platonic friendship thing."

The band finishes their set with a bow.

Tom points me to a brown haired man in a leather jacket. "What about him?"

"He's fine."

"Fine? He's better than fine. He's got a lip ring."

"And?"

"Try it. You'll like it." Tom nudges me towards the man.

"I don't think so."

He shakes his head. "Okay. We'll do this together."

Tom takes my hand and leads me to Mr. Lip Ring and his friend Polo Shirt.

"Hey." Tom presents me. "Have you met my friend, Willow?"

Mr. Lip Ring and Polo Shirt look at me for a hot second. But I'm not what interests them. Tom is. They stare at him with disbelief.

"Holy shit, Tom Steele. You're a legend." Mr. Lip Ring grabs his cell phone and throws his arm around Tom. "You mind?"

Tom catches himself in an eye-roll. "Yeah. Sure." Despite the irritation in his voice, he entertains their picture fest for a solid sixty seconds. He turns back to me. "Willow, here. She's looking for a good time. Either of you want to take her home?"

Subtlety is not one of Tom's strengths. My cheeks are burning. I step backwards.

"You sound like a fucking pimp," I mutter.

"Too much?" He looks at the guys. "What do you guys think? Too much?"

They laugh nervously, utterly star struck.

"Not at all," one says.

"You're amazing." The other turns red.

At least he's as embarrassed as I am. I back away slowly and turn my attention to the stage. Much to my chagrin, there's a roadie breaking down the instruments. No sign another band is set to perform.

Tom takes my hand. "Let's go backstage."

The nervous guys offer a dozen different goodbyes.

"I think they would have preferred to take you home," I say.

"Can you blame them?"

Not in the least.

***

T
he backstage area is the size of a walk in closet. There's a couch on one wall, a table of booze on the other. A dozen people mill around, including the purple-haired Matthew. He waves Tom over to the couch.

"Where the fuck have you been the last few years?" Matthew asks.

"World domination." Tom leans over and whispers something.

I make eye contact with Matthew. "Please tell me he's not trying to sell you on fucking me."

He laughs. "Tom, I'm gay."

"Shit. Since when?" Tom asks.

"Since always. Where did you think me and Trent went off too after practice?"

"Trent too? Fuck. No wonder he wanted to go to the beach all summer. Probably getting his jollies checking me out in my speedo." Tom nudges his friend. "You had illicit thoughts about me, didn't you?"

Matthew blushes.

I lose interest in their banter. It's a lot more fun picturing Tom in a speedo. The weather is set to get hot as hell. He's the type of guy who's game for anything. I'm sure I can convince him to get in a pool at some hotel. Maybe even to skinny dip.

"Hey, kid." Tom nudges me. "If you're gonna think dirty thoughts, think them about some hottie. There's plenty of hotties here." He looks to Matthew for confirmation.

Matthew nods. He motions to a shorthaired guy in a sweater vest. "Heard he's on the rebound."

"There. Go." Tom nudges me towards Sweater Vest. "Now or I'll have to get involved."

Please, no. Tom is trying to be helpful but I do not want him involved. "Okay. Fine." It won't kill me to have a conversation with the guy. He's wearing a sweater vest. He's got to be harmless.

I bump into him as if by accident. "Oh, sorry."

"No problem," he murmurs.

His posture shifts as he turns to me. He takes his time checking me out then moves closer.

He's interested.

He's interested, and he's cute.

Why won't my body respond to that?

"I'm Willow," I say.

He looks down at me, checking me out. "You with the band?"

"Just a friend." I take a long look at Sweater Vest. My body refuses to find him attractive. Oh well. No sense in being rude to the guy. "You?"

"Friend of a friend." He looks down my tank top. "You need a ride home or anything? My roommate is out of town this weekend."

Okay. Sweater Vest doesn't waste any time. Better to get this over with before he gets the wrong idea. "No thank you. I came with someone."

I glance at Tom. He's watching intently, but the expression on his face is unreadable. When our gazes meet, he nods
go
but I can't bring myself to take the suggestion.

My body refuses to cooperate. It screams at me
I ask for Tom and you give me this? Are you even trying?

Forget it. I nod to the couch. "Nice to meet you. Excuse me." I shift past Sweater Vest and take a seat. This flirting thing is overrated. I'll have to find some other way to get over Tom.

Sweater Vest plops next to me. His arm finds its way around my shoulder. Tom is still watching. Not proud. Not excited by my progress. But...

No.

He's jealous.

The devil on my shoulder urges me to use Sweater Vest's interest to my advantage.
A girl has to take what she wants. Make Tom jealous. What's the harm? This guy is thinking of you as a piece of ass. He doesn't give a fuck about you.

Sweater Vest shifts closer.

He leans in to whisper in my ear. "I'd like to kiss you."

My stomach clenches. No sign my body is interested in his. "Maybe later."

"How about now?"

Tom is staring, glaring even.

Make him jealous. Worst-case scenario, you have a bad kiss. It's possible Sweater Vest is a great kisser. That your body really will want his. You should give him a shot.

I look back at him. "Just a peck, okay?"

He nods. "Sure."

My eyes close. Bam. His lips press against mine. Nothing. Not even a whisper of electricity.

That's a peck. I pull back but Sweater Vest isn't relenting. He squeezes my shoulders. Then one hand shifts to my chest.

I go numb. This is how it starts. Sometimes it's just a kiss. Just a touch. But sometimes it's more. Worse. Sometimes it doesn't stop.

My hands. Where are they? I wiggle my fingers. There. That's something. It takes forever to find the movement in my arms but I get it. I push him gently.

Nothing.

I push hard.

He backs off, his expression irritated.

And then there are hands around his collar. The weight shifts as he's pulled off the couch. By someone.

By Tom.

Tom throws the guy against the wall so hard it shakes. "What the fuck was that, asshole?"

"Nothing."

"Get out of here before I make you regret that."

The guy stares back at Tom. "I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"You have three seconds left."

The guy doesn't move.

"Two."

Nothing.

"One."

T
om doesn't hit Sweater Vest. Not yet. He stares until Sweater Vest is cowering.

"She said she wanted to kiss me. How am I supposed to know she's a tease?" Sweater Vest looks at the floor.

Wrong thing to say.

Tom pulls the guy closer and slams him against the wall again. For good measure I guess. My mind races, urging me to jump in, to stop this, but my body refuses to move. I try to talk myself down. This isn't Drew and Bradley. Tom is stronger, bigger, infinitely more tenacious. Sweater Vest doesn't have a chance.

That doesn't stop fear from seizing my throat. I open my mouth to say
let's get out of here, now. Let someone else deal with this asshole
. Nothing comes. Air will barely make into or out of my lungs. Words are a lost cause.

"A tease? That's the best fucking excuse you can come up with?"

"She was into it."

"I'm gonna enjoy making you bleed." Tom pulls his arm back, ready to punch the guy.

"I didn't know she was your girl."

"You're not helping your case, asshole."

There's a thud as Tom's fist makes contact with the guy's face. The room goes silent. My thoughts go silent. The only thing I can hear is my heart pounding at the speed of light. Tom is going to kill that guy, and then he'll get arrested and go to jail. I can't live with that.

My mouth refuses to cooperate. Okay. Talk is cheap. Action is better. Let's do this, legs. Just stand up and walk out of here.

Nothing.

I'm frozen.

My stomach clenches with fear. My eyelids press together. I can't watch.

Thud. Another hit. Horrible mental images fill my brain. Blood and bruises and broken bones. I force myself to open my eyes.

Tom has the guy pinned to the wall with one hand. The other is curled into a fist. He's looking at me, studying me.

He makes eye contact. "You okay, kid?"

I open my mouth to respond. The sound that comes out is in no way comprehensible.

Tom looks back to Sweater Vest. "You're lucky I care more about her as much as I do." He grabs Sweater Vest by the collar and tosses him to the ground.

The asshole falls with a heavy thud.

Every single ounce of attention in the room is on us. The crowd parts as Tom steps towards me. He leans down and scoops me into his arms then nods to his purple-haired friend. They share one of those
no, you kick his ass
guy looks of understanding.