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.

I take Tom's hand and shake. "Deal."

* * *

Brad Pitt fails me.

He's sexy as hell, all sweaty and ripped. Even battered and bruised, the man is one hot piece of ass.

But he has nothing on Tom.

Nothing on the way my body, as Tom so aptly put it, lights up when his fingers brush my wrist as we wrestle over the armrest. On the way my stomach flutters when I go for the soda and grab Tom's thigh instead. On the tension that builds in my core when Tom goes for the chocolate covered raisins and gets the edge of my skirt.

It's innocent.

An accident.

Nothing.

But there's no convincing my body. By the time the credits roll, I'm antsy and flushed. What possessed me to wear a skirt? This would be much less painful in a pair of jeans. Very thick jeans with leggings underneath them. And a pair of long johns for extra padding between his fingers and my skin.

The lights turn on. "Excuse me. Ladies room." I practically jump out of my seat.

The bathroom is the same clean, white place. I stare at the girl in the mirror and try to think up another pep talk. Tom's intentions are clear. He's trying. Platonic friends? I'm there. I'm capable. I'm not melting under the weight of my desire.

A few splashes of cool water do little to dampen the heat building inside me. At least I have a convenient excuse. I'm desperately turned on by shirtless Brad Pitt and his macho need to beat people to a pulp. Yes, there's nothing I adore more than a man who turns to violence to soothe the pain in his soul.

In the lobby, Tom talks to another pretty twenty-something. This one has dark hair and an intense expression in her eyes. She's more polite than a lot of his admirers. She doesn't paw at him or run her hands over his gorgeous exposed forearms. She doesn't trace the lines of his tattoo or stare at the hint of taut stomach between the bottom of his t-shirt and the top of his low-rise skinny jeans.

He spots me and says goodbye to the fan. That cues the grabbing. He smiles politely but there's irritation in his eyes. He hides it well. Better than I did working at the camera shop. The girl pulls out her cell to take a selfie with Tom.

He mugs it up for the camera. But still, she grabs at him.

Okay. I'll cut in. I cross to Tom, slide my arm around his waist and look at him with fuck me eyes. "Baby, I've been waiting for you." I extend my hand to the girl. "Willow Wayne. Tom's girlfriend."

Her jaw drops. "But you always say that there's no sense in limiting yourself to one woman..."

"He always said a lot of things." I run my hand through Tom's hair the way the redhead did.

He leans into my touch, his lips curling into an expression of pleasure. Real or is he faking for the sake of the annoying fan girl? Hard to tell, but I like his expression. I drag my fingertips through his hair, down his neck, over his ears.

His eyes flutter closed. He practically purrs. So his ears are the spot. I make a mental note. There's a perfect space for it next to his cock is pierced under things you shouldn't know about your platonic friends.

"Yeah." He slides his arm around my waist, playing it up for the girls' sake. "Willow's great. We're madly in love. And it's about time we go back to the hotel and fuck until she comes so many times she begs me to stop."

She's some mix of star struck and dumbstruck. She nods for a moment, then her eyes fill with envy.

Tom presses his lips against my neck. For me or for the girl? Hard to say. Either way, my body is desperate for him to continue.