Taming the Storm

“You’re not?” He actually looks genuinely confused.

Oh my God! He thinks I’m a lesbian because I turned him down all those times. The guy is an egomaniac!

“Jesus, you think I’m a lesbian because I wouldn’t sleep with you?”

“Well, yeah. What other reason could there be?”

I laugh loudly. I can’t help it. This is a real belly-aching laugh. I have to bend over and rest my hands against my thighs just to try to catch my breath.

When I straighten up, a less-than-amused Tom is scowling down at me.

I wipe the tears from my eyes. “God, you’re an egotistical asshole. You ever consider that I wouldn’t sleep with you because you’re not my type?”

He scoffs. “Not possible, darlin’. I’m everyone’s type.”

Like I said, asshole.

I place my hands on my hips. “Sorry, but arrogant muts don’t do it for me.”

He stares at me, stunned. “Did you just call me a…mut?”

“Sounded like it.”

“So, you’re calling me a dog?”

I stare daggers at him. “No, asshat. Mut actually stands for man slut.” I make sure to punctuate the words to drive my point home.

A smile breaks Tom’s face. Then, he throws his head back and roars out a laugh. It’s a deep, manly sound.

And it hits me in all the right places.

I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing.

His eyes, filled with humor, meet mine. “You’re really fucking something, you know?”

“I’m awesome.” I shrug. “But not a lesbian.” Why am I hammering that home?

He nods his head, grinning. “Yeah, I’m getting that.” He scratches his cheek. “But now, I’m trying to figure out how you managed to resist me…and why.” He tilts his head to the side with a challenging look in his eyes.

“You don’t need to figure it out. I just don’t like you.”

“Like I said, not possible.

“Are you for real?”

His lips curl up. “I’m so real that it’s unreal, baby.”

I laugh again. “Now, who’s something else?”

He gives me a boyish smile, shrugging. It’s charming and endears me to him a little.

There’s a moment between us. It’s the kind of moment when the air is clearing, and everything is settling.

“So, we’re good here?” Tom asks, gesturing between us.

Relaxing, I smile. “We’re good.”

“Cool. Let’s make a deal. No more fighting or shitty comments—”

“Or sexual comments,” I add.

“Or sexual comments,” he agrees, albeit a little reluctantly. “We’ll be professional at all times. Deal?” He holds his large hand out to me.

“Dealio.” I grin up at him as I slide my hand into his.

The shock of electricity I feel at his touch nearly knocks me on my ass.

He feels it, too. I know he does from the slack in his jaw and surprise in his eyes.

His grip tightens around my hand. Then, his eyes flicker to my mouth.

I lick my lips, feeling suddenly parched. I can feel him moving toward me.

Or is that me moving toward him?

Then, it hits me. I think he’s about to kiss me.

Shit.

I snatch my hand from his. “We should get back.” I step back.

“Yeah, we should.” He’s staring over my head.

I turn and start walking back to the bus.

What the hell was that?

I’ve never felt anything like that before from touching a man. Maybe this is what no sex is doing to my body. It goes into a mad frenzy at the first sign of the Y chromosome.

I’ve just reached the bus when I hear Tom say from behind me, “Firecracker, I meant to tell you that I fucking love the T-shirt.”

My eyes snap down to my Fraggle Rock T-shirt. It’s old, a little short in the hem, and snug across my bust, but I love it. I love cartoons. I collect cartoon T-shirts. I might be in a rock band, but I never said I was cool. I dressed for comfort today. I never expected to see Tom, not that it matters how I dress around him. I don’t care what he thinks about me, not one iota.

And Firecracker? Seriously?

I turn around. “Don’t call me that.”

He smiles. “What? Firecracker?”

“Yeah. I’ve just added another rule to our deal—no pet names. Pet names are a deal-breaker.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in reprimand. “No can do, Firecracker. Because, really, there are no deal-breakers here. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” He winks and then jogs past me, going up the stairs and onto the bus.

Ever have that feeling you’ve been played?

Yep, I totally feel played right now, but I have no clue as to what the game is.

Confused, and frankly a little pissed off, I stomp my way back up the steps just as Henry, one of our drivers, gets into the driver’s seat.

“Everyone on board?” Henry asks me.

“Yeah,” I answer.

Henry starts up the engine. The bus rumbles to life beneath my feet as the doors hiss and close behind me.

“Y’all set for this?” Henry asks with a smile.

I look over to where Tom is standing, talking with the guys.

My stomach twists in two entirely confusing, different knots. “As I’ll ever be,” I sigh.

Late Afternoon—Tour Bus, LA