Taming the Storm
Page 31
But what’s made things even harder for me is seeing a different side to the Tom Carter I thought I knew.
He’s—dare I say it?—sweet. He’s still pervy, but he’s kind.
I like him—the Tom who resides inside the womanizing, hardened, bad-boy exterior.
Like tonight, I’m watching him play video games with the guys.
He is fun, like he always is, but he is also relaxed. No pretense, no guard up, no being the Tom Carter. He is just Tom.
Seeing him like this softens me to him even more than I already was.
After a night of the guys playing video games while I watch in between reading on my Kindle and making food for them—nothing out of the ordinary—we all decide to turn in early, and catch up on much needed rest since we didn’t have a show tonight.
As it has been every night, after I climb into bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, while I think of Tom and sex.
And sex with Tom.
Restless, I decide to get up and make myself a hot chocolate instead of trying to masturbate the ache away since that is clearly not working.
I’m hoping some cocoa will help me sleep.
If not, I’m hitting sleeping tablets next.
Quietly, I crack open my door, and I immediately hear the soft sounds of a guitar playing.
Seems I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
I tiptoe out into the hall, and when I pass the bunks, I find Tom’s curtain is the only one open. My stomach flutters at the knowledge that he’s out there, playing the guitar.
I stop just before the entryway to the living room area and watch from my vantage point. Tom is sitting on the sofa, one leg bent up, with Van’s acoustic guitar in his hands. He’s strumming the chords and softly singing the words to Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River.”
I feel ignorant of the fact that I didn’t even know he played anything outside of the bass—let alone, that he could sing.
He sounds…amazing.
And he looks…beautiful.
Oh God.
The way he sings. Eyes pressed close. Feeling the lyrics. Like on some level, he understands the pain of betrayal.
I stay where I am, watching, not wanting to encroach and break the song.
Partway through a line, one that really hits home for me, Tom’s eyes flick open. His gaze hits straight onto mine.
I wonder how long he’s known that I’ve been standing here.
His eyes on mine while he’s singing, it feels like he’s singing to me. Something coils around my chest, squeezing my heart tightly.
I expect him to stop singing, but he doesn’t. He just holds my eyes and continues. So, I decide to join in. I take the seat before him, and I sing the lyrics that are etched into my mind.
I tortured myself with this song for months after I caught Dex and Chad together.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” I say as he strums the last chord. I prop my feet up onto the little coffee table between us.
He puts the guitar down beside him on the sofa. “I’m a man of many talents.”
I bet he is. I think of the way his fingers were moving over the strings. Plus, he has had a lot of practice with his hands—
I scratch the thought of Tom and other women from my mind.
“I love that song.” I might torture myself with it, but it is a beautiful tune.
“I know.”
I give him a look of confusion. “How do you know?”
He puts his leg down. The sight of his bare feet does strange things to me, heating parts of me that have not seen any action for quite a while.
“Well, for starters, it’s set as your ringtone, and you sing it a lot.”
“I do?” He noticed that?
Nodding, he rubs his thumb along his lower lip. It’s a ridiculously sexy movement.
“Yeah.”
“It drives you nuts?” I smile, knowing it drives Cale mad.
He tilts his head to the side. A cheeky grin appears on his lips. “A lot of things you do drive me nuts, Firecracker. But listening to you sing isn’t one of them.”
A flush starts at my chest and ends at my virginia. I cross my legs, linking them at the ankles.
“You should perform it onstage sometime,” he says.
What?
“You think?” Unconvinced, I lift a brow.
“I definitely think.”
I fold my arms. “Okay, I’ll sing it live, if you play the melody for me.”
He lets out a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“You got a little stage fright there, Carter?”
“Nice try. I’m not afraid of shit, and you know it. This one is all yours. Your show, your tour. You don’t need me onstage with you. But this song, you singing it…the fans will love it. I’ll teach Van the melody, and he can accompany you. That’s all you’re getting from me.”
“Spoilsport.” I stick my tongue out at him and get to my feet.
“I wouldn’t stick your tongue out at me unless you intend to use it in the right way.”
Pausing, I turn back to him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Just the way you like me.” He stands, towering over me.
I feel very much like a girl in this moment.
My hands go to my hips. His eyes follow the movement.
“I never said I liked you.”
“You never said you didn’t.”
“Dick.”
“Dick? Yes, I have one.” He leans in close. “And it’s fucking huge.”
I push a hand against his chest. Sparks ignite at the connection.
He’s—dare I say it?—sweet. He’s still pervy, but he’s kind.
I like him—the Tom who resides inside the womanizing, hardened, bad-boy exterior.
Like tonight, I’m watching him play video games with the guys.
He is fun, like he always is, but he is also relaxed. No pretense, no guard up, no being the Tom Carter. He is just Tom.
Seeing him like this softens me to him even more than I already was.
After a night of the guys playing video games while I watch in between reading on my Kindle and making food for them—nothing out of the ordinary—we all decide to turn in early, and catch up on much needed rest since we didn’t have a show tonight.
As it has been every night, after I climb into bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, while I think of Tom and sex.
And sex with Tom.
Restless, I decide to get up and make myself a hot chocolate instead of trying to masturbate the ache away since that is clearly not working.
I’m hoping some cocoa will help me sleep.
If not, I’m hitting sleeping tablets next.
Quietly, I crack open my door, and I immediately hear the soft sounds of a guitar playing.
Seems I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
I tiptoe out into the hall, and when I pass the bunks, I find Tom’s curtain is the only one open. My stomach flutters at the knowledge that he’s out there, playing the guitar.
I stop just before the entryway to the living room area and watch from my vantage point. Tom is sitting on the sofa, one leg bent up, with Van’s acoustic guitar in his hands. He’s strumming the chords and softly singing the words to Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River.”
I feel ignorant of the fact that I didn’t even know he played anything outside of the bass—let alone, that he could sing.
He sounds…amazing.
And he looks…beautiful.
Oh God.
The way he sings. Eyes pressed close. Feeling the lyrics. Like on some level, he understands the pain of betrayal.
I stay where I am, watching, not wanting to encroach and break the song.
Partway through a line, one that really hits home for me, Tom’s eyes flick open. His gaze hits straight onto mine.
I wonder how long he’s known that I’ve been standing here.
His eyes on mine while he’s singing, it feels like he’s singing to me. Something coils around my chest, squeezing my heart tightly.
I expect him to stop singing, but he doesn’t. He just holds my eyes and continues. So, I decide to join in. I take the seat before him, and I sing the lyrics that are etched into my mind.
I tortured myself with this song for months after I caught Dex and Chad together.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” I say as he strums the last chord. I prop my feet up onto the little coffee table between us.
He puts the guitar down beside him on the sofa. “I’m a man of many talents.”
I bet he is. I think of the way his fingers were moving over the strings. Plus, he has had a lot of practice with his hands—
I scratch the thought of Tom and other women from my mind.
“I love that song.” I might torture myself with it, but it is a beautiful tune.
“I know.”
I give him a look of confusion. “How do you know?”
He puts his leg down. The sight of his bare feet does strange things to me, heating parts of me that have not seen any action for quite a while.
“Well, for starters, it’s set as your ringtone, and you sing it a lot.”
“I do?” He noticed that?
Nodding, he rubs his thumb along his lower lip. It’s a ridiculously sexy movement.
“Yeah.”
“It drives you nuts?” I smile, knowing it drives Cale mad.
He tilts his head to the side. A cheeky grin appears on his lips. “A lot of things you do drive me nuts, Firecracker. But listening to you sing isn’t one of them.”
A flush starts at my chest and ends at my virginia. I cross my legs, linking them at the ankles.
“You should perform it onstage sometime,” he says.
What?
“You think?” Unconvinced, I lift a brow.
“I definitely think.”
I fold my arms. “Okay, I’ll sing it live, if you play the melody for me.”
He lets out a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“You got a little stage fright there, Carter?”
“Nice try. I’m not afraid of shit, and you know it. This one is all yours. Your show, your tour. You don’t need me onstage with you. But this song, you singing it…the fans will love it. I’ll teach Van the melody, and he can accompany you. That’s all you’re getting from me.”
“Spoilsport.” I stick my tongue out at him and get to my feet.
“I wouldn’t stick your tongue out at me unless you intend to use it in the right way.”
Pausing, I turn back to him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Just the way you like me.” He stands, towering over me.
I feel very much like a girl in this moment.
My hands go to my hips. His eyes follow the movement.
“I never said I liked you.”
“You never said you didn’t.”
“Dick.”
“Dick? Yes, I have one.” He leans in close. “And it’s fucking huge.”
I push a hand against his chest. Sparks ignite at the connection.
