Page 29 of A Little Broken

Give me five. I’ll put it under the usual name.

Me

Thanks.

Then I shove my phone back into my pocket, the light turns green, and we’re off.

Tatum doesn’t askif I got a room. She doesn’t ask why I got one, either. Nah, the girl’s smarter than that, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. How she has me wrapped around her little finger, the same way she was wrapped around mine at the restaurant. Despite being a rockstar, I don’t normally do this. Invite a girl on stage. Buy her dinner. Ask her about herself. Book a hotel room. I’m more of a where’s-an-empty-closet kind of guy. It’s a little messed up, but it is what it is. So, this? This is throwing me off, but I’m too interested to back down now. Not unless she tells me to.

Tatum’s standing by the elevator. Her long black hair a tousled mess from the helmet and the ride over here. She’s still wearing my jacket. It’s left open and reaches past the hem of her skirt. The sleeves go well past her fingertips, falling in loose folds by her bent elbows as she chews on the edge of her thumb. Gorgeous.Nervous. And gorgeous.

“Will that be all?” the receptionist asks.

I turn back to the front desk, finish checking in, and take the key to my room before leading us to the penthouse. It’s quiet. Usually, my nights are filled with after parties, random faces, and alcohol. This is…different.

“I need to call Rory,” Tatum murmurs. “Make sure she got to the hotel safely.” She pulls out her phone, her hips swaying with every step before she opens the sliding glass door and closes it behind her.

She didn’t ask permission. Not that she needed to, but still. Most girls I’ve been with would’ve said, “Are you okay if I call Rory?” as if my opinion—or my time—matters. Tatum? Tatum doesn’t give a flying fuck, and it’s a hot as hell.

Resting her elbows on the balcony railing, she brings the phone to her ear, though I can’t hear what’s said thanks to the tall glass door separating us. Her long legs tease me from beneath her skirt, her silhouette acting like gasoline as the moon shines in front of her, highlighting her curves.

Fucking gorgeous.

When she hangs up a minute later, I grab a cigarette from my pocket and stride toward her on the balcony. The city lights are far below, though I’m too distracted by the girl beside me to care. I balance the cigarette between my lips and flick the lighter, my body craving the nicotine almost as much as it craves the woman beside me. As it flares to life, Tatum stares at the orange flame, her lips pursing when I take a deep drag.

There’s that look again. I wondered if I’d imagined it when we left the concert, but here it is. Front and center.

“There a problem?” I ask.

“You smoke.”

“You already knew that.” I rest my elbows on the railing but keep my neck craned toward her. “And if my memory serves me right, I thought you said you snuck out to have a smoke before the show.”

“And I thought you were less gullible than that,” she counters.

“Ah, so not a smoker. Just a liar.” I tap my temple. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

She sighs, her grip clenching on the wrought iron. “You should put it out.”

“Why? ‘Cause it’ll kill me?” I ask, sucking in another plume of smoke, then blowing it out. “Only the good die young, Birthday Girl.”

Something flashes in her pretty eyes, though it’s gone in an instant. Reaching up, she plucks the cigarette from my mouth, brings it behind her back, and presses her chest to me.

“Someone’s feisty,” I note.

“I don’t like the taste of smoke.”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the restaurant.”

“That was after gumandfood,” she points out. “Now, are you going to make me ask for a kiss or are you smarter than that?”

The girl doesn’t have to tell me twice. My mouth lifts, and I pull her into me, kissing her neck. When the bud slips from her fingers and falls to the ground, I snuff it out with my shoe while my hands trail down her spine.

There it is again. Her unapologetic, hit-you-over-the-head-with-it remark. I like it. How she isn’t afraid to speak her mind or tell me what she wants. It’s rare. Most girls think if they voice what they want, they’re dulling the fantasy or some shit, but they’re wrong. And let’s be honest. Most guys are idiots. If they aren’t explicitly told what to do, they won’t do it. If I had to guess, Tatum’s learned firsthand, and instead of bitching about it, she became more blunt. It’s a major turn-on.

As I trail my lips along her skin, Tatum turns her head, stealing a kiss. It’s almost…hesitant. Nothing like before.

My brows dip, and I pull away. “You good?”

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