Page 200 of Rock Me All Night
"You volunteering to fill in for Miles?" Tom asks. "Fuck knows I don't ever need to hear Pete screaming or groaning again."
Drew glares. "We don't need the fucking vocals to practice."
Apparently, Tom agrees. He shakes his head as if to saywhateverand hightails it to his drum kit.
The instruments are all set up in the same area. It's not quite a stage. It's more like a large section of the room.
Still, I scoot back until I'm pressed up against the wall. There's a good ten, fifteen feet between me and the guys in the band, but it still feels awfully close. It still feels like Drew can see inside me.
Then again, it always does.
Drew looks at Pete as if to saye tu, brute?Pete must want to fight. Pete and Tom are always like this. But, then, Drew did mention that they're brothers. Foster brothers, no blood relation, but they grew up together.
They certainly fight like brothers.
"You two want to pull this shit, fine. I'll leave," Drew says.
Pete pulls his phone from his pocket at stares at it. His face flashes with concern. "You want to indulge Tom's bullshit, go ahead. I'm busy." He taps a reply.
"I can't help it I'm the only one with a fucking mind for business." Tom snaps his fingers at me.
I fight a scowl. I'm playing along here. "Don't snap at me. I'm not a puppy."
Tom pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses that on the ground. "Let me ask you something, Kara."
"Yes?"
"You go to Club Blue?"
It's one of my favorites, actually. Good music. Decent drink prices. Plenty of room on the dance floor. "I do."
"You like dancing," he says. "And I like dancing."
Oh God.
Tom makes eye contact. He winks. "We could go dancing together."
Pete laughs. "Are you really hitting on his girlfriend in front of him?"
Cue the death glare from Drew. It doesn't scare Pete or Tom, but it's nice to know the idea of dating me is still just that disgusting.
"She's not his girlfriend," Tom says. "And it would not be a date. Just two sweaty people moving their bodies together." He looks back to Drew. "What do you say—do I have your permission?"
"Are you here to play or are you here to talk?" Drew glares.
"The guitar prince is so temperamental." Tom looks at me. "Doesn't sound like a no."
"Leave her alone." Drew huffs.
He's about fifteen seconds from protective caveman mode. Tom looks at me, raising his eyebrows as if to suggest success. I'm not so sure. It's easy to make Drew protective. It doesn't do anything to convince the man I'm anything more than a friend.
Tom grabs his drumsticks and stretches his arms in the air. Done with flirting for now. It's funny. Tom is clearly attractive. He's handsome. He's ripped—more than Drew even. Yes, he's controlling and bossy and slutty as all hell. He's also funny and competent and totally take-charge.
He's the kind of guy who used to make my heart race and my breath hitch.
But, right now I'm staring at his defined, tattooed chest and... nothing. My heart is plodding along at some sixty beats a minute. My breath is slow and even. There isn't a hint of heat in my body. In fact, the thought of dancing with Tom makes me utterly queasy.
My gaze shifts to Drew. His guitar strap is tugging his t-shirt down his shoulders. Mmm. That chest piece is begging for my fingertips. My tongue.
