Page 324 of Rock Me All Night
To his happy trail.
Lower.
Holy shit.
He's pierced. There's a barbell stud going through the top to the bottom of his tip.
My jaw drops. "Is that a..."
"Prince Albert?"
It's impossible to speak. I nod.
"It's an apadravya. Like a Prince Albert but on both sides."
"Oh."
"It's new," he says. "Real new, actually. I'm out of commission for another three weeks. But I still have a mouth and two hands, so hop on the bed."
Me... on the bed... with Tom.
He steps closer. "You're not Alice, are you?"
Finally, I collect some hint of my senses. "No, I'm sorry." I press my back against the wall. Nerves collect in my stomach. Not fear but embarrassment. "Isn't this Drew's room?"
"We switched." His eyes fix on mine. "How did you get a key?"
It is an honest mistake. That's a relief. How did I get this key? At the desk. Asking for Bruce Wayne. It's hard to think given the circumstances. I say the first thing that makes it to my lips. "You're naked."
He laughs. "You're observant."
I can't drag my gaze away from his piercing. "Didn't that hurt?"
"Not as much as you'd think."
"What's the point?"
He studies my expression. "If you don't like it stop staring."
I press my eyelids together. "Sorry."
"You want to tell me what you're doing in my hotel room?"
"I thought this was Drew's room."
Somehow, I manage to look him in the eyes. That's definitely Tom. We've never met—I was in boarding school when the band was forming—but I’ve seen him in music videos and on the cover ofRolling Stone.
Tom pulls a towel around his waist. That makes it easier to think.
"I'm Drew's sister. Willow." I dig into my purse and pull out my driver's license. "Here. See."
Tom glances at the ID then returns it. "You shoulda told me before I let you gawk." He goes to the bed, digs through an open suitcase, and pulls on a pair of boxers. "I don't mind. I'm not shy. But your brother will kill me if he finds out you saw me naked."
There's a tattoo of a lion on his chest. Thick black lines. The pattern continues down his arm, all the way to his wrist.
"I know I'm sexy as hell, but you should probably stop staring."
God, he's right. I'm being all kinds of rude. There's no excuse. "I'm sorry. It's just—"
