Page 363 of Rock Me All Night
Something about it tickles. I laugh. "Stop it."
"Looks better now."
I reach for his hair and mess what I can grab. "That looks better."
"Oh, you're after a war, huh?" He reaches for my hair.
I duck and reach back for him. He's at least five or six inches taller than I am, and he's fast. I jump at him, reaching high, laughing as my fingers dig through his bangs. He reaches back effortlessly sliding his hand through my hair and flipping it in every direction.
"That tickles," I gasp. Then laugh.
He doesn't stop. So I don't stop. Okay. Here goes nothing. I rise to my tiptoes and jump.
Shit. I throw my arms in front of me to catch my fall. But I don't hit the ground. Tom catches me, holding me against his chest.
His arms slide around my waist, holding me up, holding me against him.
God, he smells good.
The room is dead quiet. Everyone is staring at us. We're making a commotion in the cool, peaceful coffee shop. How uncouth. I press my face into Tom's chest in an attempt to hide.
Only my body doesn't get the hiding message. My body gets an entirely different message. Hard muscles under soft cotton. His hand presses into the small of my back. His mouth hovers over my ear.
"You're knocking this whole 'land on a gossip blog' thing outta the park." His voice is light, joking.
"Do what I can."
He shifts, sliding his hand into my back pocket in awe're a couplegesture. He nods to someone. A knowing,yeah I am that guykind of nod.
I motion to the exit.
Tom stays put. "You need your coffee, kid."
"I'll get one somewhere else."
"Promise is a promise." He releases his grip around my waist and moves into the line.
It's even more awkward feeling the stares without him to deflect the attention. That's one good thing about a gorgeous rock star friend. Everyone looks at him.
I slide next to Tom, hanging as close as I can. To deflect the attention. Not because the warmth of his body is totally intoxicating.
He orders two more iced coffees, his black, mine with almond milk. I sweeten my drink with simple syrup and move to the grey street. It's drizzling but I prefer a little mist to a lot of stares.
Tom is a few paces behind. He takes in my expression with an amused smile. "Not big on attention, are you?"
"Not really. I'd rather be behind the camera than in front of it."
His voice drops to a whisper. "Let's go somewhere quiet. Just you and me."
* * *
We pickup lunch at a sandwich shop, find Tom's car around the corner, and drive through clean, tree-lined downtown Portland. Tom navigates the one-way streets expertly. We cross a freeway, and all of a sudden we're done with big buildings and wide streets. We're in a neighborhood on the hill. Rows of perfectly imperfect houses pass by. I snap half a dozen photos, but they come out blurry. We're moving too fast.
It's beautiful here. Even better as we make our way into Washington Park. It's a massive thing, twice the size of Golden Gate Park, and surrounded in tall pine trees. Everywhere I look is a deep shade of green.
We park at the rose garden. Tom slides his arm around my waist. Totally inappropriate for platonic friends, but pointing that out will only lead to him not touching me.
I follow his lead as we make our way down a set of concrete steps. It's still raining but it's light, more of a mist, and the sun is peeking out from behind the grey clouds.
