Page 389 of Rock Me All Night
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Apretty twenty-something woman paws at Tom's shoulder. She follows his gaze to me and scowls. Does he know any women who talk or does he only hang out with silent scowlers?
Tom nods a hello. He introduces us. "Anna, this is my friend Willow."
"Nice to meet you." She stares daggers at me, then flips her long, purple-red hair over her shoulders. She whispers something in Tom's ear.
He chuckles. "Not today, honey."
"Why not?" She draws a circle on his exposed forearm. "Don't you want to?"
The look on her face is desperate and hungry. So she wants to fuck him. Channel Alanis Morissette and go down on him... during the feature.
I shake my head. Hard to blame her, but I'm not going to watch them negotiate what they are and aren't doing.
Anger dances in my stomach. So much for Tom laying off any sexual activity until he's at full power. He might as well make her come during the film. The movie is packed with gasps and the pounding of flesh on flesh. It will be hard to notice any extra noise.
My cheeks are burning. "Enjoythe show." I push past Tom and his floozy of the night. It's not nice thinking such vile things about a perfectly innocent woman, but I don't have it in me to think anything else.
I buy my ticket and hide out in the bathroom. Light bounces off the white tile floors and the stark white walls. I wash my hands for the hell of it then practice scrunching paper towels into tiny little balls and tossing them into the trashcan.
Tom's on a date. Or with a particularly grabby friend. Maybe that's why he has no sense of boundaries—he's surrounded by women who don't bother to ask before they touch.
Not that he crossed a line.
Not that I wanted him to stop touching me.
I attempt to pep talk the girl in the mirror staring back at me. "Put up or shut up, Wil. Go for him or get over it. If you want the man, tell him thisfriendsthing isn't working out."
She stares back at me, confused and lost. I'm Hazel Alexander's assistant photographer. This is a damn opportunity. Nothing is going to ruin that for me. Certainly not how badly I want Tom.
I buy a box of chocolate covered raisins at the concession stand and make my way inside the theater. The lights are still on. There's a guy in front doing trivia for swag. T-shirts and DVDs and all that.
Tom's date is easy to find. Her burgundy hair matches the seats. She's pretty. Really pretty. And curvy. I feel even more like a little girl next to her.
Any hint of confidence fades away. My stomach is a mess of acid. I pop a handful of candy in my mouth to chase away the bitter taste. Chewy, sweet, delicious.
The girl runs her hand through Tom's hair, and the bitter taste is back.
There's no way I'll enjoyFight Clubwith this in front of me. I clear my throat as I walk past Tom and his date and take an aisle seat three rows up.
I try my hand at trivia but I haven't got a clue what any of the answers are. Oh, well. The die-hard fans will appreciate the prizes more than I would.
The emcee announces five minutes to show time and walks out of the theater.
I play a game on my phone to keep my mind occupied. Someone comes up to my aisle and points to the seat next to mine.
There are two-dozen empty seats here. Why pick this one? Not my issue. Maybe the guy is hot, and I'll be the one making Tom jealous. Anything is possible. I pull my knees into my chest so the jean-clad man can pass.
He takes the seat next to mine. I keep my eyes on my phone, doing my best to ignore him. There's something familiar about his presence. He smells good. He has strong hands. Exposed forearms. And a tattoo on his—
Fuck.
That's Tom. He's sitting next to me,sansdate.
"We had different ideas about what we'd do during the flick." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
"You really cock-blocked yourself with that piercing, didn't you?"
