Page 44 of Full Tilt
Rainwater drips from the end of my nose when I spin around and come face-to-face with the last person I wanted—or needed—to see.
“Why are you here? Don’t you have more episodes ofHell’s Kitchento record?” I reply in a trembling tone. I can feel the chill as rain saturates my clothes, but it’s the spike in adrenaline that leaves my hands shaking.
Beneath the hood of his black raincoat, I can barely make out his smirk, although I know it’s there.
Tommy takes a few steps toward me until we’re only a few feet away. Practice is just wrapping up, so we’re the only ones in the parking lot.
“I like what you did there …” Tommy edges even closer, and it’s then I can see the darkness in his eyes. Water cascades off the edge of his hood as he leans forward, demanding that I look at him. “But I’m not the hellion around here.”
Grumbling, I finally locate my car key and hit Unlock.
I spin back around and yank my driver’s door open, only for a large palm to wrap around the top of the doorframe, holding it in place.
I ignore him and throw my training bag on the back seat.
“Move out of the way, or I’ll slam the door shut on your fingers,” I say, dumping myself in the driver’s seat and pulling on the door with all my strength.
It doesn’t budge, and Tommy’s drenched and ominous figure continues to loom over me.
“You’re getting my car wet!” I raise my voice, trying to slam my door shut once more.
Tommy inspects my white Ford Focus, which has seen better days. “How long did you save up for this beauty?”
Slowly, I close my eyes, hoping if I will it hard enough, then he’ll be gone when I finally reopen them.
“I don’t know why you’re here or how you even found out I had practice today, but please, just go.”
Still holding my door in one strong palm, Tommy reaches down and pulls on a lever next to my steering wheel. My hood pops up.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He just shrugs, water now collecting at the ends of his thick, dark lashes. “I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to go.” I try the door again, hoping I can catch him off guard.
Tommy only grips the door tighter this time, chuckling to himself as he does. “You can’t drive anywhere with your hood open; it’s dangerous.”
As I drop my forehead to my steering wheel, I let my frustration get the better of me. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even want to look at you.”
Suddenly, my driver’s door closes, quickly followed by a small thud and then the passenger door opening as Tommy climbs inside. With my head down and forehead still pressed against the steering wheel, I swivel my eyes to look at him. He’s so tall that his head brushes the ceiling.
He pushes back his hood, and I narrow my gaze at him.
“You’re dripping everywhere.”
Tommy’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think about referencing yesterday because I never want to think—let alone talk—about it ever again.”
Like none of this comes as a surprise to him, he points to my steering wheel. “Crank the engine.”
I drop my shoulders and stare out of the windshield, only to notice my hood is now back in place. That must’ve been what he was doing when I was groaning against my steering wheel.
Feeling like resistance is futile, I start the engine, and Madonna’s “Holiday”immediately comes from the speakers.
To my surprise, Tommy doesn’t berate me for my taste in music as he buckles himself in and I do the same.
“Where are we going?” I ask, turning down the volume.
