Of course he’s staying in the best suite at the hotel.
He slides the key card in and opens the door. “After you.”
I’m surprised at his gentlemanly way, but I don’t let it show. I walk past him and into his suite. It’s gorgeous, and the views of the city are breathtaking.
“You want something to drink?” he asks.
Stealing the view from my eyes, I drop my purse onto the coffee table and turn to find Tom already at the minibar. Knowing how extortionately priced minibar drinks are and how mad I am with Tom right now, I decide to order the priciest thing in there.
I move in beside him, leaving a safe gap between us. I lean down and peer into the fridge. I run my eyes over the price list. Great. The most expensive thing is a miniature bottle of Thomas Segal whiskey.
I don’t like whiskey, but I still say, “I’ll have the Segal and a carton of pistachios.”
I’ll force the effing drink down and cover the taste with the nuts.
Yes, I’m that petty.
Tom’s body stiffens beside me. “No. I’ll buy you anything you want out of here but not that.”
“The nuts?” I frown.
“No. Segal. I won’t buy you that.”
I tilt my head around, so I can see his face. “Seriously? After the shit you pulled tonight, you’re denying me a drink?”
“I’m not denying you anything. I just won’t buy you that.” His voice is stony.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell. Apparently, I’m still in the mood to fight with him. My claws are out and raring to go.
“Lyla,” he says my name like a plea, his fingers holding the bridge of his nose. “Just drop it, please. I’ll buy you anything you want but not that.” His voice sounds different and weird.
He looks at me. His eyes are pleading. He looks sad. All the anger in me dissipates.
I don’t get why buying me that drink makes him sad.
Curiosity aside, I don’t push, but decide to drop it. “Actually, I could do with a clear head. I’ll just have a Diet Coke.”
His body relaxes. I walk away from him, but I hear him sigh softly, leaving me even more confused as to just exactly what that was.
I sit down on the sofa and gaze out at the twinkling lights of the city around us.
Tom brings over two cans of Coke and a container of pistachios for me. He puts them on the table and takes the seat beside me.
I lean forward, pop open my can, and take a drink. My throat is a little dry from all the yelling at Tom tonight. In this moment, it occurs to me that I’ve never yelled at someone as much as I do with Tom. No one has ever gotten under my skin like he does—sexually or angrily. And I don’t really quite know what it means.
Putting the can down, I twist in my seat to look at him. “So, are you gonna explain the caveman behavior?”
He turns to face me, bringing his leg up onto the sofa, which presses it nicely up against my thigh. Every particle in my body hones in on the one part of me that his body is touching.
“I’m not sorry.”
That brings my attention right back to him.
“I’d do the same thing again, if presented with the same situation. The guy’s an idiot.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “You barely know him.”
“I know enough.”
“I liked him, but you’ve gone and ruined that now.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell him that I was only interested in Robbi as a friend.
Okay, I do. It’s because I’d have to explain why I kissed Robbi. And that would mean telling Tom that I did it as a knee jerk, because I was jealous that he was kissing Ashlee.
His eyes narrow. “I thought you were off men. So, why aren’t you off him? Why kiss him?”
Shit. How do I answer this?
“I…” My mouth goes dry. “I wasn’t on him,” I say slowly. I pick imaginary lint off my dress, so I can avoid his heavy stare. “I don’t know why I kissed him.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Tom grabs my hand in his and runs the pad of his thumb across the palm of my hand. “You wanted to make me jealous.”
“No!” I snatch my hand back.
He leans forward, getting in my space. “Why can’t you just tell the fucking truth? Why can’t you just admit that you want me and go with it?”
Because I’m a coward.
I stare at him, seeing the frustration etched like lines in his face. But then, in the depths of his eyes, I see a flicker of pain.
Am I hurting him? I don’t want to hurt him.
Lip trembling, I say, “Fine. You want the truth. It’s because you scare me. This”—I gesture between us—“whatever it is, feels intense.” My voice quiets. “And intense scares the shit out of me.”
Something crosses his brow, and surprisingly, he gets to his feet and puts his back to me.
It leaves me feeling wide open and vulnerable.
“You want to know why I scared Robbi off?” His voice is low. He turns to look at me.
“Of course I do.”
“Two reasons. When I tell you the first one, know that I don’t want to hurt you in any way. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you.”
My stomach starts to free-fall.
“But you need to know the truth, so you stay away from that asshole.” He rubs his forehead.
I sit up a little straighter, my stomach forming little balls of tension. I’m worried about what he’s going to say.