I rub a hand over my hair. “I know. I fucked up.”
“I wouldn’t say you fucked up. Lyla made an unwise move in the bar. But, man, come on, I know how it is on the road.”
“Yeah, but things are different. I’m trying to be different.”
Jake lowers his voice. “I know. But you don’t have to be.”
“Yeah, I do.”
There’s an unwritten silence between us.
I break it. “We need to do damage control on the video.”
“Yeah, we do. Leave it to me. I’ll get Stuart and Zane on it.” Stuart is Jake’s PA, and a fucking expert at cleaning up our messes. “I don’t know how much I can do since it’s already out there, but we’ll do something.”
“I just don’t want anything to harm Lyla’s rep.”
“No press is bad press,” Jake says.
“Yeah, I just don’t think it’s the right time for things with her to go public. If she’s linked to me, they might start digging and find out who her mom and dad are.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees.
I think we’re about to wrap up the conversation when he says, “So…you like her.”
“Lyla?”
“Yeah, Lyla.”
“You know I do. I was trying to get in her panties earlier this year, remember?”
“I remember. And I also remember that she shot you down—twice. But I’m not talking about fucking here, Tom. I mean, do you like her? ’Cause it seems she likes you now.”
I shrug. I don’t care that Jake has just said that Lyla likes me.
Why would I? I’m a guy, and guys don’t care about shit like that.
I just want to fuck her, multiple times, because she’s hot, and she has the best pair of tits I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, I mean, she’s cool. She’s…I don’t know. I guess she’s different than other chicks.”
“Did you just admit that you actually like a woman, not just because you want to bang her?”
Shit.
“No.” I grimace.
“Yeah, you fucking did. And just so you know, I’m recording this call, so I have the evidence.”
“Fuck off. What are you? Twelve?” Still, I can’t help but smile.
He laughs. “So, should I prepare myself for more headlines then?”
That’s Jake’s way of asking if I’m going to pursue her.
I scratch my cheek. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m her manager. We’re living on a bus together.”
“So, that means you’re gonna bang her. Okay, well, so you know, I have no issues with you doing her.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad.”
He laughs. “Just don’t screw it up. I don’t want my most promising act to up and leave the label because of you.”
“Thanks for the confidence.” I scowl.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. You know what I mean. And don’t go getting yourself hurt either.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Did you actually just say that to me? You’re not talking to Denny right now, you know.”
“Fuck yeah.” He chuckles. “I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”
There’s another weird silence between us.
Then, he says, “Tom, did we just have a fucking heart-to-heart?”
I rub a hand over the stubble on my chin. “Dunno, man. Maybe…yeah.”
“Wanna talk about guy stuff? Pretend like it never happened.”
“So, the Mets really fucking suck at the moment.”
We stay on the phone for a few more minutes, talking baseball and cleansing our guy souls. Then, we finish up. I have to talk to Lyla. She needs to know about that video online—if she doesn’t already.
I pull open the door and step into the hall.
I can see Lyla sitting close to Cale. Their heads are bent close together as they’re talking.
I feel a strange tightening in my chest.
Then, Cale puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him.
My blood starts to boil. My hands are balling into fists at my side.
And I have a vision of striding over there, ripping his arm off of her, and then pummeling him until I drive the message home.
It’s weird and irrational.
I know she said there’s nothing sexual between them, and I know she wouldn’t lie to me. But every time I turn around, he’s got his hands on her. Now, I’m starting to think that maybe he wants her, and she just can’t see it.
And what annoys me the most is the fact that it annoys me.
I really want to tear his goddamn hands off when I see him touching her.
The only thing stopping me is the fact that Jake will have a problem if I tear off Vintage’s bass player’s hands. That, and I don’t want to scare the shit out of Lyla.
Of course I have a temper. I’ve gotten into fuckloads of fights over the years but never over a woman—well, not over one who I actually cared about. But, yeah, I’ve gotten into a few brawls over me borrowing another guy’s woman for the night, without his consent.
I’ve just never cared about seeing another man’s hands on a woman I’ve fucked—let alone, one I’ve only kissed once. I’ve gotten off plenty of times from watching a woman I’ve just screwed getting screwed by some other guy while I move on to the next.
But the thought of another man touching Lyla makes me want to punch a hole in the nearest wall.