Taming the Storm (The Storm 3)

He had no idea I was there, and he was, flirting with her.

Seeing him with her—his hand resting on her shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair—hurt like a bitch.

But I told myself that it was okay. I wanted him to leave me alone.

He’s doing what I asked.

So, it’s good.

Except, it doesn’t feel good. I don’t want this anymore.

I want it to go back to the way it was.

I want Tom back.

The only thing keeping me sane during these past five days is the attention I’ve been getting from Robbi Kraft.

After his stalker call, I received a sweet text from him the next day. I texted back. We’ve been texting a few times a day since then.

He’s sweet.

He doesn’t give me hot fire in my belly like Tom does.

But fire is dangerous. Fire gets you burned.

I don’t really see this thing with Robbi going anywhere. I’m still not in the market for anyone. I’m just enjoying Robbi’s attention.

Tom might have temporarily broken the straps on my chastity belt, but I padlocked that fucker back up, and I’m not ready to take it off for anyone else.

It’s just nice to have something to take my mind off Tom.

I am looking forward to getting to know Robbi a little better, though. The geeky fan in me is excited to talk music with him.

Tonight, we’re in Pittsburgh, and Pittsburgh is my non-date drink with Robbi.

I’m onstage, singing my anger out before finishing up our set.

I haven’t seen Robbi yet. The Turnstiles played earlier, and then another band went on between our sets, so I’m guessing I’ll see him when I go offstage.

Pressing my lips to the mic, I sing the last line of “Better Than You.”

A few days ago, Tom decided that it should be our closing song. The single has been doing really well on the airwaves, and the number of downloads are looking great. He said if it keeps going this way, we stand to chart well, which is awesome.

I just wish I felt awesome.

When Sonny’s sticks hit the drums for the last time tonight, I yell into the mic, “Thank you, Pittsburgh! You’ve been amazing!”

With a wave of my hand, I exit the stage, easing the strap of my guitar over my head. The moment I’m offstage, I hand my guitar to Jon, one of our roadies, with a, “Thanks.”

I come down the steps and see Tom waiting for us, like he always does. He looks deliciously hot in low-slung jeans and a vintage David Bowie, Live Santa Monica ’72 T-shirt.

Unfortunately, Ashlee is here and standing close beside him.

She’s wearing a tight, short red dress that displays all her assets. She looks good.

But I don’t feel inferior tonight because I know I look really good. Shannon gave me the full works earlier since I told her I would be meeting Robbi for a drink tonight, and she took that to mean this is a date. No matter how many times I told her it isn’t, she wasn’t listening, so she went to town on me. Which I’m glad for now.

My lips are red, nails painted to match, and I’m wearing a kick-ass dress. It’s short and black with full sleeves, but the best part about this dress is the cut to the navel. This is a no-bra, boobs-taped-in-place, shit-hot dress. And to round it off, I’m wearing a pair of high-heeled black suede ankle boots.

I look good—no, I look hot, and my girls look amazing.

Head up, I stick my best assets out, the assets I know Tom is fixated on, and I strut my way over to them.

“Hey.” I smile.

Ashlee looks me up and down. “Shannon asked me to give you your purse.” She holds it out to me.

So much for pleasantries. “Thanks,” I say, taking it from her.

She gives me a fake smile.

Tom aside, I really dislike this girl.

“Great set as always,” Tom says, eyes on my face. “Your vocals were on fire tonight.” Then, he smiles his polite smile at me. He doesn’t even look at my boobs.

Well, he might as well have just kicked me in my virginia.

I have to contain the scream of frustration crawling up my throat. Even more so when I see the smug look on Ashlee’s face.

Pissed off and feeling stupid for trying to get his attention with my breasts, I give him a sharp nod. “Cool. Well, I’ll be at the bar if anyone wants me.”

I spin on my stiletto heels, not even bothering to wait for Cale, Sonny, and Van, and I stomp away.

I’m vexed, and I’m pretty sure it’s showing in every step I take.

Not that Tom will notice. He’ll be too busy looking at Ashlee’s fake tits.

Meow.

Reaching the bar, I slam my credit card down and drop my purse next to it. “Shot of tequila, and keep them coming.”

The cute bartender raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. He takes my card and puts it by the cash register. Then, he puts a shot glass on the bar and pours the tequila.

“I thought you weren’t letting anyone buy you a drink, except for me?” Robbi’s smooth voice comes in my ear.

I turn to him.

Jesus, he looks hotter than I remember. At the sight of Robbi, some of the Tom tension in my body starts to head for the door marked Exit.

I smile at Robbi, my eyes making a quick journey over his body. I might be on a man hiatus, but I’m not blind. Robbi is lean and toned, but he isn’t ripped like Tom.

I really like the way his torn black jeans hang on his trim hips. The fitted black T-shirt he’s wearing has a skull surrounded by flames on it with Hellraiser written underneath. It shows off his defined chest and arms perfectly.