Still Into You (12 page)

With her eyes locked on him, Mia hurriedly crossed the busy street, lucky that there was a break in traffic. He was moving further and further away. Damn it! Why the hell did she decide to wear heels today? She wouldn’t be able to reach him.

“Tom!” she called out. For a second, she worried that she was wrong, that it wasn’t him. How embarrassing would that be? But then he turned around. Her stomach started doing flips. It was him! Still as handsome as ever too. She stared at him, frozen in space, that awkward, shy girl she always was around him making her reappearance.

Wonderful,
she thought sarcastically.

She had to force her mind to get her body moving again, to get her feet to move like they were supposed to. Talking would be an issue. She’d worry about that after she got her limbs working.

“Mia?”

She nodded her head, unable to locate her voice.
Stupid brain.
The cap shaded his eyes, but she knew what she’d see—eyes the color of a cloudless sky. His smile lifted in mischievous glee. Mia didn’t realize how much she had missed him until that moment. He closed the distance between them and surprised her by wrapping her in his embrace.

“Oh my God! It
is
you! Miss Bigtime!”

She chuckled and squeezed him tight, careful not to spill her hot coffee on him. He pushed her away and stared at her, a smile lighting up his handsome face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a junkie,” she said, holding up her coffee cup. “I was on my way to the studio when the need for coffee overpowered the need to be on time.”

“Do you have some time? My shop is just down the road . . .”

“Of course I do!” She’d just have to deal with Marty’s anger because she was not missing this chance to be with an old friend.

Tom was a furniture designer-slash-carpenter. He did it all. Her bandmates and Marc all had multiple pieces of his amazing furniture in their homes—tables, leather chairs, sofas. She definitely wanted to see more of the furniture—and of Tom.

With a sinful glint in his eyes, his smile grew. He grabbed her hand and gave her a slight tug before leading her to his shop. She waited while he opened a set of double doors, leading them down a short hallway to the main display room. It was open and airy. The walls were a stark white plaster lined with beautiful photos of his creations in their new homes. The floor was a high-polished concrete that reminded Mia of a gray-veined white marble. Some of his pieces were on raised platforms. Others, like the chairs and sofas, were set up like a café setting, his tables part of the display.

Tom excused himself to check his messages in his office and she used that time to study the pictures on the wall. She looked at each picture as she made her way to his office at the back of the building, yearning to have some of the pieces in her house. She had always wanted him to make her some furniture, but she’d been in that crappy studio apartment at the time. Now she had the space and could afford it. And what better time than now to redecorate.

Crossing the room, Mia stood in the doorway of his very masculine office. It was much darker than the display room. The far wall and the one to the right were the same brick as the outside. The other walls were painted a deep mahogany. The floors were old knotted pine stained a deep chocolate brown. The entire space looked lived in. His designs were scattered on the long, L-shaped table on the left side of the room.

She lifted her eyes from the space to Tom. He stood behind a monstrous, wood desk, jotting down something in a spiral notebook as he listened to his voice mail.

He hung up the phone and smiled at her. “Sorry about that.”

She returned his smile, surprised at how easy it came. “It’s okay. I do have a question for you, though.”

“What?”

“Well . . . what would you say to building me some furniture?”

“What kind of furniture?” he asked and she couldn’t mistake the interest in his voice.

So she rattled off her wish list. “A new dining room set. A new bed. Actually, the entire bedroom really—tables, chairs. Ooh, and a big, sweet ass desk!”

“You serious?”

Mia turned from the table she was looking at and started towards him. “Very. My house is sparse and I’ve always wanted to have something made by you. Now that I’m—what did you call me? Miss Bigtime? Anyway, now I can afford this. So, can you do this for me?” she asked, touching his forearm, before raising her head and looking into his eyes, the color of a bright cloudless sky.

There was a time she had a crush on Tom—many moons ago. They shared one kiss at a party—a kiss that had turned her legs to putty. But nothing ever came from that and they’d carried on as friends.

“I can. I’d want to come over and get measurements—especially for the dining room. And I’d like to see what your style is, which will help me with my designs. I think I can come over next Monday, but let me check my calendar first.”

He took her hand and led her further into his office. As he flipped through the calendar on his desk, her stomach did the same. “It looks like I’ve got the afternoon free . . .”

Monday. Four days until he was at her house. She swallowed when she noticed that he expected her to speak.

“Sounds good.”

“Where are you living now?”

“Lincoln Park. Near the zoo.”

“Nice,” he said, his hand still holding hers. “Why don’t you give me your contact info?”

“Oh, of course,” she said and then rattled off her address and her new cell phone number. He wrote them in the book, placed the pen in the spine, and closed it. A smile warmed his face as well as the room. He really did have perfect teeth.

She had an overwhelming desire to kiss him, to lose herself in the physicality she knew he could provide. Her body took over and she started to lean into him, her eyes locked on his. Her heart fluttered erratically when his smile grew bigger. He stepped forward and pulled her almost flush against his body. He leaned his head towards her, his eyes locked on her mouth. With one last look at his fast approaching lips, she closed her eyes, awaiting his kiss.

God, they were really going to kiss again and there was actual freaking music playing like a goddamn movie in her head. Her eyes bolted open.

Music? What?

“Fuck,” she muttered when she realized the music was actually the ring tone she had for all her bandmates. This call equaled trouble.

“Your phone?”

“Yes. I’ve got to get that,” she answered, pulling her phone from her back pocket and walked a few feet away from Tom. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you, brat? I thought we said nine,” Marty roared over the line.

“We did,” she grimaced, feeling bad for being late again. She’d been a bad bandmate lately with all her Ethan drama, her drinking and drug use, and then there was all the press attention following them now.

“So it’s after ten. Where the fuck are you? Obviously not here,” he said, sarcasm rolling like waves at her over the phone.

“I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes.”

That would only be true if she made every green light and averaged at least fifty miles per hour. Marty grumbled something and hung up on her. She returned her cell to her pocket and rubbed her forehead in frustration.

Glancing over at Tom, she explained her situation. “So, I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah . . . I heard Marty yell all the way from over here.”

“I’m impressed that you recognized it was Marty.”

“He’s loud.”

As much as she wanted to continue what was likely to happen, Mia needed to leave or face Marty’s wrath. Because if she touched his lips she would not leave, she’d lose herself in it. And damn, she needed to get lost.

“So, I’ll see you Monday?” she asked as he led her to the exit.

“Count on it. One p.m.”

She rose on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “Bye, Tom,” she said, smiling at him before ducking out of the building and off to face the wrath of Marty.

The next morning, Mia awoke to the blaring sound of her alarm. Quickly silencing the annoying racket, she dropped her head back to her plush pillow. She no longer felt like spinning in happy circles and just wanted to go back to bed. She had stayed up late the night before composing some music for a new song she’d been working on. Remembering the excitement she’d felt to share this with the band, she sat up in bed, pulling her legs in front of her, and noticed all the sheet music spread out on the blankets. Yeah, she probably passed out last night. She’d been tired enough. When she got home yesterday evening, the first thing she did was set her alarm so she wouldn’t be late again. Marty had not been happy when her fifteen minutes turned into almost forty on top of the hour she was already late. He’d laid into her about responsibilities to not just herself, but the band. Guilt trip!

So instead of hiding under the covers, she gathered her lyrics and music and put them in a pile at the end of the bed. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched away the sleep, closing her eyes at the pleasure of her taut muscles. Hopping down, eyes still closed, Mia took a step towards the bathroom. Her foot connected with something solid on the floor, causing her to trip, falling against her chair, her right knee knocking the floor hard.

Crying out in pain, she quickly turned over, taking the pressure off her knee, and discovered she’d tripped over her old acoustic guitar. “Shit!” she exclaimed, rubbing her sore knee. She glared at her guitar before pushing herself up and carefully walking to the bathroom, her eyes darting all around her, on the lookout for more hazards.

She got ready without further incident, grabbed her notebook and her papers, and tossed them into her old backpack. On the way to the studio, she stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks by her house and ordered a Venti-sized coffee as well as a blueberry muffin. She’d need a lot of caffeine to make it through today.

A cloud in the sky couldn’t be found. Mia rolled down the window and let the sun beat down on her while she drove to the studio. She hoped it stayed like this because a run along the lakefront sounded like the perfect ending to her day. It had been awhile since she had done that.

When she arrived, she found that she’d beat Marty to the studio. With a smug smile, she threw her backpack to the floor and plopped down on the worn leather sofa and enjoyed her muffin and coffee while she waited for people to arrive.

About fifteen minutes later, her muffin gone, Marty showed up, a look of surprise on his face. “You’re here?”

“Yup! I’ve got a new song!”

His eyes perked up and he sat down next to her. “Oh, yeah?”

Nodding, she reached for her bag. She rifled through it and pulled out the sheets and handed them to him. As he read, she nervously chatted.

“I don’t have all the lyrics yet, but I’ve got a few verses and a chorus . . .”

“I like what I see. Now it’s time to see if I like what I hear.” Marty got up and crossed the room to the sound lock and into the studio. He grabbed his acoustic guitar and came back. Pulling a chair from the control panel, he sat across from her, strumming his guitar, making a few adjustments until it sounded just right.

“Sing with me,” he ordered and then started playing. Mia listened and counted the notes and then began to sing.

Lyin’ awake

Can’t shake

That’s something’s wrong with you and me

Me and you.

I try to talk

But you must walk

And then we fight with all our might

All our might.

Talk to me

I’m on my knees

Please talk to me, talk to me

Stop pushing me aside

Do you have something to hide?

Deflect my queries

Correct my worries

Ignore everything I’m trying to say

That’s not okay.

She envisioned the acoustic guitar playing, followed by another, then Todd coming in with his beat, then Clark with his bass and Marty with the electric guitar coming in right before the chorus.

Her eyes locked on Marty, watching for a reaction—anything. And then it happened—a smile.

“I like that, brat. A lot.”

She smiled proudly. Creating music with Marty was something she loved to do and when he liked something she wrote, the pleased feeling she got from it was kind of like a high. Mia looked up to him and hated what happened yesterday, how she disappointed him. He was that big brother she idolized and didn’t want to let him down.

They talked through his vision of the song and they were in sync. When the rest of the band arrived, they played the song for them. For the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon, the band worked on that song. And by the time she was ready to leave, the song was really taking shape. Part of her wanted to stay and work on it, but they had been in the studio all week and she was ready for a break.

A good, long run was just what she needed to help her relax. But when Mia arrived home, the paparazzi were loitering outside her house. She continued down the street and made her way to the alley, thankful that no photographers were staked out there.