All Things Pretty (Pretty #3)(26)
Author: M. Leighton

Later, I order another pizza and head over to my house to grab a bite before I have to take Tommi back to Tonin. It pisses me off that I can’t stop her. Or help her. I could if she’d let me. Of course, then I’d lose my in with Tonin. Dammit.

I’m in a shitty mood when I park in Tommi’s driveway at seven thirty. I’m in an even shittier mood when I see her come out her front door. Her hair pours down her back in a golden wave and her lips match her wine-colored fingernails. She’s wearing skin tight black leather pants, a slinky silver top that drops off one shoulder and heels that make her even taller. She’s dressed in clothes that he likes, getting ready to spend an evening being his toy, and I have to take her.

I open the door for her, taking her hand to help her into the truck. I don’t say anything and neither does she, until I’m in the driver’s seat. Before I start the truck, I let out an aggravated breath and say to her, “You look amazing.”

Her “thank you” is barely audible. Her mood seems to mirror mine.

“I just wish I was taking you somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

I think she says, “I do, too,” but I can’t be sure. Her voice is too soft, too…somber.

Other than road noise, the only sound on the way across town is the radio. In the parking garage, we sit in the truck, in the quiet, after I cut the motor. I see her reach for the door handle and I take a deep breath, ready to get out and walk her up. But she pauses. After a few seconds, I hear her low voice again.

“Even if it hurts?”

I glance over at her, at the lost, trapped look on her face. God if I could just take her away from this!

But I can’t.

Not yet.

I try to grin, but I’m sure it’s a piss-poor expression. “Especially if it hurts.”

On our way up in the elevator, I think to myself that I never thought the sentiment that I’ve had for so long would ever feel as bitter as it does right now.

It hurts Tommi, but it pisses me off. And makes me sick. And makes me hurt for her.

I watch the lighted floor numbers tick by in the elevator, moving us ever closer to what neither of us wants. It’s with utter helplessness that I roll to my side and pin Tommi against the wall, smashing my mouth to hers, as if I can mark her so deeply, so thoroughly that she won’t feel anything else for the rest of the night.

“Nothing but me,” I tell her breathlessly, my lips still less than an inch from hers. “Feel nothing but me. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” comes her broken voice.

I back away just in time for the doors to swing open. I watch Tommi step out, but I don’t follow. She stops in the foyer, a couple of feet from me, unmoving until the elevator doors close and take me back downstairs. And she’s left all alone. All alone with a monster.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE- TOMMI

Another week goes by. I’m with Sig more now. In some unspoken agreement, he drives me where I need to go. And where I have to go, too. He never just drops me off at Lance’s anymore. He walks me up, our eyes lingering as long as we dare let them as we wait for the elevator doors to close. He never stays in the penthouse, though. I wouldn’t want him to either. No matter what happens, I want him separated from it. I want to be able to look him in his beautiful chocolate eyes when I leave, not hide from them in shame.

He’s almost always waiting for me in the truck when I reach the garage. No matter the time of day or how long it’s been since I left him, he’s there. Wordlessly, he helps me into the passenger side, closes the door and walks back around to get behind the wheel. Before we can even pull out in the street, he reaches between us and takes my hand, holding it until he has to let it go.

Every day it gets harder to leave him, to watch him drive away or walk away, or watch the elevator doors close between us. And today, it’s nearly unbearable.

My stomach turns as I take the first wobbly step toward the living room where Lance undoubtedly waits. This has never been easy. Harder than anyone in the world would ever imagine, in fact. But today, it’s never been worse. Sig is making everything worse. Better in many ways, which just makes the bad parts…well, worse.

My legs don’t want to carry me any farther. The thought of anyone else’s hands on me, anyone else’s mouth on me is nearly unbearable. And it has to be because of Sig. His touch, his kiss. He has made what I have to do take an emotional back seat to what he makes me feel, to what I want to do. And that’s not good. I knew he would mean disaster for me. I can’t afford to let anyone or anything get me off course. I’m the only chance Travis has.

“You alright, Tommi?” Sammy, one of the alternate guys who watches the penthouse elevator, asks.

A light bulb goes off. My mind quickly spins a lie that will give me a brief reprieve, the perfect excuse to get me out of here and to go back home where I can clear my head and get my priorities back in order. “Actually, I’m not sure. I don’t feel very well.”

He rushes forward and helps me into one of the two exquisite Queen Ann chairs that frame the elevator. I drop my head down between my knees allowing the blood that has drained away from my brain to return.

I hear murmuring and then, less than a minute later, I feel a hand on my back. “What’s the matter?” Lance asks in his nasally voice.

I raise my head and meet his beady blue eyes, wondering how I can go on like this–disgusted with the man I need, increasingly attracted to the man I need to stay away from.

The answer is simple. I can’t. I can’t go on like this if Sig is in the picture. It’s only going to get harder. Therefore, I need to figure out how to get him out of the way so I can do what I have to do.

“I’m not feeling very well.”

Lance takes a step back, hurriedly, like I just told him I have Ebola. “You don’t look very good.”

I laugh humorlessly. “Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nod, grateful for the visceral reaction that caused me to pale and become nauseous. It inadvertently added authenticity to my claim.

“Maybe I should just go back home for the day.” I know my suggestion will be met with enthusiastic agreement. Lance only wants the beautiful, trophy toy, not someone he has to care about or care for.

“That’s probably best.”

“Maybe I’ll be feeling better for the party tonight…”

“Don’t push it. I can close a deal without your charming presence, I think. Just this once.”