Torn to Pieces (The Boys of DownCrash #2) (new adult contemporary romance / rockstar romance) (5 page)

Holy.  Fuck.

He rolled the shirt into a ball and held it tight.

“There.  Better?”

“Much,” I whispered.

My eyes were in shock.  My body tortured.

The lines of Tatum’s body were amazing.  The toned muscles connected with perfection, rippling and running in each other.  I knew this wasn’t just from drumming.  Tatum really took care of himself and his body.  The angled lines of muscle that cut into his jeans made me bite my lip.  I wanted to see where those lines went.  I wanted to follow those lines with my finger, no,
my tongue
.

I followed the ripped body up and noticed two really sexy things.

First, Tatum didn’t have a single tattoo on him.  I don’t know why that was sexy to me because I love tattoos.  Maybe because I expected him to have tattoos.  Tripp had tattoos... and Tatum was in a band...

But nope, no ink.

The second thing that caught my eyes - which should have been the first and only thing - was that Tatum had his left nipple pierced.  The same side where he had his lip ring.  When I looked up at his lip and started to compare both piercings at the same time, it drove my body wild.  For the first time in as long as I cared to remember, I was so turned on I could feel my panties pulling tighter against my body, absorbing the growing wetness. 

“Everything good?” Tatum asked.

I forced myself to stop
eye fucking
him and look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay.  What were you going to say... you wanted me to promise you something.”

“Yeah, I do.  Promise me that if you need anything you’ll call or text me.”

“Why?”

I sounded bitter but whatever.  I had to stand there and endure an epic match between my heart, mind, and between my legs, all wanting something different.

“Why?  Because I don’t want you to ever feel alone.  I don’t want you to walk the streets at night in the dark.  And I don’t want some asshole like Danny to ever make you feel less than you really are.  Is that good enough, Maggie?”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “It’s just... it doesn’t matter I guess.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, it matters to me.”

Tatum flicked his tongue at his lip ring which caused me to imagine flicking my tongue at his nipple ring. 

Fuck, I was so turned on...

Tatum nodded and started to walk away.  I took the liberty of enjoying the sight of his rippling back and the nicest ass I’d ever seen on a guy until Tatum turned the corner and was gone.  I told myself all it would take was a few seconds of running to catch up to him.  Jump on his back and casually slide my hand down over his nipple ring to see what it felt like.  He could take me back to Un and we could...

“No,” I whispered.

I clutched the drumsticks and walked around the driver’s side of my car.  I wasted no time leaving, the lingering emotions thanks to both Danny and Tatum were almost too much to take in. 

On my way home I looked at the drumsticks about ten times.

Tatum purposely went out of his way to give me drumsticks.  All because some guy basically stole the one he wanted to throw to me. 

I parked the car, noticing Scarlett wasn’t home.  I knew she wouldn’t be home for the rest of the night.  She’d stumble in sometime in the late morning, looking like a sexy mess, with that hopeless look in her eyes that Tripp gave her.

Funny how it wasn’t that long ago our roles were reversed.  Scarlett would come home and find the apartment empty while I was out. 

I grabbed the drumsticks and started to study them.

Why two?

I got my answer a few seconds later. 

One of the drumsticks was clean, minus the flaws from Tatum playing drums with it.  The other stick had something written on it, in pen.

A phone number.

Tatum’s phone number.

~5~

I tossed and turned half the night, each time waking and looking at the drumstick on my nightstand.  Of course it was the one with Tatum’s phone number on it.  I still couldn’t believe he went out of his way like that to give me his phone number... and to replace the drumstick stolen from me.  That drumstick was on my desk.  I was more concerned about the drumstick with the phone number on it.  I seriously thought about sleeping with the drumstick but then feared the pathetic embarrassment of actually waking to myself hugging a drumstick, fantasizing it was Tatum’s strong body against mine.

I reached out at one point and ran my finger along the number, feeling the small ripples caused by the pen digging into the wood. 

What if I called him right then?

What if I texted him...?

My phone was right next to the drumstick.

But what would I say?  How would I even begin a conversation with Tatum?  It was bad enough he probably figured me to be some easy girl, but now he had the power over me because he saved me from Danny.  That meant he could either pull out the
you owe me one
card or he could let the damsel in distress thing create something that really wasn’t there.  But once he was done saving me or worse yet, found out I couldn’t actually be saved all the way, then what?

I finally rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, begging I wouldn’t wake up again.  At that point, I didn’t even want to dream.  Not even about Tatum.  Not about his sexy lip ring.  Not about his chiseled body.  And certainly not about his tempting nipple ring.

No.  No way...

When I opened my eyes again, I rolled over and figured it would have only twenty minutes since my mental argument about dreaming about Tatum.  It was almost ten in the morning.  I rubbed my eyes and checked the clock again.

Yup.  Ten in the morning.

I rolled to my back and stared at the white ceiling.  My mind instantly went back to Tatum.  I kept seeing him punching Danny in the face, over and over.  That killer strength, that commanding voice.  It pinched my nerves in a way that I wasn’t sure if I actually liked it or not.  It definitely touched on some memories that I thought were long dead.  I did feel bad for Danny though.  To be that desperate to try and force a girl like that.  Whatever demons had their hold on him had it good.  I tried to picture him walking around campus with a bruised face and puffy nose.  I wondered what he would tell people.  It wouldn’t be the truth, that’s for sure. 

When I got out of bed I looked at the drumstick.  I touched it and then tossed it into my bed.  My heart hurt a little as I realized that may be the closest I’d ever to having Tatum in my bed. 

I left my room and opened Scarlett’s door.

The room spotless.

The bed made.

I sighed and hung my head.  I sort of missed having her around so much.  She used to always be home.  Always studying.  Always thinking.  Always so innocent.  And because of me, dragging her to a DownCrash show, she now had wild nights and romantic days with Tripp.

Lucky girl, right?

I didn’t make it two steps past the hallway before I saw Scarlett sitting at the table with a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, her eyes red and puffy.

She’d been crying.

I of course thought about Tripp.  What else would make Scarlett cry?  When Scarlett looked at me, she started shaking her head.  That’s when the real panic set in.  I knew enough about Tripp to know he had a rough life in the beginning and sometimes he let that nip at his heels.  I pictured myself explaining to Scarlett that Tripp was sexy but was he worth everything?  Were rockstars really ever going to calm down and stop their ways?  But I knew better than to consider approaching it that way.  Not with what Scarlett had given up for Tripp.

I paused, looking at the coffee, then back at Scarlett.

“Can I grab a cup quick?” I asked in a whisper.

“You’re going to need it,” Scarlett said.  “Maybe even something stronger in it.”

I thought about it.  We did have a bottle of vodka in the freezer.  But, no, no way.  Not this early in the morning.  Not with my head still feeling dazed after everything that happened last night. 

Tatum defending me.  The blood on his shirt.  The chiseled cuts of muscle on his body.  The drumsticks.  His phone number.

Fuck.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat across from Scarlett.  We stared at each other for a few seconds before she sighed and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” I finally asked. 

“Everything and nothing,” Scarlett said.  “I didn’t think this... this would be so hard.”

Scarlett straightened her back and looked around.  She pointed to the wall separating the kitchen and living room.  It wasn’t a thick wall and during our time of living in the apartment, we insisted on trying different things from the small piece of wall.

“Remember when we had the frame there?” Scarlett asked. 

The spot remained empty for now but there was a small black dot from the hole the nail made. 

“I remember all the frames,” I said.

“No, the one I stepped on.”

I smiled.  “Yeah, I remember.  It was the middle of the night and you heard something.”

“I thought someone broke in,” Scarlett said.  She finally smiled too, easing the tension in the apartment.  “And I stepped on it... they were like the smallest frames ever...”

“That’s your luck,” I said.

“No.  My style is to step on a two inch round picture frame.  My luck is stepping on it at the perfect angle that a piece of the glass cut into my foot bad enough that we had to go to the hospital.”

“I was there,” I said.  “You screamed like you were being murdered.”

“That’s what it felt like.”

“Two stitches later, you were fine.”

“Remember that doctor?  He was killer hot.”

“I got to look at his ass while he stitched you.”

“Closest to a threesome we’ve ever had,” Scarlett teased.

“Hey, you were the super good girl for how long now?  If it wasn’t for Tripp...”

My smile faded as Scarlett’s eyes widened and filled with tears.

Shit. What had I done?

“Sorry,” I whispered.  “I didn’t mean to say his name... if something bad happened...”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Scarlett said. 

She put a hand on the table, palm up.  I looked at it and then put my hand to hers.  She gently moved our fingertips, tickling each other.  It was something stupid we did once in a great while, seeing who could outlast the other. 

“Then what is it?” I asked.  “You look upset.  You’re freaking me out.  I have to tell about last night...
with Tatum
...”

I smiled, my body warming over.  Just the mention of his name destroyed me like that.  Scarlett nodded and smiled an honest smile.

She knew already.

Of course she knew.

Tatum had gone back to Un, backstage with DownCrash, where he belonged and where Scarlett had been.

“He told you?” I asked, my cheeks ready to burn red.

“He said you two had a run in,” Scarlett said.  “I didn’t ask but Tripp and Logan busted on him.  He came in shirtless...”

“Yeah,” I said.  “That’s because, uh, there was...”

“He showed up in blood,” Scarlett said.  “He beat someone up for you, didn’t he?”

I nodded.  “Not really for me but to protect me.  You know Danny...
something
... baseball player.”

“Tall douche bag?” Scarlett asked.

“That’s him.  He tried to grope me. He was drunk, not that it’s an excuse, but Tatum came to give me a drumstick and one thing led to another...”

“He punched him,” Scarlett said.  “Wow.  He likes to punch people, doesn’t he?”

There was a little pain in Scarlett’s face and it brought back the night Tatum had no choice but to punch Andy in the face. 

“Danny took off,” I said.  “But he fell towards Tatum and got blood on his shirt.  No big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal to me,” Scarlett said.  “Tatum wouldn’t shut up about you.  He begged me to text you all night, wanting me to make sure you were home safe.  Then he kept looking at his phone, looking upset each time he did.”

I glanced over my shoulder towards my bedroom.  I licked my lips.  I thought about the drumstick on the nightstand.  Tatum had carved his phone number into the drumstick but did he really expect me to call him or text him that fast?  What was I supposed to do... rush home and thank him again over the phone?  If that was the case, I could have stayed at the show and properly thanked him.