Losing You (Stars On Fire Book 4) (23 page)

Tom

Love fucking sucks
, Tom thought as he waited for the young teenager to retrieve his pizza. It’d been four weeks since Mia left him and it still fucking hurt. He’d done his best to ignore the pain—with work, going to the bar. But yeah . . . he still missed her.

He knew it wouldn’t go away overnight. Years he’d wanted her. Years he’d waited for his chance.

First Luke Stapleton, then Ethan Christopher.

But then Mia was his. Finally fucking his. It was everything he thought it would be. Everything he wanted. She’d been in his arms, in his bed. He’d loved her and she’d loved him. She had said those words to him, told him she’d liked him since they first met.

He thought . . . God, he had thought that this was it, thought she was the one. He fell victim to the whole soulmate, love crap. He hadn’t thought that it was love crap when he was with her. No—to him, she had been his perfect match. Then she’d told him she still loved Ethan. Tom couldn’t believe it. They loved each other. They were finally meant to be with each other after all this time. But that wouldn’t be happening.

Her forever was Ethan.

Who was Tom’s then?

That put him in a funk. He’d stayed away from his friends—even Lizzie. It wasn’t like that was very hard. She’d been busy with work. Tom knew that was on purpose. After a few weeks of rarely speaking though, he’d had enough. He had to see her because even though he lost his girlfriend, it didn’t mean he should lose his other best friend as well.

So, here he was waiting for this pizza. Beer was already in the truck.

“Order for Tom,” the teenager said.

Thank God!
He needed to get out of here and see his best friend.

Tom let out a relieved breath when he saw her Jeep in the driveway and her light on in her bedroom. He hadn’t called in advance because he hadn’t wanted to give her the opportunity to say no. So when he knocked on her door, he expected her to answer and when she didn’t, he tried the door.

Unlocked.

The thoughts of what could happen to her with an unlocked door didn’t make him happy.

After stepping inside, he glanced around and noticed her briefcase near the foyer table, but no Lizzie. He walked upstairs and opened the bedroom door, stopping when he found her, on the floor in only her underwear, phone in her hand and tears rolling down her cheeks. Tom felt a building desire to kick Marc’s ass for what he’d put Lizzie through.

Putting down the food and beer, Tom went to her and knelt by her side.

“Hey, Bits. Why the tears?”

“Because I’m in a damn funk, Pooh bear,” she said, wiping the remnants of the tears from her eyes. She pushed herself up. “Whatcha got here?” she asked, closing down that subject and opening the pizza box. “Mmm . . . Hawaiian?”

He softly chuckled at her then rose from the floor. “Yep. Hungry?” he asked as she stuffed a small corner in her mouth.

“Yes,” she mumbled, her mouth full of food. A moment later, she spoke again, her mouth sans food. “Let’s bring this out to the balcony,” she said, closing the lid.

He took the pizza from her. “Put on some clothes,” he said with a nod to her half-naked body. “I’ll take this out.”

“Okay.”

Snagging the beer as well, he headed outside and waited for Lizzie. She returned a few minutes later in a tank top and shorts.

Tom popped open the box and Lizzie handed him a beer, and they proceeded to make a serious dent on the pizza . . . and the beer.

With a stuffed belly, Tom leaned back and regarded the stars in the sky, happy that he could be with his best friend without talking about all the negative shit in his life.

“Missed you,” she said, looking out into the blackness that was her yard.

“Missed you too.”

“Sorry I stayed away. I just . . .”

“Were trying to figure things out?” he supplied for her.

She inhaled and sighed, her shoulders moving with her breath. “Pretty much.”

“So, did you?”

“I think so.”

“Is that why I walked in on you crying?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“And . . .” he pushed, wanting an answer.

“I messaged Marc . . . and told him goodbye,” she said, toying with the label on the beer bottle.

“Really?” he asked, surprised at that.

“Time to move on,” she said.

Yeah . . . didn’t he know it. Tom needed to do the same exact thing.

“Need a partner?” he asked because he sure as hell needed help.

A thankful smile touched her mouth. “I do. Thanks, BFF.”

He laughed at her use of that term. “You’re welcome. So . . . whatcha got planned this week?”

“I don’t know but I’ve got tomorrow off . . .”

“Hooky! Let’s go to a baseball game!”

“Sounds like a perfect plan.”

Lizzie got up from her chair. He watched her as she put down her beer and turned towards him. He didn’t move when she sat down on his lap, nor when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Not until she spoke did his arms hold her to him.

“Thanks, Tom. Somehow you knew I needed you tonight.”

With his lips to her hair, he corrected her. “That wasn’t the case . . . I needed
you
tonight.”

Her head fell to his shoulder, and a little, almost silent sigh escaped her lips. “We’ll help each other move on because that’s what best friends do.”

Lizzie

January 13, 2009

The Cubs had one of their best years in such a long time. She and Tom pretty much watched every single game, either at the actual ballpark, at bars, or at home—his or hers. And when she was away on business, she’d make sure to check in on the score. He’d grumble about her interrupting the game, but he’d keep talking to her. The Cubs were healing her best friend and, in turn, healing her.

Lizzie was pretty sure they hadn’t gone a day without either seeing or talking to each other since the night Tom had found her crying a river in her bedroom.

Depending on the Cubs’ schedule, they’d go out to dinner or stay in and get drunk. If they did that, the guest wound up spending the night. At first, it’d been nice . . . innocent, snuggling up with Tom, feeling safe with him.

Until tonight.

Baseball was over and the football season was winding down. They’d spent the day watching football then they watched the tail end of the Golden Globes. When the show finally ended, it was past midnight so she invited him to stay. With a yawn, he gladly accepted. He went up to her room before her while she put her laptop in her office.

When she reached her bedroom, Lizzie froze. In front of her stood a very naked Tom with his back to her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his finely chiseled ass above which was his equally fine back. Tom was quite ripped with lean, sinewy muscles that moved and lit something inside of her as he leaned over to pull up his shorts—without underwear!

Holy shit!

She jumped out of the room, leaning against the hall wall.

Tom was hot.

Oh dear Lord almighty was he ever hot!

Shaking her head repeatedly, Lizzie tried to get the image out of her mind. His ass and the sneak peek of what lay between his legs.

No. No. No! Not helping, brain. Not at all. Tom is my best friend. We can’t think about him like this. We can’t want to know what his damn kickstand looks like.

He’s Tom. Her best friend. Lizzie repeated that and with a deep, clarifying breath, she returned to her room. Tom sat in bed, a sketchbook on his lap and a pencil in his hand, and a shirt covering his chest.

Boo
, her brain said.

Hush
, she ordered it.

“I thought you were tired,” Lizzie noted as she walked across her room to her closet. While she searched for pajamas, he answered her.

“I am, but while I was changing I got an idea.”

“Ooh, do tell!” she exclaimed as she slipped out of her clothes, wondering what type of inspiration comes while removing your pants.

“A long trunk for your wall over there,” he said, pointing to the empty space beneath her window. “It’s so bare there.”

Did he say trunk?

Lizzie burst out laughing. Did he see his cock and then think, “Yeah, Lizzie needs a trunk in her room?” Fuck, how big was his trunk if that’s what he thought?

“What the hell are you laughing at?” he called out.

Lizzie returned to the bedroom, standing in the doorway. “You thought about a
trunk
while changing!”

“Yes. What’s so funny about that?”

“Did you look down for inspiration?”

A shit-eating grin broke out on his face when he realized what she meant. “Yeah . . . I did. This cock,” he said, gripping himself, “inspires all kinds of things. Furniture. Daydreams. Orgasms.”

She had to roll her eyes to check the words that almost came out of her mouth. He continued to laugh while still focused on his sketchbook as she hopped into bed.

“You have one weird sense of humor, Bits.”

Yeah . . . weird or corrupted by lust?

January 18, 2009

Luckily this past week had been super busy, and Lizzie had been able to drown out the visions of Tom’s fine ass that kept trying to crop up in her head. She hadn’t seen him at all this week, nor had she spoken with him. But on Saturday morning, he called to ask if he could come over since they hadn’t seen each other.

“You sure you want to hang out with me?” she asked.

“Yes, Bits. I would very much like to hang out with my best friend.”

Tom was her best friend. He didn’t desire her. So if she wanted her best friend in her life, which she very much did, she’d have to learn to tamp down these lustful feelings she’d developed towards him.

“Okay. Come over whenever.”

“Cool. See ya, Bits.”

About an hour to the minute later, Tom and Foxy showed up at her door. The dog knew the drill and went to the living room and laid in front of the fireplace. Tom leaned in and kissed her cheek like he normally did and followed his dog. He’d brought his bag with him. Since he brought work, Lizzie went to her office, snagged her laptop off her desk, and joined man and dog in her living room.

Tom already had his designs laid out on her coffee table and on the cushion on one side of him. As she went to sit beside him, she glanced at his pictures. A couple different kinds of tables, chairs, and some awesome looking bookcases. All very modern pieces—not really what he did and she mentioned that to him.

“Yeah . . . I’m experimenting, I guess. I’ve got a new client who wanted to hire me despite the fact that she wanted very modern pieces. She said to me, ‘Let’s see what you got.’ So . . . yeah, experimentation.”

“Well, I think they look amazing. Has she seen these?” Lizzie asked, gesturing to the drawings.

“Some of them, but I’ve been tweaking them.”

“I can see,” she said, her arms sweeping out in front of her, causing him to laugh.

“TV?” he asked.

“Yes . . . movie, please.”

He found
Iron Man
and then went back to his work while she chilled and watched Tony Stark build his suit of iron, and she occasionally went on her laptop to check Facebook.

About halfway through the movie, Tom tossed his sketchbook aside, then stood up and tore off his sweater, his T-shirt a casualty of the sweater removal, revealing the light strip of hair leading into his pants.

Lizzie couldn’t look away. Not from his abs or from the goddamn V. She cried internally. Tom had a very defined V.

Oh dear Lord.

She turned away and focused on the TV where things were blowing up like freaking fireworks. Maybe this was why Tom was affecting her like this. Her complete lack of fireworks the past eight months. Lizzie needed to get laid and she needed it bad.