“I’m sorry, but are you…” She looks at me and then at Lars, and at me again.
“Yes I am,” Lars nicely says, used to people being starstruck seeing him.
“And you’re friends with that thief?” Tessa says, pointing at me.
Lars chuckles.
“Did he take something that didn’t belong to him? Not the first time.” Lars laughs at the same moment Naomi and Aito enter the screen.
“Do you mind?” I ask Tessa, “I’d like to talk to my son, alone.”
Looking at her was a mistake. She rips my soul apart, but while at it, gives me an understanding nod.
“Ol,” Naomi says, “since when are you so rude to beautiful women?” Lars doesn’t say a word but raises an eyebrow waiting for my answer. Tessa is still here, looking at me intensely, focusing on my lips for an answer.
Both doors are standing in front of me again.
Truth or Denial.
I could say because she puts me out of my comfort zone, she unsettles me and makes me believe that she can see through me and recognize my pain. I could say because I’ve never been more attracted to someone since my fiancée, even though I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours. That I didn’t have the will to jack-off thinking of her last night even if I was hard as a rock because I didn’t want to dirty her that way.
Or I could say because she’s an asshole and not that pretty. That I’m not sure who Naomi’s referring to, but I don’t see anyone beautiful in here.
Truth or Denial.
But by the time I’m ready to open my mouth, Tessa has beaten me to it.
“Because he’s too afraid I can see through his bullshit. I feel it too,” she says before leaving the room without a glance toward me. My eyes follow her, ignoring the laughter and the comments about me looking like a sad puppy coming from my screen. I’m pretty sure Naomi and Lars are right. How can't I feel like she owns me when she has the balls to choose truth when it isn't the door I was leaning toward.
I turn my attention to the screen and my son, talking to him, hoping he understands I’m here, and I love him even if I’m far away for a few weeks. But in the back of my mind, I know I felt better the moment I realized Tessa was in the room.
The storm within me is coming to peace and she has a lot to do with it.
I finish the call and thank Lars for his few words of wisdom, promising I’ll think about it and call them if I need them to come.
I’m about to hang up when Lars stops me.
“One last thing,” he says. “You’re fucked, buddy. And that’s a great reason to stay in Virginia.” Or not…
Chapter Eight
TESSA
Rude thief.
Obnoxious jerk.
Anal retentive mess.
Sexy as hell barman.
Hot as sin father.
I stop my thoughts from where they are going.
I am not attracted to that guy.
He’s neither sexy or hot, and the fact that he’s a single father is not the cutest thing on earth.
It’s complex and fucked up but not cute.
Not at all.
His story has been in every tabloid in the past months.
The brother-in-law of Dan Darling has a child with the girlfriend of Lars Trouble. It sounds complicated, and a world apart from mine, and I shouldn’t want to have anything to do with him.
No one should consume my thoughts but King.
No man should make me feel the same way I did the first time I met King.
No green-eyes should haunt me.
King had blue eyes. That’s why my hair is blue. For him to always be with me. For me to have a part of him, I can carry with pride.
“Tessa, are you listening?” Jackson asks.
“Of course, go on,” I say before diving back into my Oliver dilemma. Who has a child with a woman when she’s in a relationship with one of the sexiest men the music world has given us? Is it a sad story where he thought she would choose him? Did he get the little piece of his heart that was left, ripped out from his chest, and stomped on? How did he have the strength to go on after his fiancée died and have a child with someone else?
“Tessa! What’s up with you today? You seem more distracted than usual. Are you alright?” I’m about to nod when I hear a scoff coming from my right.
“She’s just met Lars through a screen,” Oliver says in a snarl, “so now she’s on cloud nine.”
Rude thief.
Obnoxious jerk.
Anal retentive mess.
And jealous asshole.
“You like rock stars now, Murdock? I thought you preferred your men with a little more muscle and less artsy vibes?” Mark says with a smug look on his face while flexing his biceps.
I’ve learned with time that ignoring Mark is the best you can do for your sanity when he decides to be funny and flirty like now. I don’t even roll my eyes or flip him the bird and continue my analysis of Oliver Spencer. Because after stealing my car yesterday, he ripped me from my lucidity.
I’ve spent the night thinking about him. I might have started with a plan for revenge but ended up overthinking every one of his moves. From imagining his hands on the steering wheel of my baby to his ass walking away from me or his glare in the elevator, I was lost in Oliver all night long, and he hasn’t left my brain since.
As if it wasn’t enough, I had to learn that he’s a single father.
I mean, what kind of monster would I be if a tall, well-built man with a baby wouldn’t turn me on?
Imagining his veiny muscular arms holding that tiny baby of his. Those lips kissing his head. That voice singing a lullaby.
“Did you just moan?” Mark asks while I get warm from my toes
