Taming the Storm

“Nothing else from me,” Jake says. “Wait. What?”

Jake’s voice is muffled as he starts talking to someone in the background.

I hear the words, “What the fuck?”

Then, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Jake, all okay?” Zane says.

“Tom, take me off speaker. Now. Zane, I’ll call you after I’ve talked with Tom.”

Frowning, Tom scoops up his cell and takes it off speaker before pressing his phone to his ear.

I watch as he walks into my bedroom and closes the door behind him. I get an uneasy feeling in my gut.

“Wonder what that was about?” Van asks the table.

I shrug. “Beats me. Probably TMS stuff.” Even as I say it, it doesn’t feel right.

It’s feels like—

Oh no.

Holy fucking no.

I quickly pull out my cell phone from my pocket and type into the search engine, Tom Carter. Lyla Summers.

Then, I press enter.

And I watch in horror, my stomach sinking, as my screen fills with headlines and pictures of Tom and me.

THE MIGHTY STORM’S TOM CARTER CAUGHT CHEATING BY THE GIRLFRIEND WE DIDN’T KNOW HE HAD!

WATCH THE EXCLUSIVE VIDEO FOOTAGE OF TOM’S GIRLFRIEND CATCHING HIM WITH ANOTHER WOMAN. JUST MAKE SURE TO STAND BACK TO AVOID THE SPLASH!

TOM CARTER, WE THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER!

BAD BOY OF ROCK, TOM CARTER, CAUGHT CHEATING! FULL CONFRONTATION CAUGHT ON VIDEO! WATCH HERE!

CARTER CAUGHT CHEATING!

Ladies’ man of rock and The Mighty Storm’s bassist, Tom Carter was caught cheating by his girlfriend in a bar last night. According to onlookers, Tom was flirting up a storm with a leggy blonde. Before leaving with her, his girlfriend came storming over. We have confirmed his girlfriend is Lyla Summers, lead singer of up and coming band, Vintage.

A patron at the bar said, “She was wailing at him, calling him a liar and a cheat. Then, she threw her drink all over him and left. Tom went chasing after her.”

If only he would come chasing after us!

Right now, we should thank the storm gods because someone caught the full action on video.

For the full stormy show, watch below.

Oh, holy crapping mother of God.

Sixty Seconds Later—Lyla’s Bedroom, Tour Bus, St. Louis

“Are you fucking Lyla?” Jake’s hard voice comes at me the instant I press the phone to my ear.

Unwilling to have this conversation in front of an audience, I wait until I’ve shut the bedroom door before responding.

“No, I’m not fucking Lyla,” I grind out.

“Are you saying what you think I wanna hear or the truth?”

I clench my jaw, shoulders stiffening. One thing I don’t ever do is lie. And I don’t like being accused of it by anyone, especially someone who knows me as well as Jake does.

“It’s the truth. Have I ever lied to you before? No, and you fucking know it. You might not like the truths I’ve told you in the past, but they were just that—the truth. So, if anything, that should one hundred percent tell you that I don’t fucking lie. Have I kissed Lyla? Yes, last night, as a matter of fact. But fucked her? No.” Sadly.

“Jesus, Thomasina. Calm the fuck down. Are you PMSing right now?”

“Ha!” I laugh. “Not fucking likely. I’m not the one who’s grown a vagina, remember?”

“Screw you.” He laughs.

The tension I felt with Jake is gone, but there’s still some remaining, and it has everything to do with a certain little blonde out there.

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t been on the Internet this morning?” Jake asks.

“No. Do I need to?”

“Yeah. There’s a video doing the rounds on all the gossip sites, showing you and Lyla in a bar last night. You know, the bar where you were with some blonde chick, and Lyla was yelling at you before she proceeded to chuck a drink all over you—which was perfectly timed, might I add. Tru just showed me the video.”

There’s a video of that?

Of course, there’s a video of it.

“Shit,” I exhale.

“What happened, man?”

I press the heel of my hand against my eye, rubbing it. “It was something and nothing. Lyla just had this bet with Sonny that I wouldn’t score with the blonde I was talking to. She doesn’t like to lose, so she made sure she didn’t.”

Jake lets out a laugh. “Jesus, she’s a live wire that one.”

“Yeah. No fucking kidding.”

“So, did you kiss her before or after the beer drowning?”

“After. I chased her out of the bar. We argued. Minutes later, I had my mouth on hers. Her ass was in my hands, and her legs were wrapped around me while I dry-humped her against the side of the bus.”

Jake laughs. “And you didn’t have sex with her?”

He’s surprised, which isn’t surprising because usually nothing stops me from having sex.

“We were interrupted.”

“And when has that bothered you before?”

“I didn’t stop for my benefit, assface. Lyla’s not that kind of girl.”

And for some unfathomable reason, I didn’t want the first time I had sex with her to be against the side of this bus.

Not that I’d admit that to Jake. I’d never hear the end of it.

“Well, as interesting as it is to hear about you dry-humping the lead singer of my act, let me remind you that she is just that—the lead singer of my act. The act you’re managing.”