When she cranked the volume and hit Repeat, choosing to spend the rest of the ride listening to his music, the compliment became even sweeter.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Tommy paused before his front door, watching Layla roll her eyes in response. He was surprised she’d even agreed to come in. And though he wasn’t sure what it meant, at the very least, he hoped they could find a way to be friends.
“I guarantee I’ve seen worse.”
“Doubtful.” He laughed but opened the door anyway. Trying to see his shithole apartment through Layla’s eyes and cringing on her behalf.
She crossed the worn carpet to the other side of the room, aiming straight for his collection of vinyl stacked against the wall, where she promptly pulled Led Zeppelin IV from its sleeve, placed it on the turntable, and lowered the needle. She turned to Tommy with a grin when the opening strains of “Going to California” filled the small space.
“You a Zeppelin fan?” Tommy handed her a beer.
“Thanks to my dad, I was raised on this stuff.” She clinked the neck of her bottle against his and took a sip. “Your music is reminiscent of Jimmy Page, and the lyrics remind me of you.”
Tommy stood before her, rendered temporarily speechless. “Jimmy Page is one of my idols,” he finally said. “As for the rest, well, thanks.”
She lifted the beer to her lips, took a long swig, and glanced around his small but mostly tidy den. “It’s not as bad as you pretend.” She nodded. “I mean, there’s no weird smell, you have an impressive collection of much-loved, well-read, waterlogged paperbacks, and who doesn’t love a popcorn ceiling inexplicably speckled with gold bits?”
She flashed a wicked grin, then turned and headed straight for his bedroom as Tommy followed. It was his house, but she was in charge.
She stood next to the mattress on the floor and looked all around. “Candles. Decent sheets . . . how many girls have you brought here, Tommy?”
He opened his mouth to reply, then promptly shut it again. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He wasn’t sure he was willing to answer.
“Surely I’m not the first?”
“What if I said you were?” He watched her carefully, unsure where
this was leading.
“Then I’d have no choice but to accuse you of lying.”
“Well, okay then.” He was more than willing to drop it.
The sight of Layla in his bedroom was way too tempting. Their kiss had been brief, but he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. As much as he wanted to repeat it, he needed to focus on winning the contest, not chase after a girl who was constantly giving him mixed signals, despite having a boyfriend. Eager to return to more neutral ground, he led her out of his room and over to the couch.
“So how’d you score Madison Brooks?” She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “It doesn’t seem like her kind of club.”
Tommy sipped his beer. Layla ignored hers. “She just showed up,” he said, unwilling to share anything more.
“But what was she like? I mean, you talked to her, right?”
The question was simple, but when Tommy started messing with his hair and scratching at his cheek, he knew she suspected him of hiding something. Like she said, she was good at reading people.
“She was nice.” Tommy’s voice was tentative. He wanted to say more but wasn’t sure it was safe. His fingers played at the rim of his beer, as his gaze grew increasingly distant, lost in the memory of the night one of the most celebrated girls in the world decided to drop into his club. “I mean, we didn’t really talk all that much, but she wasn’t anything like I expected. She was almost like—” His voice faded, he shook his head, unable to put a word to it.
Layla leaned forward, urging him to continue.
He searched the room as though he expected to find the answer written on the wall with peeling paint, the carpet with the creepy dark stain, or maybe even the torn cover of the Hunter S. Thompson paperback. “Like some of the girls I used to know back home,” he finally said.
Layla squinted, but he soon went on to explain.
“Not the kind I usually dated.” A small smile broke onto his face. “She just seemed really normal. Uncomplicated. Not spoiled. Like she didn’t belong in the glamorous life she’d found herself in. Like there was a part of her that was better suited to a much simpler existence in a much smaller place . . .”
His voice halted. From the incredulous look on Layla’s face, he’d revealed far more than he should have.
“So, you come up with all that.” She drew air circles with her finger. “And yet, you claim you ‘didn’t really talk all that much.’” She cocked her head, allowing her hair to flop into her eyes. “Sounds like you talked a lot more than you let on.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably, picked at a loose thread on the cushion. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about the competition.”