“What?” I finally ask when he doesn’t say anything.
He sneers at me. That’s a more familiar expression, which makes me relax a little.
“What time are renovations this weekend?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I didn’t go last weekend; I’ve been busy.”
He grunts, unimpressed.
“Why?” he asks.
I frown at him. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because I’m asking,” he snorts. “You’re head’s been in the clouds all week, dumbass. What the hell is causing it?”
Is Tom trying to…talk to me about my problems?
I wish Kyle was here to see this.
“Just some personal problems,” I say after a moment. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
He narrows his eyes at me over his beer. “It is a problem. You’re holding up renovations.”
“I’m only one person,” I point out, somewhat amused by the statement. “There are lots of other people there, too.”
“Jacobs wasn’t,” Tom scowls. “Probably because of whatever’s going on with you.”
Kyle didn’t go over there on Saturday? I’m a little disappointed by that. I know he’s concerned about what’s going on between Jessica and I, but I hope he isn’t putting things off because of it. My relationship with Jessica isn’t something he needs to be that concerned about.
“He probably had his reasons,” I say. “You should probably ask him.”
“I’m not getting within one foot of that giant,” Tom scoffs, scowling heavily.
He and Kyle have an odd relationship. They’ll work together when it comes to the club (I watched them working side-by-side to demolish a wall the other week), but, otherwise, they despise each other. I think it’s because they’re polar opposites.
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, Tom,” I say, and some exasperation creeps into my voice. I have no idea what the volatile man wants. “If you’re fishing for information, you’re in the wrong place. I have no idea what’s going on with Kyle.”
“I don’t fucking care about Jacobs,” Tom snaps, insulted. His face contorts, as though he’s trying not to glare and he looks away, scowling down at the bar instead. “Your fucking depression is goddamn obvious, so fucking cheer up before you infect everyone with your stupid mood, bastard.”
I try to shift through what he said. It sounds like he’s insulting me, but…
I almost ask Tom if he was worried about me. But I close my mouth on the words, knowing that they would just cause problems. I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Right,” I say incredulously. “I’ll…do that.”
He scoffs and slides off his seat. “Whatever.”
He stalks away, his shoulders tense and bad temper written all over his face. I have a feeling that I’ll have to break up a fight at some point tonight, but Tom is used to getting kicked out of the bar; sometimes I think he does it just to see how far he can push me.
I still don’t know what to think, though. I’ve always thought that there was more to Tom than meets the eye. He’s a bastard and he relishes in causing pain and frustration in everyone he meets, but his dedication to the Roughshod Rollers and its members is real.
I just can’t figure him out.
Not that I needed something else to think about tonight. I cast my mind back to the messages I exchanged with Jessica. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Tom is right about that. I’m here to work, not to mope. It’s time I start doing my job properly again.
Because if Tom noticed that something was wrong, then it must have been obvious to everyone who visits the bar. I straighten my shoulders and stand tall, plastering a smile on my face as someone approaches me for a drink.