5. Tatum
5
TATUM
O kay, so maybe I have a thing for motorcycles. The thought sweeps through me grudgingly. It shouldn’t. There’s nothing wrong with motorcycles or the men who own them. Or at least, not in a literal sense. Even so, I can’t get my sister’s voice out of my head.
“Us Taylor girls.” My sister shakes her head and attempts to give me a reassuring smile. “Seems we’re suckers for bikers.”
The memory flashes through my mind before I can stop it.
It was a few years ago. We were driving somewhere. Me, Rory, my sister, her friends. We were all piled into the car on our way to a girls’ night I wanted nothing to do with. Some biker started an impromptu game of Rock, Paper, Scissors at the stoplight. By some miracle, he did the impossible. He managed to make me smile for the first time in what felt like forever.
I was so lonely back then. Okay, I’m still lonely, but I’m better at hiding it now. I’m also better at finding distractions. Just like the man in front of me. He’s definitely a distraction, and a pretty one, too. If only he didn’t have a bike. The less similarities I have with my good ol’ sister, the better. And if she knew I was pressed up against some hunky badboy like Maverick Buchanan —the love of her life and Archer’s twin brother—she’d probably laugh her ass off.
“Us Taylor girls. Seems like we’re suckers for bikers.”
Gag.
Wait.
I replay the memory again, the same way I’ve done a thousand times over the years, though I’d never admit it out loud. Raine was there, too. And even though I didn’t recognize the biker, Raine did. She said it was…Pax. My attention slices to the back of the helmet in front of me.
There’s no way.
Is there?
I scan Pax’s broad shoulders and the curve of his spine beneath his T-shirt. Is it him? Could it be? That’s ridiculous.
Isn’t it?
Yeah, no, it’s totally ridiculous, but also…I’m pretty sure Raine called the guy Pax.
Holy shit.
I thought about that day for years. Stupid, yes. But still. Funny how fate likes to fuck with me sometimes. What are the odds I’d be on the back of his bike a thousand miles from Lockwood Heights?
Fascinating.
Pax revs the engine, and I press my front to his back as he leans into the turn, driving us down a side road where a fast food restaurant waits. The neon light glows above us as we turn into the parking lot, and the scent of grease and salt hits my nostrils. When my stomach grumbles, Paxton’s back rumbles against me.
He turns his bike off and lowers the kickstand to the black pavement. “I was gonna ask if you like burgers, but I’m gonna go with yes.”
Refusing to confirm his assumption, I climb off the bike and start undoing the helmet strap beneath my chin. Pax bats my hands away like before, the same way he’d swat at a pesky fly. It shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. I like how casual he is. How effortlessly sexy and caring he is, even though he hides it under the guise of annoyance or something. It’s…also fascinating. His fingers are calloused. The gentle scratch shoots straight to my core while he slips the strap from the metal buckle and pulls my helmet off.
Eyes glued to me, his mouth quirks up, and I swear I can see the wheels turning in his brain, but he doesn’t say a word.
It only makes me squirm more, and considering the fact that his calloused hands were just on me, it’s saying something. “Is there a problem?” I ask.
“You look like you just had the best sex of your life.”
My brows dip. “Excuse me?”
“The hair,” he explains.
Reaching up, I smooth out my messy hair and tuck it behind my ear.
Paxton’s smile stretches. “Sorry, Birthday Girl. Still sexy. Come on.” He climbs off the bike and sets our helmets on the seat. “My treat.”
“A burger and fries.” I clutch at my chest. “My hero.”
“Hey, if you’re nice, I’ll let you get a shake, too.”
“ Let me ,” I repeat with a scoff. “Clearly, you don’t know me very well.”
“Not yet.” He reaches for the restaurant’s door, holding it open for me. “But give me time.”
Yeah, not likely.
Pax could be a Greek god—and honestly, he’s competing pretty hard for the title-–and I’d still never see him again after tonight. It isn’t personal. It’s a rule I have. And I might hate rules more than just about anything. But this one? This one, I promised to keep until my last breath after I found out Archer had already taken his.
Don’t think about him.
There are two people in the restaurant and both are behind the counter. Their noses are glued to the young guy’s phone.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he mutters.
“Yes!” the girl squeals. “I told you Taylor’s more than a pretty face.”
“It was a lucky pass,” the guy argues. “Thorne basically handed the puck to Taylor, and the only reason he’s talented is because his dad used to play and?—”
“Whatever, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just because my team is better than the Grizzlies doesn’t mean you need to pout, Carlos.”
I approach the counter and clear my throat.
Carlos shoves his phone into his apron. “Shit. Sorry. We were just watching the hockey game.”
“I gathered,” I reply blandly.
Not catching my drift, he asks, “You watch?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“I didn’t either,” the girl chimes in. “Not until a few years ago when a bunch of hotties started playing. Seriously.” She fans her face. “I don’t know how hockey seems to attract the most gorgeous men ever, but I highly suggest you look up Griffin Thorne or Oliver Reeves or my personal favorite, Everett Taylor. They are the creme de la creme of the male population. I’m not even—” The worker’s eyes land on Pax and she gulps. “Um. Uh. Can I take”—she clears her throat—“your order?”
Seems hockey players aren’t the only creme de la creme of the male population.
Stealing a quick peek of the sexy as sin man behind me, I order a bacon cheeseburger with fries. Pax asks for the same, adding two shakes—one chocolate and one vanilla—before leading me to one of the empty booths. We’re the only people here. Well, other than the workers who are back to drooling over my family on the ice. If I was smart, I’d probably be a little on edge about the whole thing. After all, I don’t know Pax. Not really. But being impulsive and reckless is kind of my middle name, so I don’t really care. Besides, if Dodger trusts him, then I do, too.
I’m not sure if they recognized him or thought he had a particularly pretty face. The workers. They’re too distracted by the hockey game. They didn’t ask for a name when we paid, either, handing us a receipt with a number on it instead.
I peek up at Paxton again. I don’t know how I missed it in the alleyway. The confidence in the way he carries himself is unlike anything I’ve ever really seen. But it’s so…effortless. Like it has nothing to do with his rockstar title and everything to do with the man himself.
Who is this guy?
Minutes later, our order number is called and Pax returns with a tray littered with food. He sets it down and starts divvying up our orders but hesitates when the only things left are the two shakes.
“Is there a problem?”
“Chocolate or vanilla?” he asks.
It feels like a loaded question, but I answer anyway. “Chocolate.”
“Damn. Figured you for a vanilla girl.”
My mouth twitches. “You have no idea.”
He picks up the chocolate shake but doesn’t set it in front of me. Instead, he brings it to his mouth and licks the top of the open cup with his tongue, gathering some creamy dessert with the tip before it disappears into his mouth, and holy shit, the imagery is enough to make me turn into a puddle or better yet, climb onto the table and spread my legs wide. I haven’t been licked like that in who knows how long.
Seriously, is it hot in here?
If he knows what I’m thinking, he doesn’t comment on it. Climbing into the booth, he sets the chocolate shake back on the tray, not claiming it for himself but not handing it over, either.
“See, but here’s the thing,” he continues, “I like chocolate, too.”
“Then why’d you order vanilla?” I ask.
“Because I thought I’d be a gentleman and let you have dibs, but now that we’re here…”
“Ah, so it’s all a facade, is it? The whole gentleman bit.”
He smirks shamelessly. “Maybe.”
“Should we Rock, Paper, Scissors for it?” I lift my closed fist onto the table in preparation for our game. I shouldn’t. There’s no way he remembers our little interaction. Hell, it feels like a lifetime ago. But I can’t help myself. I’m curious. If I managed to make even the smallest of impressions on him, when it’s clear he made a pretty big one on me.
Staring at my hand resting on the table separating us, he notes, “A girl after my own heart.”
“Seems that way.”
He lifts his closed fist into the air. “On three?”
“Four,” I decide. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
Leaning forward, he rests his weight on his elbows and shows me his fist. “Game on, Birthday Girl.”
He’s sexy when he’s competitive. Playful. Confident. And the smirk on this bad boy?
Damn.
Ignoring the tightness in my lower belly, I match his posture, leaving a few inches of space between our foreheads. “Ready?”
“Always.”
“Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot,” we say in unison.
I flatten my hand to paper, and he keeps his hand in a fist. Realizing he’s lost, he groans. “Best two out of three?”
“And why would I agree to that?” I ask with a laugh. “I’ve already won.”
He pushes the chocolate shake across the table. “Cutthroat. I like it.”
With a grin, I pick the spoon up and take a big bite, letting the rich cocoa and sweet cream melt against my taste buds. Seriously. Chocolate’s far superior.
“Way to dive right in,” he quips. “Not even gonna eat your dinner first?”
“Not gonna let me revel in my victory?” I counter, dipping the red plastic spoon into the paper cup for another bite.
He watches as I lick the spoon, and something sparks in his eyes. “Seems like you’re reveling in it just fine.”
I laugh around my bite, then set the spoon back into the cup and reach for my burger. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure it isn’t the first time I’ve beaten you at Rock, Paper, Scissors.”
His brow quirks. “What?”
“I’m not some creepy stalker or something, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I hesitate. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have remembered, either, if it wasn’t for Raine.”
Just as confused as before, he unfolds the yellow wrapper around his cheeseburger but pauses instead of bringing it to his mouth. “Dodger’s little sister?”
“Yup. A few years ago, we were in Lockwood Heights, and you pulled up on your motorcycle beside the car I was in and?—”
“We played a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors,” he realizes. Eyes glazed, he hesitates before letting out a low chuckle. “No shit. I remember that.” Another laugh escapes him. “You won back then, too. Right?”
“Pretty sure I'm the reigning champion.”
“Very sneaky, Birthday Girl.” Taking a bite of his burger, he chews thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving me. After he swallows, he adds, “I lost on purpose that time, though.”
“You can’t lose Rock, Paper, Scissors on purpose.”
“Can and did,” he argues. “I had to do something to make you smile.”
I look down at my untouched burger, lost in the memory. I was so pissed at my sister. Actually, I was pissed at everyone. For going out and having fun and moving on when I felt like I was being ripped apart, limb from limb. Tendon from bone. Skin from muscle. I was being flayed, and they were joking about…shit, I don’t even remember anymore. Not that it matters. I was hurting, and I wanted everyone else to hurt, too.
Well, would you look at that. I did learn a thing or two from my therapist. Mom and Dad would be so proud.
“Kinda feel like I need to do something to make you smile today, too,” Pax murmurs, somehow riding the line between making me feel like we’re talking about the weather and something more.
Picking up my burger again, I say, “It was a bad day.”
“I’ve had a few of those.” He shrugs. “They fucking suck, am I right?”
A breath of laughter puffs from my lips, and I look down at my burger, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”
That’s it. No digging. No why or what happened? Just a simple, yeah, me, too. They’re the worst.
Honestly, I’m so caught off guard, I don’t know what else to do but eat my burger. It’s refreshing. Having someone willing to relate to you without all the added prying I’ve grown to loathe over the years. Sometimes, less is more, and very few people get it. That when you’re mourning, you don’t need a solution. You don’t need a Band-Aid or a word of wisdom. You just need a yeah, that fucking sucks. Let me sit with you while we both wallow in self-pity and vent about how much fate hates us.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not stupid. I know living that way for too long can be detrimental in the big picture, but sometimes? Fuck the big picture. Even if it’s only for a little while.
“So, what’s it like?” I ask. “Being a rockstar?”
His shoulder lifts, and he smiles around his burger. “Can’t complain.”
Clearing my throat to keep my amusement in check, I murmur, “Of course not.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with liking my job.”
“Not at all,” I agree. “What are your favorite perks?”
“Money, obviously. Makes life a hell of a lot easier. The private jets are cool. The women aren’t a bad perk, either.” He grins shamelessly. “Let’s see, what else? It’s pretty sweet being on stage and hearing the crowd chant your lyrics.”
“Yeah, it looked like you were having quite the time up there earlier.”
“Had to put on a good show for a new fan tonight.”
“Is that what you were doing?”
He dips a fry in ketchup and tosses it into his mouth. “You tell me.”
I could tell him I had fun. I could tell him he put on a hell of a show and gained a fan for life. I could tell him a lot of things, but I won’t. Motioning to myself, I ask, “So am I a fan, or a perk?”
His eyes dance with mirth. “I dunno, are you a perk?”
My teeth dig into the inside of my bottom lip. Am I a perk? A groupie? It’s what he’s really asking. What I asked first before he turned the table on me. He wants to know if I’m planning to put out tonight. And if I’m being honest, the answer is probably . It isn’t only because he’s hot. It isn’t only because he whisked me away on his motorcycle and bought me dinner. It isn’t only because it’s my birthday and I’m a sucker for a solid hookup with no strings attached. It’s because I hate what ifs and missed opportunities more than anything else in the world. Love me or hate me, but if I only get to live once, I have no problem making reckless decisions because there’s nothing worse than living with regret. I should know. I’ve done it for years.
“No answer, Birthday Girl?” he prods.
“Depends on how the rest of the night goes,” I reply, “but I think you already know that.”
“Are you saying I have expectations about how tonight will go?”
“I’m saying you’re a rockstar who’s used to getting what he wants.”
“And what do I want?”
Me.
With a shrug, I take another bite of my burger.
“All right, Miss Know-it-all, since you know me so well, throw me a bone. What’s your favorite food?”
I lift my burger as if to say, Exhibit A. “Burgers.”
He chuckles. “Really?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Favorite color?”
“Black.”
His eyes fall to his black T-shirt, and he cocks his head. “Let me guess. Your favorite dessert is a chocolate shake?”
“Nailed it,” I quip.
He reaches for his napkin, wipes his fingers, then leans back in the booth, his gaze never leaving mine. He probably thinks I’m being a bitch by refusing to play his game and tell him something about myself, but there’s a reason I won’t play. Because with a guy like him, I have a feeling one game could easily lead to two, and that’s against the rules, er, rule, since I only have one.
“You’re a pretty little liar. I’ll give you that much,” he murmurs.
“Who says I’m lying?”
“So you always happen to want what’s right in front of you?”
I lift my shoulder again. “Maybe.”
“Okay, favorite television show?” He lifts his finger. “Wait. You look more like a reader than a television show kind of girl. What’s your favorite book?”
I keep my expression on lockdown, despite my internal flinch at how hard he hit the nail on the head. “Who says I’m a reader?”
“Closet reader,” he clarifies, hitting the nail on the head way more than he has any right to.
I set my burger down and brush the crumbs from my fingers before lacing them in front of me. “And what gives you that impression?”
“You seem like you’re someone who likes to keep things close to the chest.”
“Yet here you are, prying like a seasoned expert.”
His low chuckle makes my insides twist. “Or maybe just a kindred spirit. You gonna answer me?”
I could lie again. I could give him a bullshit answer. But something inside me clangs to give him the truth. As if the promise of never needing to see him again brings freedom with it. The freedom to be honest. To let my walls down, even if it’s only for one night.
Wouldn’t that be an interesting experience.
All right, Mr. Security. You’ve convinced me. I’ll play. But only for tonight.