12. Tatum
12
TATUM
M an, I love a good party. The adrenaline. The wandering eyes. The buzz of anticipation. It’s even better when I don’t know a single freaking soul other than the girl beside me. I’m not sure why I’ve always preferred it this way. Getting lost in a sea of strangers compared to being surrounded by people who know every single thing about me. I don’t know. I guess it makes things more interesting and gives me a chance to show them whatever side of me I want. Control. That’s what it is. What I crave. What I need. Especially considering where my head’s been lately.
Thanks to the sun disappearing beneath the horizon a couple hours ago, it’s a little chilly. Rory folds her arms, rubbing her hands up and down her bare skin as she stares at the bonfire a hundred yards from us. She’s probably second-guessing why she agreed to come with me but is too good of a friend to back out since we’re here now. Rory’s always been a wallflower. I used to be like her. Before my world fell apart. Before I stopped caring about anything at all…including what others thought.
“Come on.” I loop my arm through hers.
Jutting out her bottom lip, she follows my lead. “You know, I could be in bed right now with Hades.”
“You could,” I agree as the sand squishes beneath my feet. Yeah, I ditched my shoes at the car as soon as I saw the silky white sand. “But then you’d be dreaming of hanging out with me instead of actually hanging out with me, so…”
She scoffs but keeps her pace steady with mine. “Yeah, because that’s what I dream of.”
“That, and the infamous Jaxon Thorne,” I tease.
Another scoff escapes her, though it sounds more forced than before. “Whatever.”
Leading us to a cooler, I open the lid. The options range from fancy IPAs to Diet Coke to hard lemonades. I grab a beer and a hard lemonade, shaking the ice off before handing the fruity drink to my best friend.
“Why, thank you.” She untwists the cap and takes a small sip, probably anxious for the liquid courage as she scans the beach brimming with people.
Staring at her, I ask, “How have you survived college without me?”
“Easy.” She smirks. “I stay inside and get straight As.”
“Hey, I got straight As, too.”
“Only after you realized your parents were going to cut you off and put a stop to your studying abroad if you kept failing the online classes on purpose.”
She’s not wrong.
I spent a lot of years punishing them for…what, exactly? I don’t even know anymore. Heartbreak, I guess. And that life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, like I grew up believing. The thought makes me…sad. And a little bitter. Just like the beer in my grasp. I pop the top off of the bottle, bring it to my lips, swallow a few big gulps of bitter— called it —liquid, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Hundreds of people are scattered across the sand, clustered in groups of two to twenty. Some are dancing. Some are talking. Their ages vary, too. That guy can’t be more than twenty-one, and that one? He’s probably thirty-five. The girls’ ages range the same way, most of them sidling up to others in the same age group. At least I won’t have to neuter any men for hitting on someone who could be their daughter—or worse, granddaughter . I mean, to each their own, but also, yuck.
Let’s see…that guy is too old. That one’s too hairy. That one looks five drinks past bombed. And those guys…
I pause. There’s a group of guys on the opposite side of the fire. They’re cute. Like, drop dead gorgeous with a side of bad boy cute. Actually, cute’s probably the wrong word choice. Sexy as sin? Yeah, those are much more fitting, if their looks are anything to go by. Tilting my head toward the group, I murmur, “They look like a fun distraction.”
Rory follows my line of sight, then grabs my arm, forcing my full attention. “Nope. Don’t do it.”
“Whoa, there.” I slip my arm from her grasp. “Why not?”
“Because they’re younger than you.”
“So?”
“And they go to my school?”
“So?” I repeat.
“And are really bad news?”
“Bad news, huh?” My eyes dance with mirth. “Pretty sure they’re right up my alley, then.”
“I’m serious, Tate,” she orders. “Jagger, Ford, Hawke, and…” She rises onto her tiptoes and peers around. “I don’t know where Roman is.” She shakes her head. “Not that it matters. They’re kind of known for being shady assholes, and I’m begging you to keep a wide berth.”
My mouth quirks. “ Kind of shady assholes?”
“Yes, okay?” She smacks my arm. “They also have the entire student body at RHU wrapped around their fingers. Hell, they’re basically the kings of Harden Heights entirely, and I’m not just saying that.”
“I thought you were trying to turn me off of them, not wave a red flag in their direction like I’m a bull,” I tease.
“This isn’t a dare or a bet or anything else. It's a plea. Pick someone else. Anyone else. There are plenty of attractive guys here, and we both know you can take your pick from any of them, but those guys? I just…I want you to be safe.”
“Safe,” I repeat.
“Yes. Safe . Besides, they’re brothers, and we both know you have a thing against brothers, remember?”
She isn’t wrong.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But only because you asked me nicely.”
She rolls her eyes but brings the drink to her lips, muttering, “Thank you,” around the brim before taking a sip.
When my gaze lands on a cutie with a cowboy hat, I smile and turn back to Rory. “Do you see the cowboys at twelve o’clock?”
Her attention slides to the men then back to me. “Yes?”
“The one on the left was staring at you.”
She rolls her eyes again. “No, he wasn’t?—”
“Yes, he was,” I push. “You should talk to him.”
“Uh, no thank you.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at you.”
“Uh, no he wasn’t. His friend was looking at me. The other one? With the tan hat? He was looking at you .”
She sneaks another peek, then stares at the sand beneath her feet. “Whatever.”
“Got caught, huh?” I laugh. “Let me introduce you.”
“I think I’m good.”
“And I think exposure therapy’s a good thing.”
Her glare cuts to me. “You shouldn’t even know what exposure therapy is, let alone how to use it against me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have told me what it is or how to use it against you,” I quip. “Come on. If you do this, I’ll even promise to do the dishes for a week.”
“Yeah, but you do them wrong.”
“Exposure therapy,” I sing.
She groans. “Tate.”
“Rory, he’s only a boy.”
“Yeah, but boys hate me.”
I laugh even harder but stop my pursuit of cowboy to face my best friend again. “Boys do not hate you. Boys actually love you—or at least, they’d like to, long and hard, I might add—if only you’d let them.”
“Tate…” It’s a plea.
We’ve played this game before. Where I push her to do things outside of her comfort zone while she internally curses me for it. It’s always a roll of the dice, and tonight isn’t any different. There are times when she thanks me after, albeit grudgingly. And then, there are times when I’m pretty sure she wishes she never knew me or gave me a front-row seat to her insecurities and how fucked she is. It’s okay, though. Because she knows it’s what makes us kindred spirits. Both of us are fucked. Why? Because both of us fell for the wrong person, and there’s nothing we can do about it, let alone let go of them when we both know they’ll never love us back.
Picking at the label on my beer bottle, I suggest, “Just pretend.” My tone is softer than before but even more weighted. More somber. Because we both know it’s what I’ve been doing my entire life. Pretending.
Something hits her gaze as Rory stares at me, barreling right past my defenses. She forces herself to nod and wipes her hands against her denim skirt. “Lead the way, Tate.”
I walk us toward the half-circle of guys. When we reach them, I say, “Why, hello.”
The first cowboy smirks as he shamelessly checks me out. “Hello.”
“Have you met my friend, Rory?”
His attention flicks to my best friend. “Hello, Rory.”
She takes another sip of her drink and cradles the glass bottle to her chest. “H-hello.”
“Name’s Andrew,” he replies. “You from around here?”