14. Paxton
14
PAXTON
M y heart races as I jog toward one of the few people I convinced myself I’d never see again. I’d tell myself I’m hallucinating, that I had too much to drink, but there’s no way one beer would make me see a ghost. Not like this. And not this ghost, either. If I was smart, I’d get the hell out of here, but I can’t help myself.
When I get near, I overhear her say, “Uh-huh. Yup. It’s really nice weather this time of year. I should probably get going.”
“Come on. The night’s still young, you know?” the guy argues.
“I know, but I’m kind of tired, and?—”
“Hey, Baby,” I interrupt.
Baby’s eyes dart to me and widen in surprise. “Uh, what are you…are you…?” She shakes her head. “Uh, hey?”
“Hey,” I repeat, turning to the stranger. “I’m Pax. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” He frowns. “You know, you kind of look familiar…”
“Always had one of those faces,” I agree. “Mind if I steal Baby for a sec?”
“Baby?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Baby rushes out. “Nice talking to you, though.” Threading her arm around my bicep, she smiles up at me, then drags me a dozen feet away from the poor bastard.
“Boyfriend, huh?” I quip.
“Sorry.” She peeks up at me again, her face scrunching. “My friend likes to play my wingwoman even when I tell her I’m not interested in awkward, stilted conversations about the weather, but she’s a terrible listener, so here we are.”
“You know, you could always talk about other things,” I suggest. “Like your favorite band.”
She laughs. “I guess you make a good point. Speaking of favorite bands, what, uh, what are you doing here, and no offense, but how in the world did you remember me?”
Remember her? The entire night is tattooed into my memory despite my best efforts to drown it with alcohol and weed.
Biting back my scoff, I challenge, “You really think I’d forget my favorite baby face?”
She rolls her eyes. “My name’s Rory.”
Trust me, I remember.
I got a fucking earful after I met up with the band all those years ago. Well, Dodger, at least. Judge and Tuke don’t seem like they give two shits about who I sleep with unless it messes with the band. But Dodge? Yeah, he had the obligatory, you hurt her, I kill you speech locked and loaded. Not sure why he cared, but it didn’t matter anyway. Tatum’s the one who fucked with me, not the other way around. I told Dodger I was nothing but a complete gentleman and dropped her back at her hotel after buying her dinner—as a friend. I’m still not sure why I covered for her. Why I didn’t ask Dodger to warn Tatum’s fiance that she’s a cheating bitch, but I couldn’t help myself.
What the hell’s wrong with me?
“Nice to see you again, Rory ,” I emphasize. “Speaking of your friend …” My gaze flicks over the bonfire and the sea of people along the beach. It’s like some fucked up game of deja vu. But I guess it’s what happens when I’ve caught myself searching the crowd during a show, looking for a familiar face I swore I never wanted to see again. “Is Tate here?”
“Ah, so you remember Tate’s name,” she muses. “Interesting.”
My mouth lifts. “I remembered yours, too.” I look down to catch her analyzing me. Seems her shyness likes to take a backseat as long as she isn’t the center of the conversation. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine?” She hesitates. “Sorry, I’m just…kind of in awe. What are you…what are you doing here? Is Dodge here? Is the band playing here, and I didn’t know?”
“The band’s taking…” My voice trails off when I spot her across the sea of people. Her hair’s longer than before. Her legs look longer, too, if that’s even possible. Tatum fucking Taylor. I wonder if that’s still her last name or if she took her husband’s? The thought alone makes my stomach sour. Throwing her head back, Tatum laughs at whatever the asshole next to her says, then steals the beer from his grasp and takes a drink. The long column of her throat teases me all the way from over here, and I squeeze the bottle in my hand.
“The band’s taking…” Rory’s words hang in the air, and I clear my throat.
“Taking a break,” I finish, lifting my chin toward Tatum across the space. “That her husband?”
As she follows my gaze, her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Husband?”
“Archer, right?”
Her lips part, and her skin pales as she tears her attention from Tatum to stare up at me. “Y-you know about Archer?”
“That him?” I ask.
Her head shakes back and forth, but you’d think she’s seen a ghost. It only leaves me more on edge.
Are you in on the lie, Baby?
By the look on her face as soon as I said Tatum’s husband’s name, I’m gonna go with yes. Maybe she’s covered for Tatum’s infidelity more times than she can count and doesn’t know what to say now that someone’s called her out for it. Or maybe I’m missing something.
Trying to keep my frustration in check, I ask, “Who’s she talking to?”
The worry lines around her eyes soften as she follows my gaze again and shrugs. “No idea.”
“You don’t know?” I ask.
“I didn’t hear his name. He’s”—she waves her hand toward the guy she was talking to when I approached—“what’s his name’s friend.”
“So, fucking anyone with a dick behind her husband’s back is a habit of hers, huh?” I turn back to Tatum, hating how she’s only grown prettier. And my memory of her? Fuck, it doesn’t even hold a candle to how gorgeous she is. My blood rushes south, and I throttle my beer bottle even more, hating my physical response.
Reaching for my arm, Rory twists me toward her. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you mean, what am I talking about?”
“I mean, you’re not making any sense. No offense,” she rushes out.
Of course not.
I bite back my scoff and try to focus on what really matters. “Rory, is Tate still married or not?” I demand.
Her brows dip in confusion. “Tate?”
“Yeah.”
With a look making me feel like I’ve grown a second head, she shakes her head. “Tate was never married.”
Feeling like a broken record, I shove my confusion aside and ask, “She’s not married?”
The girl must have the patience of a saint as she gives me a kind smile and touches my forearm gently. “Tate is most definitely not married.”
“So, she’s single?”
“Yes?” It comes out as a question, and she laughs. “Tate’s always single.”
I repeat the words in my head, analyzing them for any hidden meaning, but I come up empty. She’s single. She isn’t married. Isn’t even dating anyone. Was never dating anyone, by the sound of things. So, what the hell?
Jaw tight, I look down at Rory again and cock my head. “Always, huh?”
“Yup.” She shrugs. “Just like the men she hooks up with, so I guess it’s a win-win for everyone.”
A win-win for everyone.
Everyone but me, since she lied to my face.
What. The actual. Fuck?
“And here I thought I was special,” I mutter. The world feels like it’s spinning as I glance at Tatum again. Her skin glows from the bonfire, making her look…untouchable, almost. Dressed in black. The sliver of skin peeking from between her low cut jeans and crop top. “She was never engaged, was she,” I murmur.
It isn’t a question, and honestly, I don’t even mean to say it aloud, but it slips out anyway. She was never engaged.
Never. Fucking. Engaged.
“What are you talking about?” Rory asks.
I grit my teeth to keep from spilling anything else. “Nothing.”
Seriously, I’m going to strangle the girl. I spent years— years —struggling over whether or not I made the right decision to keep my nose out of Tatum’s marriage, knowing I was the guy who fucked over a stranger by sleeping with a girl I thought was single.
She lied to me. Right to my fucking face. And I bought it? I can’t believe I actually bought it. The girl lied at the arena, too, and I brushed it off. But twice? Fuck that shit. I’m an idiot.
“You gonna talk to her?” Rory asks. The gentleness in her voice is almost enough to soften the red I’m seeing. Almost.
It’s a good question. Should I? Could I? Without strangling her or smacking her ass?
“Haven’t decided yet,” I admit. “You gonna tell her you saw me if I don’t?” I drag my attention away from Tatum again, right on time to see Rory’s lips purse.
“Haven’t decided yet,” she returns.
My mouth twitches, and I pull her into a half-assed hug. “Good seeing you, Baby.”
“You, too.” She squeezes me back, then lets me go. “Hey, Pax?”
“Yeah?”
Her lips bunch on one side, like she’s lost in a silent debate before coming to some kind of conclusion. “Did you…” She pauses. “Did you sneak out, or did she?”
“Does it matter?”
She hesitates, studying me as the firelight dances in her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.”
“She left me,” I answer.
Told me she was engaged, then left me , I silently clarify. The question is, why?
With a slow nod, Rory’s gaze cuts to her best friend laughing at something the other cowboy—who is not her husband—said. And I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. Why she cares. If Tatum pushes her away the same way she does me. Not that we’re even in the same ballpark. Rory’s her best friend, and I’m…I’m a guy she fucked once before lying straight to my face.
“Are you sticking around?” Rory asks.
I scratch the scruff along my jaw, unable to tear my focus from the cowboy’s hand pressed against Tatum’s lower back. She’s just a girl. She’s always been just a girl. I’ve had more than I could ever want, and I’ve never felt jealous. Probably because if I snapped my finger, they’d come running. But Tatum? Something tells me it would take a lot more effort than a simple snap of my fingers to have her again. That is, if I wanted her again in the first place. Which I don’t. Although, some answers would be nice.
Why did you lie?
She wasn’t playing hard to get. She wasn’t playing a game at all. She wanted nothing to do with me, despite the mind-blowing sex we had.
Why?
Guess there’s no time like the present to find out.
“I’ll see you around, Rore.” I slip past her, heading toward her friend, well aware if I don’t, I’ll regret it.
You ready to chat, Birthday Girl? ‘Cause I’m coming for you, and our conversation is long overdue.