16. Tatum
16
TATUM
S ometimes I surprise myself with how stupid I can be. Did I seriously just give Paxton a blow job at the bonfire after he called me out for lying all those years ago? Why, yes. Yes, I did. But the worst part? I had to force myself to brush my teeth, knowing it would erase his taste. Which is a problem on so many levels. One, cum does not taste great. Who wants it lingering in their mouth for hours on end, let alone waking up to it in the morning? And two, why does the idea of erasing said taste all because it’s Paxton’s make me feel like I’ll never have a chocolate shake ever again?
Seriously, I am so messed up in the head.
After ditching Pax, I faked a stomach ache, and Rory drove us home without complaint, though I know she isn’t stupid. Far from it. The girl’s a genius who never misses anything. And if I had to guess, that probably includes my absence at the bonfire. The ride is relatively quiet, and once we’re home, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into my pajamas before climbing into bed.
After Rory takes Hades outside to do his business, she flicks the light off and takes her turn in the bathroom. Part of me wishes she would hurry up so I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts. Twisting the edge of the pillow case, I fight the urge to find my notebook and write an essay of what a terrible person I am and how sorry I am for lying. For missing Archer. And for not being able to erase Paxton’s comment about lobster rolls and the ocean. He remembered. Who remembers something like that?
The quiet squeak from the bathroom door opening cuts through my thoughts as Rory pads to her twin bed and nudges Hades to scoot over. When he does, she slips beneath the covers, asking, “How was Cowboy?”
I pause.
How was my fake husband?
Well, let’s see. Where to start? He’s not the brightest crayon in the box, that’s for sure. He also lost brownie points for letting me leave with Paxton without a fight. Not that I wanted a fight, but a little backup would’ve been nice. He was cute, though. Or at least, that was my first impression until Pax showed up out of nowhere. Now I can barely conjure up an image of what he looked like, only the way moonlight cast shadows on Paxton’s face as he stared down at me while I gave him my mouth. What is he doing here, anyway? I should probably look up IndieCent Vows’ schedule, so I can figure out how to lay low until they move on. Because if he finds out I lied to him again, he might literally kill me.
Okay, literally is probably a little strong, but I digress.
“Tate?” Rory prods.
Cowboy. Right.
“Cowboy?” I shift on the bed and shove my pillow a little further under my head. “He was fine, I guess.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“He’s a tourist, so…probably.”
She laughs. “And if he was a local?”
A breath of amusement escapes me, well aware we both know the answer. “I’d keep my distance.”
“Why?” The sheets rustle in the dark room as Rory rolls toward me in her bed and Hades grunts in protest. “Because the idea of running into one of your one-night stands after you’ve sent them packing is uncomfortable?”
A sardonic grin stretches across my face despite the acid in her words. She has no idea how right she is. I stare at the ceiling, still reeling from the fact that I literally just experienced this very thing earlier tonight. “You know me too well.”
“I do,” she agrees. “It’s also why I love you.”
“Because you know me too well?” I ask with a laugh.
“Because you let me in long enough to get to know you,” she clarifies. “Which I’ve learned over the years is kind of a miracle.”
She’s right. It is.
“I saw Pax at the bonfire,” she continues, like her words didn’t just knock me on my ass. Or at least, they would’ve if I wasn’t already lying down.
My body stiffens, and I dig my fingernails into my palms, fighting the urge to lose my shit because if Rory saw Pax, I can’t pretend my encounter with him was a figment of my imagination. “What?”
“Pax,” she repeats. “As in…the schmexy guitarist. I saw him tonight.”
I stick a pin in teasing her about her inability to say sexy and focus on the bomb she’s dropped on me and what it might mean in the big picture. “You saw Pax?”
“Yup. Did you see him?” she asks.
Well, shit. I could lie. Tell her I didn’t see him. Or I could spill the tea on everything that transpired. She wouldn’t judge me. Not too harshly, anyway. But for some reason, neither option feels right. Like, if I lie, I’m a bad friend, but if I admit I saw him, I’ll blurt out everything that happened, and she’ll ask why I’m so adamant about keeping space between us when it’s clear he’s interested in more, and I’ll have to go quiet, and she’ll be reminded of how screwed up my brain is thanks to her older brother’s death, and?—
“Tate?” she prods.
“Uh, yeah.” I gulp. “Yeah, I saw him. Only for a minute, though.”
“What’d he say?”
“Just…hi,” I offer vaguely, well aware that keeping the truth from her is way against the best friend agreement. “Did you…did you see him before or after I saw him?”
“Before, I think,” she decides. “He seemed kind of pissed when he saw you with Cowboy.”
Okay, definitely before. That’s good. Really good. I think?
“Got it.” I lick my lips, grateful she ran into him before the blowjob instead of after because that wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. “Did he, uh, did he tell you why he’s here?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Any idea how long he’s staying?”
“No idea.”
“Are IndieCent Vows playing or something?” I prod.
“No idea,” she repeats.
With a huff, I roll toward her. “And what do you know?”
It’s too dark to see her, but it doesn’t soften the amusement in her voice as she answers, “I know he couldn’t take his eyes off you while I was talking with him.”
My heart thrums faster, and I fist the sheets in my palms. Her observation shouldn’t affect me. Shouldn’t make my stomach flip-flop or my heart flutter like a lovesick hummingbird. Get with the program, body. You don’t care about Pax or his potential interest in you. You don’t care about him at all. You don’t care about anything . The thought is like a whisper, winding its way through me and leaving me…raw.
“Maybe you missed it because you were a little distracted,” Rory offers.
By Cowboy. Right.
Why do I keep forgetting about him, again?
“Exactly,” I argue. “Cowboy’s cute.”
“And Pax isn’t drop-dead gorgeous?” she counters. “He’s even schmexy when he’s pissed. You should’ve seen his face when he realized you were at the party. It’s like he was walking a love/hate tightrope or something.”
I scoff. “He doesn’t love me.”
“But hate’s on the table?” she counters. “I thought your little evening together ended…amicably.”
“Amicably.” I snort. “I mean, we screwed each other’s brains out, so yeah. I’d say it was amicable.”
Or at least, it was until I told him I was engaged , I silently add.
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean,” Rory pushes. “From what little you’ve told me, you guys had a pretty mind-blowing night together. Then you run into him years later and he looks at you like you stepped on his birthday cake.”
“Rory!” My nose wrinkles. “That’s a little harsh.”
“You know what I mean. And then you disappear with the guy? What happened?”
“Disappear?”
“I saw you walk away with him,” she points out. “Yeah, I didn’t miss how you left that part out, by the way.”
“Are you saying you were testing me, and I failed?”
“Yup,” she answers, unashamed of her mind game performance.
“I think I’m rubbing off on you too much,” I grumble.
“Probably,” she agrees. “Now, spill. What happened?”
Fiddling with my gold ring, I replay my encounter with Pax. Both of them. I’m not some innocent little virgin. I’ve spent time with guys. Some good experiences. A lot of bad ones. But my night with Pax always stood out. Haunting me. Comforting me. He was…he was really sweet. And the sex? Yeah, it was incredible. But there was a reason I left afterward, and it’s best I remember it.
“He wanted to…talk,” I lie. “So, I went with him to find some privacy, then told him I’m only visiting and not interested and that’s that. I’m not interested.”
“Who isn’t interested in a face like his, though?” she argues.
“Me,” I decide. “We both know I don’t backslide, Rore.”
Except I totally backslid.
“Or, you know, you could give him a chance, see how it goes and play it by ear,” she offers. “That is, if you’re not married anymore.” She emphasizes married while giving me a look that screams, I’m not mad. I’m disappointed with a sprinkle of What the hell, Tate ?
To be fair, I’ve earned it. Her silent reprimand. Hell, I deserve a lot worse for keeping this from her.
I grimace, refusing to cower no matter how much I want to. Even so, it doesn’t stop the guilt from swelling inside of me because yeah. When she says it out loud, it sounds a hell of a lot worse than I initially intended it to be.
“He told you, huh?” I mumble.
“Uh, yeah. The question is, why did you lie to him in the first place? And married to Archer? Seriously?”
My shame topples over me as soon her brother’s name slips out of her. “Okay, that part was messed up,” I concede.
“You think?” she snaps. “Start talking, Tate.”
Chewing on the edge of my thumb, I sigh and give in, my conscience getting the best of me. “Look, it’s not a big deal.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, looking less than convinced. Feeling her frustration, Hades lifts his head, looks at me, and lets out a low growl.
Ignoring him, I push forward, explaining, “After we hooked up, I may or may not have told him I was engaged so he wouldn’t ask Dodger for my number.”
“Tatum,” she scolds.
“I didn’t know how else to convince him to not pursue me.”
She laughs. “Someone’s cocky.”
“You don’t get it,” I argue. “You weren’t there.”
“What’s there to get?”
“We had a…connection,” I mutter. “And for better or worse, I knew if I didn’t draw a line in the sand, he’d cross it, okay? So I…I did what needed to be done. I drew a line in the sand.”
“A fake line.”
“Yeah, but it worked.”
“It also paints you as a cheater.”
“I’ve been painted worse,” I remind her, but it doesn’t take away the sting of the truth I’ve long since buried. That night? That night I did feel like a cheater. Because that night I connected with someone on an emotional level, not only a physical one. And that felt like more of a betrayal to Archer’s memory than any of my other encounters with the opposite sex, and it’s why I knew I needed to draw the line. Why I knew I needed to disappear. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if I sound like a crazy person. I needed the distance to alleviate my guilt for connecting with someone other than a guy who’s already in the ground. It’s why my little run-in with Pax felt more weighted than even my best friend can imagine, let alone understand.
“You should come clean,” Rory decides. “He seems like a really nice guy, Tate.”
“Well, yeah. He’s a charismatic sweetheart.” Until he finds out you lied to him. “And a rockstar ,” I emphasize in an attempt to focus on the facts instead of my own guilt. “Even if I was stupid enough to do a one-eighty on my relationship stance— which I’m not—you really think opening the door for a rockstar is a smart idea?” I scoff. “Yeah, no thank you.”
“Come on. It’s been years,” she pushes. “Maybe you should give him a real chance.”
Yeah, that ship has sailed. He already knows the truth, even if I didn’t full-on admit it tonight. Add in the fake number, and I might as well buy a shirt labeling me Paxton’s mortal enemy if his reaction to my first lie is anything to go by.
“Just because he’s a nice guy when he isn’t pissy about me lying to him doesn’t change anything,” I tell her. “Honestly, it’s kind of a tally in the wrong column, if you ask me.”
The moonlight filters through the window, painting Rory as she props her head on her hand, clearly invested in our conversation as she plays with Hades’ fur. “What? Nice guys are bad?”
“Nice guys are dangerous,” I clarify. “You should know.”
I don’t throw her childhood crush in her face often, and I’m not trying to right now, either. But if anyone knows what it’s like to fall for a nice guy only to wind up rejected by him, it’s Rory. And me. But I digress. Yeah, Jaxon Thorne is the epitome of nice guy. He’s sweet. Thoughtful. Dependable. He’s perfectly unattainable and Rory’s greatest regret. Once upon a time, they were best friends despite their massive age difference. She thought she could tell him anything. And it was true. She could. Everything but her feelings for the guy.
“I know,” Rory finally mutters. “It’s just…I don’t know. Not every situation has to be like me and Jax or you and Arch. Like I said, Pax couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, Squeaks,” I say, trying to soften the blow. “I know your untouched, ripe-for-the-picking heart wishes it did, but…it doesn’t. He’s just a guy.” The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I swallow it back.
“Maybe you’re right,” Rory concedes. “You probably are, but…I don’t know. Is it so wrong for me to want you to be happy?”
Caught between being offended and amused, I chuckle softly, arguing, “Hey, I’m happy.”
“You know what I mean.”
Propping my head in my hand the same way she is, I challenge, “Do I?”
“I’m just saying, we both know we’re fucked when it comes to the opposite sex and our views of relationships.”
“Fool us once, shame on us, fool us twice?”
“Not a chance,” she finishes for me. Her words are heavy with melancholy, only adding to the weight of regret sitting on my chest since long before my run-in with Paxton tonight.
Anxious to end this conversation as quickly as possible, I face the opposite wall and close my eyes. “Goodnight, Squeaks.”
“Can I ask you something?” she adds.
“Yeah?” I sigh.
“Do you ever…do you ever wonder who has it easier?” she whispers. Her words swirl into the black abyss separating us, leaving me more exposed than I’d like.
Knowing I’ll regret it, I roll onto my side and face her again. “What do you mean?”
“Archer’s gone.”
The familiar pang in my chest sharpens, but I force my breathing to stay steady.
“And he…he never knew how you felt, and you have to live the rest of your life wondering what if, while knowing you’ll never get the answer,” she continues. “Meanwhile, Jax is…Jax is very much alive, and I did shoot my shot, and yes, he had every right to pump the brakes, but it’s been years now, and even though I know how stupid it was to tell him how I felt, he never reached out. Never…tried to make amends or…or even tell me why I wasn’t enough.”
It’s bullshit. She’s more than enough. Hell, Rory Buchanan is incredible. She literally ticks every box on every guy’s perfect girl list. Probably because she’s a fan of lists in general, and the idea of not completing said list to its fullest is considered a travesty in the girl’s eyes, but still. You can’t change your age. And ten years is a hell of a lot of them to look past.
Trying to lighten the mood, I say, “I mean, technically, you blocked his number and vowed to never see him again, so I’m not sure how he could contact you to make amends, but…” Her quiet sniffle is louder than a foghorn in the silent room while also making me feel like shit for being so blunt. “Shit. I’m sorry, Rore.”
“I think we both know why I vowed to never see him again, Tate.” She pauses. “Do you want to know the really stupid part? Even though I have no reason to be hung up on him, and honestly, I’m not anymore, I still can’t get myself to like, open up.” Her quiet voice cracks. “To anyone. And how ridiculous is that, you know? It was a stupid, meaningless crush, and I still can’t let it go? I know I’m pretty. I know there are plenty of fish in the sea, but the idea of being vulnerable enough to open the door with one of them feels about as freaking pleasant as rolling around on shards of glass.”
I grimace. “Ouch.”
“Exactly. And then there’s you, and don’t take this the wrong way,” she warns, “but you’ve basically decided to cope with your lack of emotional intimacy by jumping into bed with any hot guy who says he’s interested.”
I jerk back. “I repeat, ouch.”
“You know I’m right,” she argues. “And honestly? You do you, but?—”
“Thank you, and I will.”
Ignoring said interruption, she repeats, “ But. Seeing a guy who looked at you tonight the way I would kill to have a guy look at me, and yet you want nothing to do with him feels…empty, almost.”
My body tenses at her observation.
Well, shit.
If Rory was anyone else in this moment, I’d probably chuck my pillow at them. But Rory is Rory. My confidante. My one and only. My sister from another mister. She’s the only one who’s managed to slip past my defenses since her brother’s death, and even though I like to give her shit for being little miss rainbows and butterflies, I almost envy her. The way she’s able to find a positive spin on most situations despite the matching shit-sandwiches we were given by fate. Even if I’m the one who claims the invincible title more often than not, she’s always been stronger than me, and I think we both know it.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I carefully point out, “I’ve been empty for a long time, Squeaks. You know this.”
“Maybe we both are.”
She sounds so…broken. So lost. It kills me.
“Nah. Don’t lump yourself in with me.” I climb out of bed and pad across the cool floor. Grateful Hades is on Rory’s opposite side, I slide in beside her, pulling her against me the same way I wish my older sister would. “You’re amazing, Rore. And one day, you’re going to find a guy who’s worthy of you. I promise.”
She sniffles and burrows closer. “I think you will, too, you know.”
“Always the hopeless romantic,” I quip.
Another sniffle cuts through the quiet room. “Someone’s gotta cheer for us, right?”
My heart cracks. The two hopeless underdogs. We’re a real screwed-up duo, that’s for sure.
“I’ll always cheer for you,” I announce, giving her one more squeeze. “Now, you need to let me get some sleep, since apparently, I’m not allowed to call in sick or I’ll wind up on your shit list.”
“And don’t you forget it.”