20. Tatum
20
TATUM
S ometimes, I kind of want to smack my best friend because no matter how much I try to ignore it, I can’t stop thinking about what she said, especially after stumbling upon The Count of Monte Cristo at Roman’s house earlier. Like seriously. What the hell? It’s like I’m being haunted from beyond the grave.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rory 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, 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.”
“I’ve been empty for a long time, Squeaks. You know this.”
I haven’t talked with Rory about Archer and Jaxon in…I don’t even know how long. But every time we do, it always takes a while to…I don’t know. Recover, I guess. To put each boy back in their proverbial box instead of drowning in the past like I have been since the bonfire.
Determined to close said box even faster than usual, I’ve stayed away from my laptop—and the worn black notebook I know is hidden inside—all week. Throwing myself into cleaning, I scrub the marble floors until my hands are raw and my muscles ache. I still haven’t been back to Roman’s house yet. But I haven’t gotten a call from my boss, either, proving he’s yet to out me. I’m honestly more grateful than I’d like to admit. I kind of like cleaning. The monotony of it all. Everything except the quiet, which is where my trusty headphones come in.
I still haven’t aired out all the nitty gritty details from my run-in with Pax at the bonfire to Rory. Or at least, not the blowjob part. She wouldn’t judge. I know her better than that. No, I think she’d be worried. Or excited. Or both. Because even though I look like a loose cannon who’s flailing around most of the time, I’m very much in control of every aspect of my life, including my perceived bad decisions and one-night stands. It’s what makes the bonfire—and all things Pax—so terrifying. At the bonfire, I was not in control. Honestly, I’m impressed I managed to change the last digit of my phone number when I rattled off the numbers to Pax instead of relenting and giving him access to me when it’s the last thing I need.
I’ve been waiting for my thoughts to mellow out. For the bonfire, and my conversation with Rory, and finding The Count of Monte Cristo , and my fuck up at work to drift away and leave me numb. But instead, I’ve felt like a livewire. Like the tiniest things—a memory, a smell, a simple thought—is enough to engulf me for hours, and I’m afraid it’s driving me insane. Literally. Between my interaction with Pax and the reminder of Archer, I’m ready for a cold glass of…anything I can get my hands on.
Smoothing out my skintight red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, I rub my lips together and smile at Rory through the bathroom mirror’s reflection.
It’s finally Friday, and the idea of finding someone to distract me from everything else in my life is more appealing than almost anything. However, when I suggested a night out to Rory, she gave me a big, fat no. Not cool, but it also isn’t the first time. Even so, I'm not ready to give up on her yet.
Fluffing my hair, I ask, “You sure you don’t want to come?”
“Only for you to ditch me once Cowboy decides to take you home?” She gives me a thumbs up. “I think I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“Technically, we don’t know if Cowboy is going to be there,” I point out. “It’s not like I was able to solidify our plans before Pax interrupted.” And I gave him a blowjob , I silently add, vowing to take that tiny little tidbit to my grave.
The last time we hooked up, I didn’t sleep with anyone for six months. Six. Months. That’s how much he affected me, and I refuse to give him that much power this time around. Yup. I’m ending the seven-day dry spell tonight, come hell or high water.
“Trust me, as long as Cowboy is still in town, he’ll show,” Rory argues. “You’re like a pretty orange carrot being dangled, and he’s a very hungry horse.”
“Farm reference,” I note. “Classy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go on. I need to take Hades for a walk, anyway. Have fun, but be safe, will you?”
“Always.” I blow her a quick kiss and head to the main floor. There are perks to living across the street from a bar, and this is one of them.
Hello, no need for a designated driver.
A white pelican silhouette is engraved on the heavy wood door. It looks weathered and worn and artsy and surprisingly enticing. As I pull it open and step inside the bar, the smell of whiskey and cedar envelops me, bringing with it a hominess I can’t help but appreciate. The lights are low, and classic rock plays on the speakers while images of lighthouses and ships battling huge waves hang on the walls. I’m kind of in love with it.
“How can I help you?” the bartender asks.
Keeping the hem of my dress just high enough for some sorry sucker to buy the rest of my drinks for the night without making myself look like I’m guaranteed to go home with them, I slide onto a barstool and order, “Jack and diet, please.”
“Coming right up.”
As he gets to work making my drink, I take in the patrons scattered around the bar. Yeah, there are definitely some solid options for tonight if Cowboy decides to no-show. Good. Maybe dressing up won’t be a wasted effort after all. As the bartender sets a glass in front of me, heat hits my back, and I look over my shoulder before my head snaps forward.
Shit.
It’s the man from earlier this week. The one who caught me asleep in his house.
Double shit.
I reach for my glass and bring it to my lips, praying he doesn’t notice me.
“Hello, again,” the man greets me.
So much for him not noticing me.
Breathe.
Peeking over my shoulder again, I murmur, “Hello, Roman.”
“Ah, so she remembers my name.”
“How could I forget? You're the guy who has the power to fire me, right?”
With a confidence I can’t help but admire, he motions to the empty seat beside me. “You waiting for someone?”
I could say yes. I should say yes. But the idea of potentially rubbing him the wrong way when I already embarrassed myself in front of him feels about as appealing as…I don’t know. Something awful. Besides, he is cute, and I could use a distraction since Cowboy’s currently missing in action.
Despite my better judgment, I kick out the barstool beside mine. “It’s all yours.”
Three drinks later, Cowboy’s still absent, and I’m on the dance floor with Roman. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me closer, letting me feel every inch of his very hard, very toned body.
Yup. This guy might be my boss, but considering the fact he caught me taking a nap at his place, I have a feeling a solid hookup might convince him to keep his lips zipped. He also looks like someone who knows what he’s doing and is up for a one-night-stand which is perfect since I need one as soon as possible if I have any hope of dulling the memory of last week with Pax. “You should come back to my place,” he says, proving we’re on the same page even if I’m not ready to give in fully.
With a Cheshire grin, I murmur, “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
He leans closer, burrowing his head against my throat while letting me feel his smile against my skin.
“I prefer confident.”
“You think I’m this easy?”
“I think you came to this bar looking for a distraction.” He lifts his head, giving me a front-row seat to his grin. “All I’m saying is I’m happy to oblige, if you’d like me to. No strings attached.”
“You’re my boss.”
“I’m your boss’s friend,” he clarifies.
My brows dip. “What?”
“That’s not my house.”
Confused, I shake my head. “You didn’t tell me?—”
“You didn’t give me the chance.” His gaze drops to my lips. “And then I thought it was cute watching you squirm. But I promise I’m a complete gentleman.” He bends closer and drops his voice low. “A complete gentleman who has no issue sneaking a pretty girl into his friend’s house to use his jacuzzi for the night. What do you say?”
I should say no. I should go home and sleep off my buzz. But if I do, will I dream of Pax or Archer? Neither choice makes me feel any better. Actually, both kind of make me feel like shit, so…
Toying with my gold ring, I ask, “You good to drive?”
“Had one beer.”
“Lead the way.”
His car is nice. Like, really nice. Black. Chrome. Leather. It smells like money. A lot of money. Not in a pretentious way. It’s more like the man knows how to appreciate the finer things in life, and I almost admire it. The soft, dark leather caresses the backs of my thighs as he drives us back to his friend’s house.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I shouldn’t be here.
It’s one night. It’ll quiet the static.
Holding onto the thought, I sink further into the passenger seat, succumbing to what’s left of the alcohol in my veins.
After inputting the code, the wrought iron gate moves to life without even the softest of squeaks, and Roman peels up the drive. Once we exit the car, a tiny voice of reason echoes in the back of my brain, somehow managing to slip past the slight fog of alcohol. If Roman’s friend finds me here and somehow connects me to being his maid, will he be mad? Is it like, a conflict of interest or something? I really don’t want to be fired.
Folding my arms, I run my hands along my bare skin and stay back, hesitant to walk inside.
“There a problem?” Roman asks over his shoulder as he inserts the key into the lock.
Nibbling the inside of my cheek, I reply, “You sure your friend won’t mind us being here?”
“I promise he’d like nothing more.”
The amusement in his voice sparks my curiosity, but I’m too anxious to analyze it.
“Maybe we should…walk around the side to go for a dip in the hot tub,” I suggest. “You know, instead of going inside. It feels weird.”
“You don’t want to borrow one of the spare swimsuits?”
“Do I need one?” I tease.
He tilts his head, his eyes rolling over me. “God, I hope not.”
I laugh. “And you say you’re a gentleman.”
His low, throaty chuckle joins mine. It’s a reminder of exactly how charismatic this man is as he lifts his hands into the air. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. Shall we?” He glances at the house again, then turns to me and presses his hand to my spine, guiding me around back. Crickets cut through the sound of the ocean as we make our way around the side of the house until the balcony comes into view. The hot tub’s cover is already off as steam twists into the night air, looking far more enticing than I’ve ever seen it, which is saying something.
Did he plan to bring someone here tonight?
Probably.
It should bother me, and maybe it would if I wasn’t so desperate to erase last weekend, but it only spurs me on. At least he knows how to have a proper one-night-stand with no strings attached. Unlike someone else I know.
Don’t think about him.
Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I give Roman an innocent look. Catching the hint, he moves closer, unzipping the dress and exposing my back.
Just like always, an image of Archer flashes through my mind. Not just like always, an image Pax follows it. I shove both pictures aside, along with the familiar guilt accompanying them, and let the dress fall to my feet. In nothing but my white thong and matching bra, I dip my toe into the water. Heat licks up my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and I sigh in appreciation before slipping the rest of the way in. It feels good. The burn. Reminding me I’m alive. I’m here.
Even though he isn’t.
As I paste a smile on my face, Roman approaches me. The man’s built like a linebacker. Broad shoulders, rippling muscles, and the promise of bad decisions. The sight is almost enough to dull Rory’s words in the back of my mind.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rory 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.”
Well, would you look at that. She’s right again.
Oblivious to my mental ping-pong game, Roman climbs into the hot tub and places his arms along the back, appearing every bit like the king of the underworld should.
I look back at the dark house. Or at least, it should be dark. One of the windows is lit. The music room, I think. I could’ve sworn I turned it off.
Didn’t I?
I dip a little further beneath the water’s surface, attempting to hide in the shadows.
“Is your friend home?” I ask.
“Does it matter?” Roman challenges. “It’s only me and you out here.”
Me and him.
Also, not an answer, but I need my brain to stop freaking out more than my next breath, so I let it go.
Just do it, Tate. Get him out of your head.
Get both of them out of your head.
Forcing my body to relax, I shift closer to Roman as the hot water bubbles around us. “So, are you going to kiss me or what?”
“I promised I’d keep my hands to myself,” he reminds me. His attention falls to my mouth. “Though you are making it difficult.” His eyes flick to something behind him. “It’s a shame you’re taken.”
My brows furrow. “What?”
Lights turn on, and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to ease the sting from the contrast. Blinking slowly, I let my eyes adjust before finding a very attractive, very unreadable Paxton.
What the hell?
Arms crossed, he stares at us.
Okay, this is bad. This is really bad. But also, what the hell?
What. The. Hell?