Chapter 10
AURORA
“The dating pool definitely has piss in it.”
“Piss? Oh you sweet hopeful baby. Something is floating, and it’s most definitely not a candy bar.”
I busted out laughing with Hollis and Shan, fully amused by their back and forth over their dating woes. We’d been at dinner for the last few hours, and I’d been listening and laughing, dropping my opinion in every now and then, but not actually commiserating.
Same as usual.
Just for a different reason this time.
Before, I couldn’t relate because I was engaged, and not planning to re-enter the dating scene anytime soon.
Now, I wasn’t engaged… and was still not planning re-entry to the dating scene anytime soon.
Not even because of what options might be available.
Because I just wasn’t there yet.
And didn’t need to be.
It was approaching three weeks since Monty showed up to my house while Tatum and I were peacefully sleeping to piss me off. Tatum had done a decent job of defusing my anger once we finally were alone again—spread eagle on a countertop was an underrated distraction—but once he’d left, and it was time to get back to reality… I was pissed all over again.
Furious, even.
And the heat of that anger let me know I wasn’t anywhere near as “over it” as I’d like, and if I wasn’t really “over it”, it was probably best to actually give being alone a shot.
More than a shot.
A commitment.
No matter how good it felt to be wrapped up, and naked, with Tatum.
As if I’d thought him up, my phone buzzed with a text from the man himself, and I sighed. I hated how awkward it felt whenever he reached out, knowing how giddy it made me.
I should not be excited about three sets of eye emojis.
And yet…
I thought we talked about using your words? I texted him back, ignoring the response that buzzed back almost immediately. I waited several minutes, continuing my conversation with Shan and Hollis for a bit before I allowed myself to check it.
You like treating me like a wet rash so I gotta scope the scene first. – TW
A wet rash?
Damn.
I knew he was referring to my tendency to go days without responding to him reaching out, but I didn’t think it was like that.
I was trying to be cool.
That doesn’t feel like an exaggeration? I messaged back, then tucked the phone back into my purse.
Did I see the irony of that?
Of course.
But I still was not about to give in to the thirst.
I refused.
It wasn’t until we’d paid the tab, said our goodbyes, and I was tucked safely in the backseat of my secure rideshare and halfway home—I knew I’d be drinking and didn’t want to drive—that I actually looked at my phone again.
Nearly an hour had passed.
This was how I ended up not texting back all those times.
Not at all. You’re so mean. – TW
See, you’re treating me like an animal now. You’re only getting away with this cause you fine. – TW
And cause I know it’s fat. – TW
OTHERWISE!! – TW
I smirked.
Those texts weren’t sent back to back, not exactly. There was a good distance of time between them, letting me know his message wasn’t just some one-off.
He actually wanted to talk to me.
Instead of responding via text, I hit the button to initiate a call, which he answered almost immediately.
“You are really something else, you know that?” he asked in greeting once he’d accepted the call. “How you know I’m not busy?”
I smiled. “If you were busy, you wouldn’t have answered.”
“Nah, not true,” he denied. “You only give me any attention every four business days, so I gotta make sure to pick up your calls.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“You definitely are. But like I said… you’re fine, so you get to do whatever you want.”
“Tatum… were you busy?”
“Not really. But I could’ve been,” he countered, full of fake indignation that made me laugh. “Damn, and you laughing at me? You not even taking me serious for real. I mean I already knew I was just your lover and your secretary but daaaaamn.”
“Stoppp, you’re going to make me feel bad for real!”
“Good. You need to be stopped.”
His tone was so serious it wiped the grin off my face, and my eyes went wide. “Hold on, are you?—”
“Fucking around?” he cut in, chuckling. “Rori, when am I not?”
“Oh thank goodness,” I said, letting my shoulders relax. “Why would you scare me like that?”
“To get you used to not taking niggas’ guilt trips seriously,” he answered. “Call it conditioning.”
My face wrinkled. “Boy, what?!”
“You’re a single woman, right? Fine, successful, probably got some money stacked up. You’re in your free agency period, so as soon as you really step out, you’re gonna have men trying you left and right. Just like these professional leagues. Come to my team. We’ve got a private jet. What uniform you got on? What’s your favorite position? Oh, you’re about to go practice? Without me? Where my trap block at?” he quipped, while I laughed my ass off at the pure silliness of it.
“You laughing, but I’m so deadass,” he chuckled. “You gotta assume it’s all bullshit and make them prove otherwise.”
“The teams or the men?”
“Both, baby. I hate to say it, but too many of my brethren are full of shit professionally and romantically, so having your eyes wide open is necessary.”
“That is unfortunately not exclusive to men. I’ve dealt with some weird ass women too.”
“You be scissoring?”
“Tatum!” I shrieked. “You know damn well that’s not what I’m saying!”
“Now how would I know that?”
“I… Well…”
Shit.
I guess he wouldn’t?
Despite our intimate knowledge of the others’ anatomy, we were still getting to know each other after all.
“You’re right; women full of shit too,” he laughed as I struggled to find my words.
“Anywayyyy,” I said. “The point is, I was referring to professional dealings with women I thought were allies, or partners, only to discover we were actually, apparently, in competition and I was the only one who didn’t know. Actually, that shit happens with friends too, which is even worse. Maybe.”
“Y’all might have us beat in that area. I don’t know if men get too into all that with other men.”
“All that?” I asked.
“Competitions and shit. Being petty. Sneak dissing.”
“Says the man who was singing, I’ll take your bitch music with his siblings on an internet stream as a clear response to my ex?” I challenged, brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m proud,” Tatum said. “You’re catching on.”
“You are such a damn mess,” I laughed. “But… yes, I guess I’m catching on.”
“Good girl.”
Immediately my eyebrow hiked, surprised about my internal response to what was clearly just a passing statement to him. He had already moved on.
“What are you up to right now?” he asked. “Sounds like you’re moving?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m in a ride service headed home from dinner with Hollis and Shannon.”
“Okay I know Shannon… who is Hollis?”
An instant smile hit my face. “Hollis is my friend and favorite developer at BabyBee.”
“I thought Shannon was your favorite developer?”
“Shannon is my lead developer,” I corrected. “And they’re actually not doing the same job. Shannon is backend, which is the same thing I do. We work with databases, programming, infrastructure, stuff like that. Hollis is a front-end developer. He makes all mine and Shannon’s nerd shit look beautiful, handles user experience, design, responsiveness, all that. And when you bring the two together…”
“Form and function.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Both of which are incredibly important with an app like ours. That market is so competitive. If it’s not aesthetically pleasing and fresh and easy to navigate, etcetera, your user never opens it again. If it’s slow, lacks functionality, doesn’t store information properly, is glitchy… your user never opens it again. And of course, there’s other factors—data security, accuracy, all kinds of legalities… it’s a lot. But I really love it.”
“I can tell. The way you speak about it… clearly it’s lucrative, but you don’t even talk about that part. Like it’s incidental.”
“It is and isn’t. Making money allows us to do more, to reach more people, so it’s certainly important. But I would want to do this even if it didn’t make money. I would figure it out, because supporting parents is important work.”
“Hmm. Your perspective seems quite… personal. But you don’t have children?”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “I have children and parents in my life who I love, who I saw struggle—friends, family, hell, even strangers on the internet who deserve more support, more access to information, more advice, more community, more everything. But… yes. It’s also quite personal.”
I didn’t mean to clam up. But a wave of emotion hit me as I was speaking, so once I finished my statement I stopped, trying to collect myself.
“Hey,” Tatum spoke up. “You don’t have to take it there right now, I wasn’t trying to kill the vibe or anything.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I assured, blowing out a sigh. “I’ve just still got a bit of liquor in my system from dinner, so…”
“Ahhh, you’re one of those?”
“One of what?”
“Those people who get all introspective and emotional when they drink?” he chuckled. “I’ve only seen you after a lemon drop, so I… wait. Actually… you did cry hard as fuck in that room.”
“Oh my God, don’t remind me.” I cringed, my face going hot even though that was…
Shit.
It felt like ages ago, despite being maybe a month behind me at best.
Still embarrassing though.
“Shit, we all have our moments,” Tatum said, and I sucked my teeth.
“So you’re an emotional drunk too?”
He laughed. “Uh… you could say that, I guess?”
“What does that mean? It’s a yes or no question!”
“Fine then, yes. Since anger is an emotion, yes. I’m not gonna start crying, but the chances of me throwing bows is… whew. High.”
“Well that’s not good!”
“Exactly, so I drink responsibly,” he chuckled. “Keeping my ass out of jail is a high priority.”
“Is it though?”
He fake gasped, making me laugh. “Now why would you say that?”
“You’ve offered to beat Monty up like twenty times.”
“Oh I’ll take that charge fa sho. On principle. I do not like that nigga.”
“Because of me?”
“Not solely, but that’s part of it.”
“What are the other parts?” I asked, curious to hear a view of Monty from a different perspective.
Which had been one of the interesting things about this transition period.
Apparently, everyone had felt some shift happen with him, but it was only ever talked about in these nebulous terms. All of our shared friends talked about him being different—less social, more aggressive, a self-centeredness that had never been part of his personality before.
All things that I’d noticed too, but wrote off because I loved him. Made excuses for it, pegging it as stress over his career, just getting older, or even blaming it on myself. I was so focused on getting BabyBee off the ground that I had changed, not him.
Now though, I was seeing the truth.
Maybe I was different.
But he was too.
And not for the better.
“Well we can start with the Behemoths knocking us out of championship contention,” Tatum started, and I laughed, shaking my head.
“I see, so nothing real then?” I asked.
“Give me enough time, I’ll find a good reason,” he said. “Back to you though… you told me you were being driven, right? Not driving?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I don’t play the non-sober driving stuff. There’s a great service here in Blackwood, fully vetted drivers, luxury cars. You can even get bulletproof windows and all that if you want.”
“Well damn,” he laughed. “So I don’t have to ask you to give the phone to the driver so I put a little uncertainty on his mind about if you don’t get home safe?”
“Here you go trying to fight somebody again!”
“I’m not trying to fight. I’m saying I would let him know I will fight.”
“You gave your mama hell growing up, didn’t you?” I asked, and he laughed.
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking. And, for your information, I only fought when I had to.”
“Had to?”
“Kids are bad as fuck, Rori. Mean as fuck. They used to try me, so I had to build a certain reputation to get left alone. You never had to do anything like that?”
I smiled. “Actually, I was universally well-liked and good at everything I tried.”
“Why is that not surprising,” he grumbled, making me giggle.
“Don’t be jealous. My life is a fucking mess now, so some might say I peaked early.”
“And they would be wrong.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“And I would be right, the fuck?”
“You’re great for my ego, you know that?” I told him, looking out the window as the car pulled onto a quieter stretch of road, the last little bit of the journey before I was home.
“I do my best in these challenging circumstances.”
“Challenging circumstances?”
“You being mean, screening my calls?—”
“It’s not like that!”
“It is though,” he insisted, clear amusement in his tone. “And that’s okay. I support it. You’re making sure I don’t get the wrong idea about what we’re doing, which makes it easy for me to not give you the wrong idea about what we’re doing.”
“Okay. You clocked me,” I admitted, nodding. “So what are we doing?”
“Enjoying each other’s company,” he came back, without even thinking about it. Easily. “You’re on your free agent shit, as you should be, and I’m doing what I always do, vibing. No pressure. Well… light pressure,” he laughed. “And if you’re off that, that’s cool too, I’ll respect it.”
“I’m not,” I replied, probably too quickly. “When we talk, it is… often the most enjoyable part of my day,” I admitted, then immediately wished I could take back that level of vulnerability.
But it was out there now.
“That bothers you?” he asked, perceptive as always, and I sighed.
“Bothers isn’t quite the right word. But… it feels dangerous… to enjoy you as much as I do.”
Shit.
Could I just not help myself from saying the stuff I should be telling a friend?
A different friend.
One I wasn’t fucking.
“Damn. You sound like a married nigga talking to the twenty year old down at the warehouse job.”
My eyes went wide. “Boy, I am so sick of you!” I giggled, shaking my head at his silliness.
“No you’re not,” he teased. “Don’t get mad at me for trying to distract from your heartfelt confessions and shit.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s working, see? You’re welcome.”
“Oh, so you just decided I’m grateful?”
“Exactly, baby.”
By this time, the car was pulling to a stop in front of my building. I had Tatum hold for me while I got situated inside—bags down, shoes off, standing in the mirror to wash my face.
“What are you doing?” he asked, when the water first turned on.
“About to wash my face. What are you doing?”
“Planning,” he answered. “Mudding season is coming up fast, and we have a little festival out at Wildwood every year.”
“Mudding?”
“Yeah. Bunch of dancing and drinking and riding ATVs in a big field, often muddy because of the rain.”
I frowned as I scrubbed with my cleanser. “This is some men’s retreat thing?”
“Nah, there’s always a good mix of everybody,” he answered. “I’ve seen women with better handles and rides than men.”
“Oh! Is the mud like… sterile?”
“Is the mud ste—you’re deadass?”
“Yes!” I laughed. “Don’t make fun of me, I seriously don’t know. It just sounds very… pathogenic.”
“That’s so dramatic.”
“I’ll accept that. Are you gonna answer the question?”
“No, it’s not sterile, Aurora.”
I gasped. “Why would you say it like that?!”
“To properly convey my exasperation,” he chuckled, while I rinsed, then reached for toner. “It ain’t sterile, but it’s very much organic, grass-fed, pasture-raised, etcetera. Nobody ever picks up anything a lil trip to the dermatologist can’t fix. A lil triple antibiotic or calamine lotion from the drug store. A lil anti-fungal cream.”
“Lil? There’s nothing lil about staph and ringworm, man!”
“A lil ringworm ain’t nothing, come on,” Tatum insisted. “You telling me you’re that citified, that you’ve never gotten a lil ringworm rash!”
“Stop saying lil, oh my god!”
“Fine, a big one then!”
“It was big to me, as a matter of fact,” I snapped, giggling as I picked up my nightly serum to pat into my skin. “That nasty circle rash on my leg ruined a whole summer when I was eleven. It wasn’t mud though. It was the beach. South Padre will never see me again.”
“See there?!” Tatum chortled. “Gotcha nose turned up at the mud, meanwhile, it’s your hoity-toity beaches and them damn sand fleas!”
“So you admit that outside is just nasty as a concept then? Cool, we’re on the same page.”
“I said no such thing,” he countered. “I’d never. I don’t touch dirt enough, I start feeling withdrawals and shit.”
“Oh you’re country down, I see.”
“To the bone, sweetheart.”
“So… can I ask… why are you playing football then?” I unscrewed my moisturizer to dip the back of my nail in, retrieving exactly what I needed for my face. “I mean, besides being good at it, obviously. If you’re happier being at Wildwood, why not do that?”
“Uh… it’s kinda complicated, actually. And I wouldn’t say I’m happier at Wildwood, just more… at home. Everybody else in my family is there, stayed close. Working the ranch in some capacity. I just didn’t personally have quite the same connection, so… I had to explore my own thing. I can do all the usual stuff, but I’m not… impressive at it. On the football field though… different story.”
“Gotcha.” I nodded. “And it seems like your family is hugely supportive? They were at that last game, right?”
“Big time,” Tatum agreed. “At a lot of Kings games, there’s at least one Wilder in the box.”
“Aww. I love that.”
“You gon’ come see me play next season?”
“Come watch you knock people over? That could probably be arranged.”
“Bet. You can’t be ghosting me in the meantime though.”
“I’d never!”
“You already have a pattern!” he accused as I left the bathroom to change into sleep clothes.
“I told you what that was!” I defended, laughing. “You know I was trying to play it cool!”
“And now you know… you don’t have to do that. Not with me.”
I sighed. “Yeah. We’re vibing.”