Chapter 9
brANDON
The air around the fire seems to freeze. I stop breathing entirely, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard, I think they might break.
Her answer doesn’t matter.
Just because she’s never seen you as more than a friend, doesn’t mean she can’t—won’t.
Her eyes flicker up to mine long enough for me to see the turmoil swirling in their depths, and I hold my breath.
I expected this to be an easy no, but the longer she stays silent, the more I start to suspect there might be something there.
And if there’s one thing I know about Tatum, it’s that she won’t lie.
Stupid game or not, she’ll tell the truth.
“I—” Tatum starts, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “Um . . .”
She clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably as her gaze drops to her hands, which are fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy as everyone waits for her answer, and when she finally speaks, her voice is so quiet, I have to lean in to hear her.
“I have,” she says, her voice heavy from the effects of alcohol.
“But it was a long time ago,” she’s quick to add.
The admission hits me like a physical blow.
I try to suck in a breath, but my lungs forget how to work.
Did she just—?
“What do you mean, you did?” Ethan’s voice has gone dangerously quiet, his fingers digging so hard into her waist now, she winces beneath his touch, and I’m this close to breaking his hands.
But I’m too stunned to move, afraid that if I do, I’ll realize this was all some kind of joke. That she didn’t just admit to once having feelings for me.
“Um, it was in high school.” She shrugs, but the movement is anything but casual as she waits for Ethan to react.
“Before I even knew you,” she adds quickly, and I can’t tell if she’s lying to placate him or telling the truth.
Her voice is still slurred, but there’s an earnestness there that makes me wonder if maybe she’s being more honest than she would be sober.
I sit, stunned as I process what she’s saying. The fact that she once felt more for me than friendship is fucking everything?confirmation that there was something there once and maybe could be again.
Ethan’s jaw ticks as he glares at me over the top of her head. “So, three years ago?”
She nods.
“And now?” he asks, his tone sharp.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I fight the urge to flinch as her words hit their mark. Instead, I smooth my face into a placid mask, knowing Ethan’s eyes are on me?knowing he wants a reaction?and focusing instead on the fact she once had feelings.
I rack my brain for telltale signs, reflecting back on our senior year of high school to pinpoint the shift, but I can’t.
For me, I think I always viewed Tate as mine.
But I remember quite clearly in sophomore grade when everything crystallized.
We were at Macy Henley’s pool party, and I’d spent the entire day in the water with my friends playing Marco Polo and water volleyball.
The sun was just starting to set, casting an orange glow across the water, when I climbed out, dripping wet, and saw Tate sitting alone on one of the lounge chairs.
She was wearing a blue bikini with little white polka dots, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun as she read some fantasy romance novel about dragons.
Something about the way the fading sunlight hit her face made my heart stutter in my chest. Her pouty lips turned up into a smile at whatever she was reading, and I knew.
It hit me like a blindside tackle—sudden, jarring, and impossible to recover from.
I was in love with her. Not the casual kind of love, or the maybe-one-day kind, but the bone-deep, no-turning-back kind of love. The kind you never fall out of.
I almost told her right then and there, but when I called her name and she lifted those blueish-purple eyes to mine, I didn’t have the courage.
Because I was too young to be that in love and too scared that if I made a move, it wouldn’t last. That I’d lose her as a friend, and there was one thing I knew for certain: I couldn’t ever lose Tatum Fletcher.
She was a part of me. A fifth limb. A vital organ.
Flesh and bone. So, I decided right then and there to settle for friendship.
To push those feelings into the furthest recesses of my mind and never look back.
And here I am now. Fucking looking back and kicking myself for not leaning into her on the lounger and kissing the fuck out of those cherry-red lips when I had the chance.
“See? No reason to be concerned,” Ethan sneers. “Like I said, I trust Tatum. It’s other people that I question.” There’s a distinct threat in his tone.
In my head I flip him the bird and give him a giant fuck you. But in reality, I plaster on a fake smile and play nice. This is a marathon, not a sprint to the finish line, and as long as Tatum is the prize, I’m okay if it takes longer than I’d like to get there.
“Right.” I stare him down, my gaze locked with his in some kind of bid for dominance when Tatum rises to her feet.
Brushing off the seat of her shorts, she says, “Um, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. Someone else can take my turn.”
She takes a step and stumbles, but I shoot to my feet. Ethan does the same, both of us reaching for her when he shoots me the universal glare to back the fuck off. One I ignore.
“Why don’t I walk with you,” I suggest, moving to her side.
“I think I can handle my girlfriend.” Ethan cups her elbow, guiding her toward him while I grind my teeth.
“She’s drunk,” I say, well aware everyone’s still watching us, that we’re giving them a show.
Ethan snorts. “And?”
“And Tatum doesn’t get drunk.”
The smug prick raises a brow. “Have you ever thought that maybe she was able to let loose because she knows I’m here to take care of her?”
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of—your definition of taking care of her.
Ignoring him, my gaze falls to Tate, and I motion toward the house. “Come on. I’ll walk you inside.”
I make another move toward her when Ethan’s hand falls to my chest.
I freeze, staring down at it as red clouds my vision. Behind me, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and I know without looking it’s my friends.
“I’m her boyfriend,” he says, his tone cool. “If anyone takes her, it’ll be me.”
My head lifts and I contemplate tearing him limb from limb when Tate’s voice penetrates my violent thoughts. “Or you both could stop talking about me like I’m not here,” she says, and then she turns on her heel and leaves us both standing there staring after her.
It takes everything in me not to go after her, especially when Ethan jogs to catch up with her, and they disappear inside.
But then I remember everything that just happened, and I turn to my friends, beaming from ear to ear.
“Damn, is that a smile?” Chris whispers to Damon.
“I think it is.”
“Should we be scared?” Jace asks, eyes wide. “That’s one hell of a mood swing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m smiling because Tate fucking likes me.”
“Uh . . . liked,” Chris says, raising a finger. “She liked you. As in past tense,” he says. “But I like your enthusiasm and agree. If she thought of bumping uglies with you in the past, that means she can envision it again.”
“Seriously, dude?” I say.
“What?”
“Do you have to be so fucking crass?” I shake my head and glance back toward the house. “I can’t believe she liked me, and I had no idea.”
“Would you have made a move if you had?” Damon asks.
I think about it a minute. “I don’t know. At one point, I decided having something more wasn’t worth risking our friendship, so I’m not sure.” I drag my hands over my face, so messed up over this girl, I don’t know what to do with myself. “Fuck, I don’t trust him with her.”
Especially when she’s drunk.
“Yeah, but her roommate will be there, right?” West asks.
I shake my head. “Her boyfriend’s a Sigma Alpha, so she’s crashing here. She can barely walk in a straight line, and I just know that fucker will have his paws all over her.”
Damon frowns, following my gaze toward the house. “You think he’ll take advantage of her?”
Yes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I know it sucks, man, but they’ve been dating for three months. Have you ever considered the possibility that they’ve already slept together?” Jace asks.
All the air leaves my lungs as I rake my fingers through my hair, pulling on it as the vision of them together dances through my head.
I refuse to even acknowledge the possibility even though I know it’s there, so I say, “I don’t think she’s the type to give it up that easily, so three months is nothing. But she hasn’t been this wasted, maybe ever . . .”
“Fuck,” Jace says beside me.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“No matter what, though, he’s her boyfriend,” Damon says, clapping me on the back. “And you just have to trust that Tatum knows what she’s doing.”