Chapter 22 #2
“Well, last night, I posted a review talking about this a new romantasy series.” I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers trembling with excitement. “It went viral. And I mean really viral. Look!”
I thrust the screen toward him, navigating to the video. “It’s at over one-point-three million views already. In just one day!”
I hit play, watching his face as my on-screen self begins the review. I know every word, every inflection by heart. It’s the review I spent hours perfecting—my analysis of the character development, the way the author subverts traditional romance tropes, and brilliant foreshadowing.
And the way she builds tension between them without ever . . . I mouth along to myself on the video, feeling the same passion I felt when recording it.
Ethan’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he watches, and before I even get to my breakdown of the series’ themes, he shoves the phone back at me.
“Delete it,” he says flatly.
The words don’t register at first. My brain can’t process the disconnect between my elation and his reaction.
“What?” I finally laugh, certain he’s joking.
But his expression doesn’t soften. Instead, it only hardens further. “I’m serious, Tatum. Delete it. Now.”
My mouth falls open as I stare at him, certain I misheard him.
This can’t be happening. Not when I’m finally breaking through. He’s supposed to be happy for me. Thrilled. Elated.
His eyes flash with irritation as I stand there frozen, mouth gaping. “I’m not joking around, Tatum. Delete the damn video. Now.” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s no mistaking the anger beneath it.
“Why would I delete it?” I ask, completely bewildered. “Ethan, do you understand what this means for me? This is huge!”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing around the courtyard beyond the dorms as if someone might overhear.
“Have you even looked at yourself in that video?” he hisses.
“Your”?he gestures vaguely at my chest?“tits are practically spilling out of that top. And what’s with the whole getup?
The glasses, that plaid skirt, hair all done up?
You look like you’re playing some kind of naughty librarian fantasy for the internet.
Is this what you’re doing in your spare time?
Because if so, I have to say, it’s not a good look. ”
My cheeks burn hot with humiliation. I touch my chest self-consciously, remembering the outfit I’d worn for the video—my favorite reading glasses, a scoop neck bodysuit, and yes, a plaid skirt I thought looked scholarly and cute.
I shake my arms out beside me, trying to find a way to navigate past the heavy stone in my chest.
“Did you even listen to what I was saying in the review?” I ask, my voice rising slightly. “I spent hours analyzing that book. People loved my take on it.”
Ethan barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what they loved. The words coming out your mouth.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself, trying not to show him how much his words sting. “I’ve gained over two hundred thousand followers since yesterday. Two hundred thousand people who want to hear what I have to say about books. I can’t just delete it because you’re uncomfortable.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I can see exactly why you got all those followers.”
Before I can respond, he snatches my phone back and opens the video again, scrolling down to the comment section with quick, angry flicks of his thumb. He stops suddenly, jabbing at the screen.
“Look at this: Damn girl, you can read to me anytime. And this one: Forget the book, you’re all the fantasy I need. Still think they care about your literary analysis?”
Heat crawls up my neck as I read the comments he’s pointing to. My stomach knots with a sickening mixture of embarrassment and anger.
“That’s two out of more than a thousand comments,” I say, hating how defensive I sound. “Most people are talking about the book or thanking me for the recommendation.”
“You’re being naive.” His voice drops lower, and he glances back at the sound of footsteps behind us. “My friends are coming. We’ll talk about this later.”
The evening air is crisp against my skin, as we cross the student lot toward Ethan’s car, but I barely feel it, too caught up in thoughts of the phone burning a hole through my back pocket.
“So I visited an old buddy of mine last year and we went bar hopping,” Mike says as we reach Ethan’s car. “I’m thinking we do the same and hit Blackwell’s first for drinks, then maybe The Loft if we’re feeling it?”
“Sounds good to me,” Brady agrees, looking over his shoulder at me. “Tatum, any special requests since this is your territory?”
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “No. Whatever you want is fine.”
“I’ll drive so you all can drink,” Ethan says with a grin, but I can barely look at him, too upset about our conversation earlier to so much as offer him a friendly smile.
“Actually, I can drive. I don’t plan on drinking,” I say, no longer in the mood for a celebratory drink, since there’s nothing to celebrate.
Ethan’s smile fades slightly as he glances at his friends, then takes a step closer.
“Don’t be mad about earlier,” he whispers, his breath hot on my ear.
“I just want what’s best for you. It’s only because I care.
” He reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Come on. Have a few drinks and let loose. You’ll feel better, I promise. ”
Like the last time I got drunk at the Sigma Alpha party and we had sex?
I remember the hollow feeling in my chest afterward, the regret of not waiting and my stomach twists.
No way.
I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. “I have a headache and my stomach kind of hurts, but that doesn’t mean you guys can’t have fun.”
With a sigh, Ethan pulls away, and I’m almost certain I catch him rolling his eyes before he turns back to his friends with forced enthusiasm as he claps his hands and says, “Well, if Tate doesn’t want to be any fun, looks like I’ll have to pick up the slack.”
I bristle at the sound of my name rolling off his lips. Only one person calls me Tate.
Clearing his throat, Brady glances between us, clearly picking up on the tension. “Actually, most the places are within walking distance. We can just go by foot if you want. That way, if Tatum changes her mind, it’s all good.”
“That sounds great.” I smile, more because of his thoughtfulness than anything. I still have zero plans to drink, and if I were going to imbibe, it would be to drown my sorrows in the fact that I’ll never know how many more views my post would’ve gotten or how many more followers I would’ve gained.
We start walking, the four of us in an awkward formation with Ethan and his friends leading the way while I trail slightly behind.
My phone feels like an anchor in my pocket.
I’ve already deleted the video—did it right there in the courtyard while Ethan introduced me to his friends.
I couldn’t bear the way he looked at me, like I’d disappointed him somehow.
What will I tell the girls? They were ecstatic, celebrating as if it were their own victory. How do I explain that I threw away my one shot at BookTok fame because my boyfriend didn’t like my outfit?
Ethan falls back beside me, draping his arm across my shoulders. “You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now that we’re away from his friends.
“Yeah,” I lie, trying to force a smile. “Just tired.”
I lean into him slightly, finding some comfort in his familiar warmth despite still feeling the sting of disappointment.
“You did the right thing,” he murmurs into my hair as we walk, knowing exactly why I’m feeling off. “It shows how much you care about us.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I wasn’t thinking about how it might look to others—to him.
I tell myself I went viral once, I can go viral again.
Next time I’ll be more careful with my outfit choice, more mindful of how I present myself.
What matters most is maintaining a healthy relationship with Ethan.
I wouldn’t want to leave a video up that makes him uncomfortable, even if it means sacrificing my moment in the spotlight.
“Besides,” he continues, “you’re too smart to be doing that kind of content. You don’t need to show off your body to get attention.”
The words are meant to be a compliment, I think, but they land like tiny daggers. I wasn’t showing off my body—I was showing off my mind, my thoughts, my passion for literature. The outfit was just what I felt confident in that day.
Brandon would get it—he did get it. I cut him from my life, and yet here he is, still celebrating me and cheering me on.
The thought hits me like a crack in the chest, sharp and undeniable—Ethan wants me smaller, quieter, safer. Brandon wants me louder. Brighter. More.
I tighten my arms around myself as Ethan laughs at something Mike says up ahead, his hand still heavy on my shoulder. I wonder which version of me will survive this relationship—the one Ethan approves of, or the one Brandon still believes in.
Even from the dingy bathroom, the bass from bar number five—Whiskey Sour, according to the neon sign above the door—thrums through my chest as I peel off my boot and inspect my foot.
A nasty blister glares up at me, red and angry on the right side. Unused to standing and walking so much in these boots, my feet are positively screaming, and after hours of following Ethan and his buddies from bar to bar and watching them get progressively drunker has long since worn off.
I pull the boot back on, wincing at the slicing pain when I take the few steps out of the bathroom and back toward the bar where they’re waiting.
“Another round!” Mike shouts over the music, sloshing his beer as he gestures wildly to the bartender.
His eyes are unfocused, his words slurring together, and Brady’s no better.
He stumbles back from the bathroom, nearly knocking over a barstool. “This place is lit!” he announces to no one in particular, high-fiving a stranger who looks thoroughly confused.
Ethan drapes his arm around my shoulders, his weight heavy against me.
His breath reeks of tequila shots—four of them in the last hour alone.
I have no idea how the three of them are still standing, let alone still drinking, but I hope like hell our night is coming to a close.
I don’t even want to think about where Brady and Mike are staying tonight, seeing as they were meant to be driving back to MSU.
I groan as Mike passes them each another drink. “Ethan, can we please go?” I ask, like I’ve been doing for the last hour.
“Babe, it’s early yet. We still have plenty of time.”
“But my feet are killing me, and I’m tired,” I say, motioning toward the heels of my boots and trying my best not to whine.
Ethan shrugs. “Next time, don’t wear hooker boots, then.”
The blood drains from my face as I register his words.
“Excuse me?” I nearly choke.
“It’s just a joke.” He grins, needling me in the arm. “Relax.”
I swallow, pushing down the annoyance rising in my chest, because something tells me he’s not joking.
“Listen, if your feet hurt that bad, just take them off or something.”
I glance around us at the sticky, filthy, beer-covered floor and wrinkle my nose. “No way am I taking my shoes off in here.”
“Then just tough it out a bit longer. I’m sure we won’t be too long.”
With a sigh, I check my phone: 12:47 a.m. We’ve been bar hopping for over three hours, and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is head back to my room, change into my pajamas, and curl up in bed.
“Holy shit,” Brady suddenly exclaims, elbowing Mike hard in the ribs. “Check out the blonde by the door.”
I follow his gaze to see a woman in a tight red dress—the kind of dress Ethan would say is desperate for attention—walking through the entrance, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose waves. She’s objectively gorgeous, and it’s not hard to imagine that she turns heads wherever she goes.
“Solid ten,” Mike slurs, raising his beer in salute. “Absolute smoke show.”
Brady whistles low under his breath. “Fuck me.”
My stomach drops as Ethan’s arm slides from my shoulders. He turns, his eyes following their line of sight before widening appreciatively. He doesn’t just glance—he stares, his gaze lingering on her curves as she walks to the bar.
Something twists painfully in my chest when he lets out a low grunt of appreciation. “Damn,” he mutters, and I feel the last vestiges of my restraint vanish.
“Seriously?” I snap, loud enough that all three of them turn to look at me with matching wide-eyed expressions.
“What?” Ethan frowns.
“I’m standing right here.” My voice shakes slightly with anger. “And you’re openly checking out another woman?”
Mike snickers while Brady averts his gaze like he’s not listening.
“Don’t be a typical woman and get worked up over this,” Ethan says, brushing me off. “It was just one look.”
“One look?” My brows rise. “You checked her out, then muttered damn,” I say, mocking him. “Your hypocrisy amazes me.”
With a sigh, Ethan pulls me to the side, his voice soft as he says, “Come on, babe. I might’ve looked, but I would never date a girl like that. The guys saw a girl and asked me to check her out. So, I did. Was I just supposed to ignore them? Pretend like they didn’t say anything?”
I cross my arms over my chest, wondering if he’s right. Am I overreacting?
I’m tired, my feet are killing me, and I’m still upset over the viral video. It would make sense I might be a little overly sensitive.
Sensing my crumbling defenses, he pulls me closer, tipping my chin until our eyes meet. “You’re my type. Only you,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against my lips.
And though he smells of booze and tastes like beer, I allow the gesture to soothe my frazzled nerves as I grip his arms with my hands and stare up at him. “If I say I believe you, can we just go back to my dorm?” I ask, hoping he caves.
“Come on, Tatum. My friends are here this one and only time for a visit. I can’t just abandon them. Just a little longer, I promise.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I nod. The least I could do is try to have fun with his friends. Even if this isn’t my scene, and I’m not feeling it, I still want to make a good impression.
“Okay, fine,” I say, giving in and forcing a smile. “But just one more place.”