Chapter 32
brANDON
The sound of running water from the bathroom stops abruptly, pulling me from the haze of memories of last night.
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow as I wait for Tatum to emerge, only for the sight of her in nothing but my jersey to knock the breath right out of me.
She runs a brush through her hair, working out the tangles with practiced strokes, completely unaware of how the morning light filtering through my blinds turns her into something ethereal.
Water droplets glisten on her bare legs, and I have to physically restrain myself from crossing the room and pulling her back to bed.
“Let me take you to breakfast,” I say, my voice rough like gravel.
She pauses mid-stroke, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You don’t have to do that, really. I’m fine with—”
“A protein shake or week-old pizza? No.” I shake my head, already rising from the bed.
I grab her jeans off the floor by the bed and hand them to her, pressing a finger to her lips when she starts to protest. “I’m taking you for real food. Deal with it,” I say, doing my best to ignore the stirring in my pants.
“Okay,” she agrees with a small smile, setting the brush down on my dresser. “Just give me a minute.”
I watch as she slips into her jeans, appreciating the way she moves with unconscious grace, and noting with a wave of possessiveness that doesn’t surprise me that she makes zero attempts to remove my jersey.
“You’re staring,” she says, a flush in her cheeks.
“Can’t help it,” I admit, dragging a hand across the back of my neck. “You’re beautiful.”
A small smile touches the corners of her mouth as she gathers her hair into a messy bun while the morning light from my window spills over her, and I’m struck by how right she looks here, in my space, wearing my clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated across from each other at Patty’s Diner with the scent of pancakes, eggs, and bacon being ferried to tables around us.
Our waitress, Doris, takes our orders—blueberry pancakes for Tatum, western omelet for me, and coffee for both of us.
As she walks away, Tatum fidgets nervously in her seat.
She’s been quiet since we left my apartment, lost in her thoughts the whole way here. The easy intimacy we shared in bed has given way to something tense and uncertain, and with every passing second, the fear that I did something wrong grows.
“Do you regret it?” I finally ask, dread pooling in my stomach in fear of her answer.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide with surprise. “Last night?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“No.” She shakes her head emphatically, reaching across the table to grab my hand. “God, no, Brandon. Not at all.”
Relief floods through me, loosening the knot in my chest. “You sure? Because you’ve been quiet, and I can practically hear you overthinking it from here.”
She groans with a little laugh. “That obvious, huh?”
“You forget how well I know you.” I squeeze her hand, trying to find comfort in her touch even though inside, I’m freaking the fuck out. “So, if it’s not regret, what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
Tatum bites her lower lip, and I know she’s nervous when her eyes meet mine, hardening with fresh resolve. “Can I ask you a question?” she says, finally.
“Always.”
She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around mine. “This is so embarrassing,” she mumbles.
I frown, reaching across the table when she glances away, turning her face back to mine. “You never have a reason to be embarrassed with me. What is it?”
“Well, it’s just that last night, you were . . .” She wrinkles her nose, hesitating. “It’s just that everything you did, and everything you said, it was . . .”
“It was . . .?” My stomach clenches, thinking I might’ve fucked up. “Was it not good?”
She barks out a laugh, surprising us both.
“Uh, it wasn’t just good, Brandon. It’s like you had a window into my brain. Like you could reach inside my head and read my every thought and anticipate what I wanted. I mean, the backward baseball cap, caging me against the door, and telling me to look at you . . .”
She clears her throat, fidgeting in her seat as if the mere recollection of last night does things to her even now. “All the things you said, and the possessiveness of it. It was . . . perfect,” she says on a sigh. “And I guess I’m just wondering how you managed it.”
The flush in her cheeks deepens as I stare at her, a slow spreading smile splitting my face in two. Because Tatum Fletcher said sex with me was perfect.
“I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject,” I admit, leaning back in the booth, more than a little proud of myself.
Her brow furrows. “Reading? Like men’s magazines, or—”
“No.” I chuckle and scratch my head, unsure if I should even admit it. “You know all the five-star books you post about and review?” I wait until she nods. “I read them.”
She blinks at me, and her mouth falls open. “You actually read the romance novels I recommend?”
I give a little shrug, saying nothing.
“But . . . why?” she finally manages.
“Because you love them,” I say simply, knowing I’m at the risk of sounding lovesick. “Books are your passion, and you make me want to see what the hype is about, especially when you’re going on and on about all these heroes and your latest book boyfriend.”
The truth is her gushing has made me jealous of far too many fictional characters.
She stares at me in shock, a mixture of disbelief, embarrassment, and something else I can’t quite name playing over her face.
“So, let me get this straight,” she starts.
“You’ve been doing your own personal research using the romance novels I’ve been reading so you can basically be a book boyfriend in the sack? ”
I frown, toying with the handle of my coffee mug. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d put it that way.”
A startled laugh bursts from her lips. “Oh my god. All those alphas and possessive heroes . . .”
I grin and take a sip of my coffee, considering. “The dirty talk. The door pinning. The hair pulling and panty ripping,” I add, ticking them off on my fingers. “All your favorites, based on your very enthusiastic reviews, are all a part of my repertoire.”
“Brandon!” she hisses, then groans, covering her now-red face with her hands.
“What?” I laugh. “You asked how I knew what you liked. And let me just tell you, those books are very educational.”
Tate goes quiet for a moment, her hand tilting the syrup over her pancakes. She takes a small bite, and I can’t help but notice the faraway look in her eyes, as if she’s unraveling some complex math equation in her head.
My chest tightens, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting to see what conclusion she’s reaching—and hoping it’s one that includes me. “I can see you thinking, Tate,” I say, unable to take the silence. “Spill.”
She sets her fork down, a flush creeping up her neck. “Well, it’s just . . . Since I had fun and you had fun . . .” Her gaze jerks to mine. “Wait. You did have fun, right?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. Little does she know last night was the culmination of every fantasy I’ve ever had.
“You were the best I’ve had, Tate,” I say with a straight face, needing her to know it’s true. Needing her to believe it. “Hands down, the best. So, you tell me.”
She nibbles her lip and it’s so damn cute I want to lean across the table and kiss her.
“Okay, yeah, so that, about what you said.” She twirls a fork in the air. “Since we both enjoyed last night, I’m just thinking, maybe we can do it again.” She drops her gaze to her plate where she prods at a pancake, then clears her throat as she adds, “Like on a semi-regular basis.”
I flop back in my seat, and now it’s my turn to gape, because I’m speechless. Completely and utterly devoid of words for the first time.
I stare at her across the table, gripping the edge of my seat with my hands. It’s all I can do to stop myself from dragging her out of the booth, taking her into the bathroom, and showing her what I think of this brilliant fucking plan.
I fight the urge to loosen the collar of my T-shirt, willing the second brain in my pants to calm the fuck down, so I can hear everything she has to say, knowing this is my moment.
Finally.
After all this time, Tate has come to her senses. I’ve won, and the guys were right. After one night together, she’s now realized she has feelings for me?that we’re perfect for each other?and she can’t stand the thought of either one of us with other people.
I’m it.
Front and center.
Her endgame.
And it feels fucking incredible.
“You want to continue sleeping together on a regular basis?” I ask just to be clear we’re on the same page.
I want to tell her there’s a term for that.
The word girlfriend has a nice ring to it.
She shrugs, attempting casual but failing miserably. “I mean, we’re both single, and we’re best friends. We trust each other. And, like you said, it was incredible. So, a friends with benefits situation would probably suit us.”
My stomach sinks like a stone. All the blood drains from my face as I repeat her words back in my head, as if trying to decipher their meaning, because she can’t possibly be saying what I think she’s saying.
A friends with benefits situation?
Fuuuuck!
I try to keep my composure, but it’s pretty tough when it feels like I’m dying inside.
My smile falters, and to make matters worse, she misreads the look on my face and quickly adds, “No strings,” as if that will somehow make the fact she’s just danced on the grave of my hope better.
I swallow, trying to find my words, but I have none. My mind is an empty tomb as the reality of my situation sinks in. Even after last night?the perfect night together?Tate still views me as nothing more than a friend.
“Sure, yeah,” I mumble, unable to even think, let alone form a coherent sentence. “That’s great. Perfect.”
Perfect? What the fuck am I agreeing to?
Tate sinks back into the booth with a sigh as if she’d been holding her breath. “I’m so relieved,” she says with a little laugh. “For a second there, I didn’t know what you were thinking.”
I was thinking I love you.
How I’d give my right arm to call you mine.
That it fucking kills me that you only see me as a friend?even now?even after we shared the most intimate connection humanly possible.
I force a smile that feels more like a grimace, amazed I’m even able to smile at all. “Just took me by surprise,” I say, then shovel my omelet into my mouth where it settles like concrete, while the part of me that wants forever with her quietly shatters into a hundred small, private pieces.
“Great.” She beams as she turns her attention to her breakfast. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”
“I told you it would backfire!” I yell as I pace in front of the sofa while West stares up at me from the book in his hands. “I knew sleeping together before I told her the truth about how I really feel was a bad idea, but noooo! Sleep with her, you said. It’ll make her fall for you, you said.”
I stop abruptly pacing, long enough to peer down at him. “Well, good fucking plan. Now, not only does she not have feelings for me, but I feel like I’m even more friend zoned than ever before.”
West slowly scratches his jaw. “Are you sure there’s no chance she was just testing you, maybe to see if there were any feelings there?”
I scoff. “She made it pretty damn clear she sees us as just friends.”
I flop onto the couch, burying my face in my hands.
“So, help me understand,” West says, and when I peek up at him between my fingers, he sets his book down. “If you’re already pissed you did the wrong thing, why’d you agree to more?”
“You don’t get to be logical here,” I say, wagging a finger at him.
“I agreed to it because I’m a sad, sad man who can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else to fulfill her needs.
Because I’m a masochist. Because”—I snatch the throw pillow off the couch beside me and smack myself in the face, punctuating each word—“I. Don’t.
Know. How. To. Tell. My. Best. Friend. Who. I’m. In love. With. No.”
I hold the pillow over my face and groan.
I had the best night of my fucking life, and according to her, gave her exactly what she wanted, and I’m still fucking friend zoned.
“Maybe you should just tell her.”
I remove the pillow from my face and shoot him a scowl.
“Little too late for that. I already fucked her under the pretenses that we’re just friends while knowing my true feelings.
Only a week after she broke up with a dude who claimed to love her, I might add.
A dude who used her and took advantage of her.
Just how do you think that will make me look if I say Surprise!
I’ve been harboring all these not-so-innocent feelings for you the whole time but said nothing, even when you asked me to sleep with you and specifically said you could trust me as your best friend.
Yeah.” I laugh maniacally. “Somehow, I don’t see her taking that well. ”
“Good point,” he says, and my scowl deepens.
I slam the pillow back over my face, waiting for some sage advice. Words of wisdom. Something?anything?to pull me out of the depths of despair. But as usual, West is silent.
Maybe I should’ve run to Damon.
“I swear to God, if I take this pillow off my face and you’re reading while I’m over here having an existential crisis .
. .” I remove the pillow to find West’s gaze steady on me, and I sigh.
“Well? You’re the smart one in the group.
Don’t you have any advice?” I ask at the same time my phone trills, interrupting us.
With a grunt, I pull it from my pocket and check the screen?Tatum.
My heart hammers in my chest while I click on her text message, and her words fill my screen.
TATE:
My roommate will be out with her boyfriend most of the night. Wanna come over?
I throw my head back and groan. “I’m so fucked.”
I rise to my feet, both thrilled at the prospect of being with her again and tortured by the notion I’ll be even emptier inside afterward.
“Dude, where are you going?” West asks, standing.
“Duty calls.”