Chapter 27
27
Harrison
I had plans.
Romantic plans.
Plans that included us dancing in the living room, romancing her on her birthday, and then telling her how I feel about Tatum. But after that . . . after her parents just told her that she was born so they could receive a fucking inheritance, I’m livid. How can parents do that to their own flesh and blood? On her fucking birthday, no less.
Standing on a sidewalk in the middle of Manhattan wasn’t my plan for romancing my girl, but my brave beauty—who loves me—needs to know this truth. “I love you, Tatum.”
She never appeared to second-guess what she confessed, and neither do I.
Nodding, she asks, “You do?”
“Call me crazy, but I’ve fallen completely in love with you.” Raising her hand to my mouth, I kiss it. “You drive me nutty sometimes, and I find you so hard to read at other times. But we have something special, a connection that time and distance never broke. Can’t break.” Pulling her into my arms, I say, “I love you, Tatum. All of you.”
Her smile cracks open, and her arms tighten around me. “I love you, too. So much.”
I catch her rolling her eyes, though. “What is it?”
“I have nothing to complain about other than water under the bridge that you never texted or called, even when you had a way to get my number.”
“Yeah,” I say, sighing, “I fucked up, but I’m willing to do the time to make it up to you.” Swaying her hips back and forth, I ask, “What are you going to do for me for making the same mistake?” I waggle my eyebrows so easily pleased.
Her laughter is so good to hear. I know her parents’ disgusting attitude and comment will settle in, but I don’t see regret in her eyes. Yet. She’s much stronger than I am.
“How about we get home so I can show you how I plan to make up for that mistake? I might even need to make up for it several times over.”
“It’s your birthday, but I’m getting the presents. I like how you celebrate, Devreux.”
“Just you wait, Decker. I’m about to show you how sorry I am for letting this happiness slip away back then.” Tugging me toward the curb, she’s quick to grab a cab that just dropped off another couple. I duck in right behind her.
The lights from the stores that we pass flash through the cab of the car. It’s not late, and it’s Friday, but from what I can tell of New York, every night of the week is like this. Busy. Alive. We’re not too far from the apartment, so it doesn’t take long to get back.
By the time we reach the elevator, our lips are locked. The doors open, and I’m shoved against the wall in a kiss so hard that I might just have to take her right here in the hallway. We barely get her door open before our clothes start coming off.
My shirt at the entrance.
Shoes in the living room.
Her dress doesn’t make it to the bedroom.
My socks and pants aren’t on by the time we reach the bed.
Both of us are naked and climbing on the bed like we haven’t been fed in weeks. There’s been no mention of her family since we left, and I’m not going to bring it up. I’m just happy I’m the one she trusts enough to be with.
I never know what to expect when I am with Tatum. She may want to be in control, or she may want me to lead the way. It may be rough or romantic. The one thing I do know is that it’s always amazing.
Our lips pull apart, and she says, “No need to worry about birth control.”
“Guess not.” Hovering over her, I sink into her sweet heat, watching her eyes as I push inside.
She takes a breath and then opens her legs even more as I begin to thrust. “Can you keep your eyes open and on me? I want you to try, okay, baby?” Besides how she looks at me when she sees me first thing in the morning, this is my new favorite. Just as I ask, her eyes stay locked on mine.
We’ve been through so much, but this makes the ache go away. We make love and fuck, but it’s not until I lower my hand between us and rub that bud that she’s sent over. I keep pushing and then pulling back, hoping to send her over into that beautiful abyss.
I keep thrusting until I hear her say, “I love you,” in the heat of passion and then, “Harrison.” Her body tenses, and then her release hits hard. I trail right behind her, falling deeper in love, in lust, and everything in between with this woman.
Lying together right after, I’ve barely caught my breath, but ask, “Can I give you my present now?”
As if she just got a shot of energy, she laughs. “I’m not going to say no.”
I reach into the nightstand and pull out a box. “It’s not a ring,” I preface the gift, hoping to stave off any disappointment.
She laughs. “Okay. It’s not a ring. Noted .”
Setting the box down on her chest, I kiss each perfect tit and then her nipples before saying, “Okay, you can open it.”
Giddy, she takes it, and asks, “What is it?”
Feeling it’s more of a rhetorical question, I don’t feel the need to explain before she’s even seen it.
Laughter rips through her. “Did you actually buy this New Yorker a silver necklace in the shape of California?”
“I did,” I say with all the pride I can muster, which isn’t much since I just gave her everything I had of me.
“Put it on me, surfer boy.” Lifting her hair up, she turns enough for me to clasp the necklace together.
“There you go.”
Dragging the state charm back and forth along the chain, she says, “I love it more than I would have thought.”
I return to kissing her tits and the space between. Looking up, I say, “That’s actually not the gift. I mean, I bought it for you, but what I really wanted to do is take you home with me.”
“Home?”
“Yeah, I can introduce you to my family, take you to my house, which I think you’re really going to like, and anywhere you want to go or shop or see. I’ll even do one of those cheesy Hollywood tours with you if you want. The whole weekend is on me, and I’ll be your personal guide to LA.” I kiss her again and say, “Happy Birthday, baby.”
When she tenses and crosses her arms over her chest, I look up, questioning with my eyes. She looks toward the closed curtains, staring at nothing while I keep staring at her.
The smile is long gone, and her lips aren’t deviating from that tight lip line striped across her face. Nothing about her current state is the Tatum I know, much less the one I just made love to. I push up and sit next to her, leaning against the headboard, and ask, “What’s wrong?”
“You keep saying home.”
“Yeah, LA,” I say. Her eyes drift to the ceiling above me. That’s closer. Progress, but her body is unchanging. “I know hopping from one city to another may not be that exciting, but there’s great people-watching and?—”
“I don’t care about other people. I just want to be alone with you. Here. Home .”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but her anger is growing, and from the way she’s holding herself, she’s digging her heels in for a fight. “Why do you keep saying that?”
I’m hit with a hard glare. “Because you’re not catching the subtlety. I think I need to spell it out.”
“You don’t. I get it. You don’t like the gift. It’s fine, Tatum. Let’s not make a big thing. It’s your birthday, and you got a blank check. Life is great, right?”
I’m not as clever as I think I am. She can read between the lines just as well as I can read her subtlety. She sits up, her jaw slack in disbelief. “I thought so until you had to ruin it.” I ruined it?
She flips the covers off and storms to the bathroom. I hear the lock click into place, but nothing else—not the tub or the shower. She needs to cool off, and I need to cool down.
I get out of bed, pull on my pants, and walk into the living room. Pacing the length of the windows a few times, I find my irritation still scratches under my skin. She once said that she wants to learn how to fight. It’s a skill we could both use because right now we only know how to make things worse.
Do I go to her, or do I wait for her to come to me?
I didn’t know I did anything wrong by wanting to show her my hometown and meet my family. My parents, my brothers and Madison, will not be anything but welcoming toward Tate. Harlow will love her clothes. And they won’t see her as a fucking dollar sign.
Seems even sex can’t knock my anger at her parents away. Tatum’s asked me about whether I live in a house or an apartment, so I thought she would find it interesting to see my place. Meet the people I love most in the world. But why the anger?
Nick called us oil and water.
I used to believe that until Tatum lowered her walls and let me into her world. And then I realized whether it’s oil or water, we’re the same underneath. We mix just fine. It’s the outside world that seems set on destroying us.
She’s convinced only one can win. If so, will it be California or New York?
Maybe it’s both or the one I never saw coming. Or fucking Connecticut like Dolores and her family, for all I know. I don’t know anything, it seems, when it comes to us, except that we’ll make up. So I stay, sitting down on the couch and wondering if this is where I’m sleeping tonight, aka the doghouse.
“I think dating is good,” she says from the corner of the hall. I find her in the dark, arms still crossed, and dressed in her robe. I listen. “We need more of those.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing?”
“Yeah, we were jumping ahead too.”
She’s not wrong. I say, “I thought you’d like the trip. You don’t have to go.”
“I think I should. I want to see that part of your life.” It’s not lost on me that she hasn’t come closer. “Can we go this weekend?”
So now we’re going to ramrod this weekend to get it over with? I don’t have any other places to show to Lara this weekend, and no other showings either, so I reply, “Sure, I can be ready in the morning. You?”
Her armor finally lowers, and she takes small steps closer. Handling her delicately works wonders. I’m not tricking her into anything. I’m reminding her that she’s safe with me. She sits next to me, close with our knees touching but not our bodies. “Same, except I have one request.”
I’m not exactly waving a white flag of surrender, so it might be a bit early to listen to her list of conditions. Squeezing my eyes closed and pinching the bridge of my nose, I hope to ward off the headache I can feel coming on. Then I look up, and ask, “What is it?”
“I want you to put in an offer for me.”
This is the turn I didn’t see ahead. “On a property?”
“I want the brownstone next to Natalie.”
“It’s seventeen million dollars, Tate, and Dolores told me she won’t accept anything that’s not over that price.”
“Then write an offer for eighteen.”
My eyes narrow as I stare through my confusion. “What are you doing?”
“I’m buying a home. Neutral territory. A place where we both can exist equally.”
“I don’t want to only exist with you. I want to be with you—completely—whatever that means.” I rest my hand on her leg, finding comfort selfishly in the small connection.
“I want to go to Los Angeles with you this weekend, but . . .” She pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket. Holding open the blank birthday check, she says, “I want that house. Can you make it happen?”