“And I just saw the real you inside.” I walk toward the car and dip my head toward the open window. “Tatum?” the driver confirms.
“That’s me.”
I open the back door and look back to find Harrison still standing there as if we’re going to hash this all out and be besties. I’m tempted to leave without another word. Unlike him, I thought we got closure on this, on us, years ago. “We can play games all night, kid ourselves for another four-plus years, or wonder what went wrong for the rest of our lives, but one thing remains, Harrison,” I say.
His arms fly from his sides. “What?”
“If I was so special, you would have called.” I get into the car because that feels pretty damn final to me and more than I’ve ever given any other guy.
When I shut the door, I sit back, not afraid to look out the window as the car pulls away from the curb. It’s good to see your endings—helps to cope with the loss in the aftermath—but the way he watches me doesn’t give me the satisfaction I thought I’d find.
Instead, I feel empty inside.
I hate him for that, for causing me to feel the guilt as it races through my veins, for the disappointment I’m all too familiar with, and for making me second-guess myself. “Stop the car.”
We reach the end of the next block, and the car slams to a stop. Unable to get closer because of cars blocking the curb, the driver jerks his head around. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry. I need to get out.”
He rolls his eyes, his gaze returning to the rearview mirror. Cars are blaring their horns at us for stopping in the lane. “I’m giving you a lower passenger rating for this.”
“I’ll take it. I’m sorry.” I pop open the door and get out, squeezing between two parked cars. Once I reach the sidewalk, I start walking back to the bar where I left Harrison. I don’t know why.
Why do I care?
Why am I doing this?
Why do I feel bad?
Why am I anxious to get to him?
I was practically born in designer heels, but I really wish I had on sneakers as I hurry upstream through the crowd that feels determined to keep me from reaching him. I walk faster, then slowly jog, my heart racing along with the thoughts of wondering what the hell I’m even doing.
Chasing guys isn’t something I ever have to do.
I’m not even sure what I’m going to say to him.
Pushing my injured ego aside, I’m willing to start over. I won’t hold a damn thing against him. This time.
I’d do it for real this time.
We can be friends.
Friends.
That almost sounds believable.
Being friends with him might be interesting because I don’t have guy friends. Usually, it’s for a reason, but maybe he’ll be different if he’s just a friend, and all the sexual tension between us will disappear. Sexual tension? What the hell?
A guy rushing in the opposite direction hits my shoulder, sending me back a few steps and wobbling. I catch myself, along with my breath, and then run as fast as I can while dressed in a short skirt and these damn high but stunning, heels. I’d take them off if I weren’t well aware of the grossness on New York’s sidewalks.
Just past the entrance to the bar, I stop, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as I stare at the spot where I left him. I look back at the door and then to the curb where cabs and cars pick up and drop off passengers.
A heavy exhale escapes me as defeat sets in, smothering the excitement that had been building like this is some dumb love story.
What did I really expect?
That he’d still be here like a fool in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for me to hop out of a car two blocks down and run against the current to get back to him? As if.
Who’s the fool now?
That’d be me.
5
Tatum
My stomach vibrates.
Ugh.
The stupid sensation won’t go away even when I roll over. I can still feel it through the mattress. With my eyes closed, I rub my hand under the covers until I find the annoyance—my phone.
It does this most mornings like I don’t have anything better to do than sleep. Beauty doesn’t happen naturally. Stupid alarm. Sure, I’m to blame for setting it, but a good eight to ten hours is necessary, especially after a night of drinking.
My heart thumps in my chest as memories of last night come to mind. A certain man not standing where I left him causes a pang right after. I open my eyes and tap on my screen, shutting off the alarm.
Staring up into the darkness, I lie in my king-sized bed fit for a queen. Pillows, a fluffy down comforter, and the best sheets money can buy surround me. This is a life of luxury, one that usually makes me smile.
So why do I feel sad?
Reaching over, I hit the button built into the nightstand. The blackout shades start a slow ascent, and the sun invades my bedroom, the bright light burning my eyes. Grabbing a pillow, I pull it over my face and groan.
I can call in sick or just tell Natalie I want the day off. She’d understand. She always does. She’s never been one to put on pressure or demand more than she feels she can.
Spoiler alert: She can. As the boss, she can demand that her employees show up for work.
With enough time to get ready and one other activity, I have to decide between coffee at a café, a workout, or a nap. Sighing, I throw the covers off and get to my feet. Workout it is.
I grab my workout clothes, thinking it’s the best weapon against fighting this bad mood I can’t seem to shake.
Thirty minutes later, I’m looking around the gym, wondering why it’s so packed. Don’t people have work to do or something else at 8:30 in the morning? I’ve had to wait to use every machine this morning. Wrapping up on the treadmill, I hit my stride on the third mile—my pace faster than usual and on a decent incline. The endorphins were good for my attitude because I’m feeling much better now.
“Tatum?”
I glance to my right at the man staring straight at me. His face is familiar, but I can’t quite place him. At least he’s cute. I pull my earbud out on the side where he is and slow the treadmill to a walking pace. With my hands on my hips, I try to steady my breath. “Hi?”
He picks up on the question without me having to ask, and replies, “Elijah. Elijah Morris. You helped me with—”
“Your proposal.” Snapping, I point. “I remember. Your father connected us.”
“Yes, he loves to spoil my mom.”
“As he should.” I punch stop on the treadmill. “Your proposal, that must have been, what? Two years ago? I guess you’re married and living the life these days.”
Still walking next to me, he looks through the window ahead of him and shakes his head. “Actually, the wedding never happened.” He ends his treadmill session and slows to a stop on the belt. Gripping the sides, he looks at me. “She cheated on me with my cousin the night before the wedding.” Wow, that’s a bitch. More accurately, she is.
Cheating is the lowest. It’s happened to the best of us, though—me and Natalie included. Elijah always seemed like a good guy, so offense fills me on his behalf. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My mom had a sense about her the moment they met, not a good one. If you know what I mean.”