I don’t know if this weird tightening in my chest is from witnessing what I don’t have or what I’m starting to think I want. It’s best to leave before I overanalyze the situation or emotion. I shove my hands in my pockets and turn to Tatum. “You ready?”
She turns to say goodbye to the others, then plucks the front of my shirt and says, “I’m all yours, Decker,” as she raises her chin and marches past me. I grin and follow like a good friend, probably like her boyfriends do, trailing her like love-sick puppies.
Is that what I am?
Not on your life.
A great fuck, especially since it only happened one time, does not make me love-sick or her follower. Though I vaguely remember being smitten for a short time in our history. I quickly catch up to her, and we walk down the block together before we hop into the car I ordered.
Silence is another passenger hitching a ride between us. As a salesman, I’m trained to wait it out once the deal is on the table. But the deal isn’t closed with Tatum. Just an awkwardness of wondering what’s going to happen tonight.
Once we exit the car, she moves closer to my side as we walk down the alley toward the private entrance. It’s not far, but I like her company. After we step inside, she stays close to me. Maybe it’s because she appears to dislike the unwanted leers she’s receiving. This is not the woman I’ve heard stories about from Nick. He said Tatum and Nat used to dance on bars and were the queens of the spotlight, owning the attention of every person in the place. Tonight, she doesn’t seem to crave that life.
“I’m happy to be your wingman,” I say.
She giggles. “I don’t need help getting a date—”
“What? No, I meant bodyguard, not wingman.” What the fuck? Helping her get a date with some other asshole is the last thing I plan to do.
Wrapping her arm around mine, she tugs me toward the velvet ropes. A bouncer gives us a nod and steps aside, allowing us entrance to the section. “Does my body need guarding, Decker?”
Abso-fucking-lutely. “I’m up for the job if you’re offering.”
“I know firsthand you’re up for it.”
I’ve been drinking.
She’s been drinking.
“There’s that trouble with a capital T that I remember so well,” I say, giving her a once-over. I cared earlier, careful to watch her when she wasn’t looking. That care is gone, and I’ll give it right back to her. Her hair is lighter than it was in Catalina, but it’s still long, if not longer. The loose waves are so fucking sexy. It’s as if she just rolled out of bed after a night of sex. I know how the night’s going to go down. Every guy is going to be eyeing her, talking to her, and one of those fuckers might win the lottery and get to take her home.
Fuck. What am I doing? Why am I setting myself up for this kind of torture?
That short skirt, a shirt that highlights her assets, and those long legs I remember being wrapped around me. She takes hold of my shirtsleeve like we’re a couple walking into the VIP section.
Despite the band coming in behind us, you’d think Tatum was the rock star since all eyes are on her. We find a seat on a couch against the wall while the guys who came out tonight settle around a low table. I greet Kaz, then introduce Tatum. Most women are starstruck when they meet my famous friends. Hell, most men are as well. Except Tatum.
The band might be put on pedestals by everyone else, but Tatum’s poised and confident not only in her own skin but also in the sky-high heels she’s been wearing all night. I don’t know near enough as I’d like about her, but maybe her world includes megastars and musicians.
The band’s manager, Tommy, makes sure the table is loaded with bottles of options. Derrick and Kaz pour drinks like they didn’t just sweat for over two hours on a stage.
Even they take notice of Tatum and that short, even shorter when she sits, skirt of hers. They’re all married, but if they weren’t, I might be worried they’d find her more interesting than she finds me.
I have no right to feel possessive or even jealous, but some feelings I’ve ignored up to this point have unexpectedly resurfaced, causing my gut to twist and my head to spin when it comes to her. I’m not one to get hung up on a woman. I wholeheartedly admit I only made one phone call that I don’t even think she’s aware of. I made decisions, and now I have to live with the consequences. I chose my family and work back then, and I’m regretting that now.
Not that I’m in love with the woman, but sitting next to her makes me realize there was a time we had a real chance at what Nick and Natalie have. My chest tightens, thinking of that time after Catalina and what happened. I can’t change that, but maybe if Tatum knew . . .
She’s been holding on to that grudge like a life preserver. Even when I tried to make it right at Nick and Natalie’s wedding reception. No move I made or thing I said was going to change her mind. Too little. Too late.
I tried to tell her the truth. My timing might have sucked, but it wasn’t because I hadn’t been thinking of her. Sometimes life is shit and gets in the way. If I could change what happened, I would—for her, for me, but most of all, for my sister.
She’s let me back in tonight, but what will tomorrow bring?
I have my reasons, but what are hers—the real ones. I’m fucking confused and ready to put this to bed, so I ask, “What happened between us?”
4
Tatum
I’m two cocktails past the point of getting defensive or even bothering to protect my heart or other body parts that Harrison Decker has the innate ability to arouse.
After a few rapid blinks, I riddle through the alcohol fog that I was happily letting sink into my body when I was blindsided. “I thought we decided to move forward. Forget the past and all that jazz?” Enjoying the cocktail and the company of this after-party a little too much, I take another sip.
Harrison’s knee is bouncing, and he looks down at the floor between his feet. “We did, but I have questions that I can’t seem to answer.” When he looks at me again, a tenderness tinges his eyes. No smile is found, which is odd, considering his demeanor is usually jovial. Or maybe that’s just the impression I’ve gotten over the years.
Not sure where we’re going with this, I settle in, resting back on a hand against the low leather couch. The motion has the toe of my shoes bumped against his, and I don’t bother moving it. “What’s the question again?”
“Why’d you make me promise not to contact you?”
“You were right there agreeing with me. At first, it was a joke, like this will be fun, meaningless sex, a romp on a yacht in the harbor, but . . .”
“But then?”
I look away. “You had my number, Harrison. I didn’t have yours.” I finish the ice-filled drink, wishing I had ordered one without so I’d still have some vodka left. I’m thinking I’ll need it for this conversation. “We should leave the heavier topics for another day and get another drink instead.”
He doesn’t bother dancing around the topic and steps right into the fire. “Nick and Natalie have been together practically since the minute they met, which happens to be the same time we met.” He looks up at a small scuffle beyond the velvet ropes. When our gazes meet again, he adds, “You could have gotten my number when they got together.”