Crazy in Love

by S. L. Scott

  “What are your plans?” Nick asks.

  “Tatum wants to go to the after-party.”

  He smirks. “Oh, yeah?”

  “I can’t compete with rock stars, brother.”

  “They’re all married, and you know as well as I do, they don’t fuck around.”

  “True.” I peek over at Tatum, smiling from seeing her animated expression as she uses her arms to tell Nat a story. God, she’s gorgeous.

  “We’re gonna head home,” Nick says. “Make sure Tatum gets home safe, okay?” When I nod, he adds. “You know the code. Just let yourself in, but remember to set the alarm.”

  We shake hands and then bring it in for a shoulder bump. “Thanks for having me.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” When he steps back, Natalie’s and his hands clasp as if the universe pulled them together.

  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.”

  I rest my hand on his knee, trying to calm the anxiety revealing itself. “Harrison . . .” I find myself sighing as if I’m giving up; hopefully, the angrier side I’ve been holding so tightly to when it comes to him. Is it so bad to give in? “Natalie and I are a lot alike, but we’re not the same person. Her heart is open, so exposed and ready to be hurt—”

  “Nick won’t hurt her.”

  Getting to know my best friend’s husband over the years has shown me that true love exists. I’ve borne witness to it. Nick would do anything for Natalie, and she would do anything for him. They’re committed in legal ways, but this baby cements them as forever tied to each other. “I know he won’t. I meant before him. Natalie and I, God, we’ve done some crazy things, partied more than our fair share, and been the life of them. We never ran from being the center of attention. Worse, I ran into the arms of the baddest boy in the room. They were easy to find, usually with a cigarette or joint hanging out of the side of their mouths. We’ve both lived carelessly—her with her gentle heart, me with my willingness to prove to the world how I didn’t need anyone.”

  “Didn’t?”

  “Don’t. I don’t need anyone, Harrison. That’s your warning. If you proceed, do it cautiously because I always hurt the innocent. And I don’t think I’ll ever change.”

  “Do you want to?” he asks with no fear heard in his voice. I detect a little disappointment, though.

  “And set myself up to be hurt again? Not really into that either.”

  He shakes his head in seeming disbelief. Then he drinks, his gaze sliding around the crowd in front of us. “You know, Tatum, I think you’re right. I think we need another round of drinks.” He stands and passes the table full of bottles, a free setup spread across the white lacquer top. Watching him, he weaves around the bouncer who lifts the red rope for him to pass.

  Sitting forward on the backless couch, I set my glass down on the table and then stand to peer across the top of the crowded bar. The VIP area has a good vantage point, and as the sexiest man in the place, Harrison easily stands out. Then my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as two women strike up a conversation with him. They’re leaning in, flirting, and he’s eating it right up with that stupid smirk on his face. Anger flares inside. Anger or jealousy? I’m not sure because the burn feels the same either way.

  I knew he was a player. Standing up, I stalk toward the exit, and my glare alone warns the bouncer to lift the ropes. I shouldn’t bother giving Harrison another second of my time, but I’m too mad, insulted even, and irritated that I actually started to believe I’d made a mistake in Catalina. He’s no less the playboy I met back then.

  That wasn’t tenderness in his eyes earlier. I’m so dumb.

  Why do I always have to fall for the bad boys? Surely, there’s one good man in this universe who’s made just for me.

  When I approach, he turns his attention to me, angling my way. I don’t care if I make a scene or embarrass him when I say, “Why did I think we could be anything more than enemies?”

  Confusion contorts his expression, furrowing his brow. “What are you talking about, Tatum?” He holds a drink forward. “I was getting us drinks.”

  The two women standing on either side of him have the gall to look away from me awkwardly as though I’m the one who should be ashamed. “I don’t want another drink with you. I thought . . .” My twisted emotions get caught in my throat. Taking a breath, I look around to calm down. I refuse to fill the irrational female role. “I thought we could actually get a second chance at being friends, but you’re no different than when you had the first chance and blew it.” I take the drink, gulping some down, and then empty the rest on his chest.

  The women squeal in horror as they jump back, both shaking their hands from the liquid that splattered on them.

  “Fuck,” he growls. That fire I felt earlier flickers to life in his eyes, and I recognize the feeling, finding comfort that it wasn’t jealousy.

  Why would I be jealous of anything having to do with this man? “Go to hell, Harrison.” I turn and squeeze my way through the crowd to get to the exit.

  When I make it outside, the early June air hits. It’s not quite cool anymore like last month but not insufferable like August. Yet somehow, a chill runs down my spine as my eyes spike with tears. I hate feeling weak, but I know it’s just the alcohol messing with me. Nothing more. Not that stupid man or anything else to do with him.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Screw him. Damn all men and their inability to be faithful to someone who shows them an ounce of kindness.

  When I open my eyes, I’m met with a night sky of blue eyes. That anger I thought I was familiar with isn’t residing in his pupils. With that dirty blond hair stuck to his forehead, Harrison says, “It’s not ending like this.”

  “What isn’t?” I play dumb, hoping he doesn’t see through my innocent act. I just need to get out of here with my heart and mind intact. My heart? What does my heart have to do with this?

  “Us. You and I, Tatum. I should have fucking texted. Okay? Happy?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Not particularly.”

  “Neither am I, so where does that leave us?”

  “Stop asking me these questions like I have the answers.” Raising my voice, I continue, “I don’t. I don’t know about you, us, or anything else happening between us other than I lowered my walls, and you trampled your way inside only to turn around at the first sign of a hot woman, or two, hitting on you.” I mumble, “God, why am I even arguing with him?”

  I storm down the sidewalk, pulling my phone from the pocket on my belt to order a car. My pace doesn’t break as I head toward the corner, refusing to waste my time on that man. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m not going down that road again. I play hard to get better than I’ll ever be the easy catch for many reasons. Seeing Harrison flirting with those women the first chance he gets is one of them.

  “Hey!” His voice hits my back and grabs every other person’s attention in the vicinity. That’s not embarrassing at all . . . “Tatum.”

  The interesting part is that he doesn’t seem to be asking but demanding. That’s not going to end well for him. Not that the night was a cakewalk prior. I whip around and plant my hands on my hips. “Don’t you ever speak to me that way. Do you understand, Decker?”

  “I understand that you’re taking your anger caused by every guy who ever did you wrong out on me. And I’ll let you, but you know what, Devreux?”

  “What?” Bitterness coats my tongue, but I don’t shy away from the confrontation. I was so stupid to think he could change or that he was different. He wasn’t four and a half years ago, and he isn’t now.

  “I’m not going to dwell on this or continue wondering how I can get in your good graces. You’re a beautiful woman, but in one night, I saw beyond the skin-deep shield you hold up to the world to protect yourself. I saw someone special, not because of her beauty but her heart.”

  A car honks to my left that matches the description on the app, but his words cause me to hesitate. I turn back to him and take a deep breath. “You can run away, but I’ve seen you, the real person inside,” he adds.

  “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?