Her brows arched in what I presumed to be shock, yet embarrassment glistened in her eyes. “Oh, no . . . I do. They just don’t live here. Although, even if they did, they aren’t the weekly-get-together kind of people, so I’d probably see them about as much as I do now.”
“That sucks.” Probably not the most eloquent thing I could’ve said, but since I didn’t know her, I figured it was best not to pry.
She dropped her gaze to her lap, and I became desperate to engage her in conversation again. I wasn’t ready for this moment to end. Somehow, her presence warded off the loneliness brought on by my recent heartbreak.
Before she could run away, I pointed to her phone and said, “Let’s take a look at the picture my aunt got of us.”
She unlocked the screen. The snapshot wasn’t zoomed in, and we were slightly off center, but Aunt Diane had managed to capture Tatum and me in the midst of laughter, our eyes locked on each other’s. On my other side, Kelsey had her face turned toward me, her top lip curled in annoyance and her arms crossed over her chest, her body angled away. No wonder she hid her mom’s phone. If all the photos Aunt Diane took of Kelsey were like this one, she had good reason to ban her mother from using a camera.
“Here . . .” I took the phone and opened the edit options to zoom in and crop Kelsey out. “There. Much better.”
Tatum stared at the image for a moment with a subtle, guarded smile, and before the screen dimmed, she locked it. Without meeting my gaze or even turning her face toward me, she excused herself. Apparently, she needed to finish the mushrooms before the burgers on the grill were done.
This time, when she walked away, I was all alone in the room.
I still couldn’t tell if she was an introvert, although I no longer believed she disliked me. But I hoped I’d get the chance to be around her more and maybe break her out of her shell. I had a feeling there was much more to Tatum than I could see.
2
Tatum
Nothing made me dream of living in Antarctica more than the stifling heat of summer.
Even beneath a tent, the humidity was enough to leave me in a perpetual daydream of icebergs and subfreezing temperatures. Yes, I’d practically volunteered to spend a day outside, but that didn’t mean I was excited to melt into a puddle of sweat.
Taste of the Town was the biggest in-person advertising opportunity a restaurant had in the area. All of Langston—and every surrounding suburb—came to enjoy food from many different businesses, large and small. I’d been picked as one of Fathom 216’s employees to help man the tent and offer insight into our unique menu. It was a treat to get to do this, and I had looked forward to it for weeks . . . until I found out who else had been scheduled for it, too.
Shawn, one of the prep cooks, was there to assist with serving, and one of the hostesses, Amanda, played the part of cashier. I didn’t mind spending a Sunday with either of them. It was the other person Michael had chosen to work the event with us—Rebecca DeWolf, his new girlfriend—who got under my skin.
There wasn’t anything wrong with her, per se. From what I knew of her—which wasn’t much, considering she’d only been at the restaurant for three weeks—she was a really sweet person. But the idea of spending most of the day listening to her gush about Michael didn’t appeal to me. She could find almost any reason to bring up his name and make it relevant to any conversation, regardless of who she was talking to.
A woman could only hear about her ex—from his new lover—so many times before she did something unforgivable and wound up on the nightly news. And since prison kitchens didn’t have sous chefs, that would’ve been a waste of student loans. So, instead of paying her any mind, I spent most of the day listening to local bands play popular cover songs from the stage in the center of the park. The music wasn’t overly loud where we were, but it was enough to drown out Rebecca and her continuous stories of Michael.
After three o’clock, the flow of traffic began to slow—for food, that is; the beer vendors still had plenty of business. Shawn stood in front of the tent, talking to anyone and everyone who passed by, and Amanda entertained Rebecca while I pretended to be occupied with my phone.
I didn’t typically pull up the photo of Jason unless I was alone in my room, where I had the freedom to salivate at his image without having to explain myself. But Kelsey wasn’t around to catch me, so I tapped on the picture Mrs. Peterson had taken two weeks ago, zoomed in to see only his face, and lost myself in the daydreams his image produced.
The way the light hit the green of his irises reminded me of limes on a tree in the spring—just a hint of yellow to accentuate the color. And his lashes . . . oh my God, they were what women would sell a kidney to have. Dark and long, thick, totally capable of wooing anyone with a few bats. They were like magic, and I was under their spell.
Staring at the way we sat next to each other reminded me how hard his bicep had felt against the back of my neck when he’d draped his arm around my shoulders. And the warmth of his body pressed against mine . . . I crossed my legs to stop the familiar ache that came on every time I looked at the photo—which was often. Far too often. And if Kelsey ever found out, she’d kill me.
Every time I stared at his image, I wished I could redo that entire day. I’d been awkward at best, mostly trying to avoid being in the same room with him. There was a good chance he thought I was weird . . . or a bitch. For some reason, people mistook shyness for attitude. But in reality, I’d met him one week after learning of Michael’s new relationship and being forced to work in the same kitchen with the young blonde. I would be lucky if “awkward bitch” was the only thing he’d thought of me.
“You do know Michael used to be engaged to Tatum, right?” That was enough to grab my attention, breaking me out of the thoughts of limes and muscles and body heat.
Turning to face the two women, I immediately noticed the skepticism on Amanda’s face. Even without hearing their conversation, I knew it had to do with Michael. I could almost see the handwritten “Help Me” sign around Amanda’s neck, which was enough to prove my theory.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug the sweet hostess for her obvious attempt to silence Rebecca, or cry over the reminder that my left ring finger now sat bare. That diamond had been so pretty.
“Yeah, he told me. But that was a while ago. Does it bother you, Tatum? You’ve never said anything about it.”
I thought about pointing out that six months wasn’t really a while ago, but I decided to let that go. And the idea of admitting how it felt to see him smile at her or whisper into her ear, let alone hear about all the things I didn’t have to witness, made me want to disappear. “Oh, no. I’m so over it. So, so over it.” And since stopping while I was ahead had never been my strong suit, I added, “In fact, I’ve been dating someone.”
“You have?” Both Rebecca and Amanda asked the same question at the same time, but while Rebecca’s voice was filled with excitement—which matched her bright eyes and ridiculous handclap—Amanda’s was more cynical.
Hostesses always knew everyone’s business.
“Yup. And he’s amazing.”
“What’s his name?” Again with the doubtful tone from Amanda. She’d been part of my postbreakup support system, so I couldn’t exactly blame her for questioning my sudden confession. After everything Michael had put me through, this was something I definitely would’ve told her . . . had it been true.
“Uh . . . Jay. His name’s Jay.”
“Where’d you meet him?” This time, it was Rebecca asking, as if we were girlfriends sharing juicy gossip over mimosas at a spa.
I had no idea why I’d even started this. I should’ve known they’d jump all over it like rabid dogs on a T-bone. Yet I couldn’t back out now.
“We met at a barbecue.” Short and sweet, not many details I’d have to remember. Perfect.
“When?” Dammit, Amanda. She was no longer on my Christmas card list—not that I’d ever sent any out, but that didn’t mean I didn’t ha
ve a list in case one year I felt ambitious. And if that year ever came, this heifer wouldn’t get one.
“Two weeks ago.”
“What’s he look like?” Rebecca’s blue eyes shimmered.
“Yeah, tell us what he looks like, Tatum.” And now she could forget getting a birthday present from me. It also helped that I had no idea when her birthday was.
“He’s tall. Hot. A man’s man.” That could’ve been anyone. I was still safe.
“How very nondescript of you.”
“Well, you know how it is, Amanda.” I glared at her, hoping she’d get the hint and go with it. “It’s still new, and I wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous of how perfect he is.”
“No need to worry about me. I’m very secure in my relationship with Michael.”
I wanted to ask Rebecca how secure she could possibly be with a man who, six months ago, had broken up with his fiancée on her birthday because he said he wasn’t sure if he was ready for something so serious. But I held back the wicked comments that longed to slip off my tongue.
The next words out of my mouth were Michael’s fault. Had he not forced me to spend the day with his new girlfriend, listening to every detail of their relationship, I never would’ve been in this position.
“He has dark hair that’s trimmed short on the sides and a little longer on top, just enough to look messy if he runs his fingers through it. His eyes are this amazing shade of green—sometimes they’re light, like blades of grass at the beginning of spring, and other times they’re darker, similar to the color of a Christmas tree. And he’s gotta be over six feet tall. When I stand next to him, I’m eye level with his chest.” I glanced at my phone in my hand, noticing that the photo still filled the screen, and realized I had described Jason to a T.
“Go on,” Rebecca prodded. “Is he fit like Michael?”
By this point, I was in it to win it.
“He makes Michael look like a wimp. And I’m not just saying that because Michael’s my ex, either. I could wash my clothes on his abs.” Well, that was taking it a little too far. I had to rein it in some if I wanted her to actually believe me. “He works out all the time, so he’s totally in shape. Not an inch of fat on him.”
“He sounds dreamy,” Rebecca said with a sigh.
“Yeah, he does. Almost too good to be true . . . like you made him up. You probably don’t have any pictures of him, do you?” As only a friend would, Amanda loved watching me dig my own grave.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” I thought about sticking my tongue out at Amanda in an immature “shows what you know” kind of way, but then I realized what I’d just done. In my need to prove her wrong—even though she wasn’t—I’d inadvertently dug my hole even deeper.
“Well, let’s see it.”
I had no choice but to show them the photo on my phone. I had to admit, though, the surprise on Amanda’s face when she saw it gave me a sense of victory—like winning Monopoly only because I cheated. Rebecca’s approval was simply the icing on the cake.
A cake that came crashing to the ground about thirty minutes later.
Rebecca stared at something over my shoulder and asked, “Hey, Tatum, isn’t that Jay?”
“Huh? Jay who?”
“Uh . . . your boyfriend,” Amanda reminded me with a quirked brow.
I craned my neck so fast it gave me a cramp. There was no way it was him. Okay, so that was wishful thinking on my part. Not only was there a chance he was here, but he was, in fact, here. At Taste of the Town. Standing a few tents away next to another guy.
My life was over.
Having Amanda believe I had lied about a boyfriend was one thing—having multiple people catch me in said lie was another. Add in the probability of Jason being one of those people, and . . . shoot me now.
My mouth gaped, denial forming on my tongue, when Rebecca said, “Yeah, that is him! I’m super good at remembering faces. I only have to see someone once, and I’d recognize them anywhere. Not to mention, that’s the same shirt he was wearing in the picture you showed us.” Damn him. Someone needed to buy him more T-shirts. “You were right, Tatum . . . he’s dreamy. Did he know you’d be here?”
“I can’t remember if I mentioned it to him or not.”
“You should go say hi.” Amanda just couldn’t help herself.
“I’d rather not.” I needed an excuse, and fast. “I’m working, and he’s with his friend.”
Unfortunately, my reasoning wasn’t good enough for the excited cheerleader. “We can totally hold down the fort long enough for you to go talk to him.”
“Really, guys . . . it’s fine. We’ve only just started seeing each other, and he’s out with his friends. I don’t wanna look clingy and scare him off.” I was proud of myself for coming up with that one on the spot. Totally believable.
Until Amanda opened her big, fat mouth again.
“You’re right. You should wait for him to come to you. He’s right over there; I’m sure he’ll be here in no time. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he comes over and realizes you’re here.”
Well, that was the last thing I wanted to happen. At least if I got to him first, they wouldn’t have to witness it. “You make a good point. I should go say hi. I’ll be right back.”
With each step I took, I dug my grave one more inch. My gaze bounced around to every person nearby, wondering who would witness the single most humiliating moment of my life. I was convinced that everyone knew what I was about to do. I could practically smell the popcorn—actually, I could, but that was probably because there were a few vendors nearby serving it.
Somehow, I made it from the tent to Jason without him noticing me. I was maybe three feet away when I realized I had no plan in place. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the girls were watching intently, and if I just stood in front of him without any affection, the jig would be up.
Fun fact: Three feet doesn’t give one enough time to formulate a plan.
Knowing I couldn’t just wave or shake his hand, I practically threw myself at him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I suction cupped my front to his with the side of my face pressed firmly against his hard chest.
“Whoa . . .” It was clear I’d caught him off guard, but at least he had a sense of humor, proven in the laughter coloring his surprise. His hands came to rest on my back as he shifted on his feet to regain his balance.
Luckily, I was able to use his unsteady footing to my advantage.
Without letting go, I pivoted him in a semicircle, putting his back to the tent so the girls couldn’t see his face. Once I got him turned around, though, I had not the faintest idea what to do next. I assumed there was no possibility of getting out of this without him recognizing me. And while I clung to him like a spider monkey, I’d completely missed the way his head had dropped forward until the most beautiful sound in the world flooded my ears.
“You okay?” Humor danced in his soft-spoken question, and the heat of his breath bathed my cheek in a comforting warmth. For the last two weeks, I’d studied the picture and recalled everything in vivid detail. But somehow, hearing him speak so close to my face—much like he had that day on Diane’s couch—made me realize just how much I’d forgotten.
I remembered how small my hand had felt in his, and how he smelled like he’d just stepped out of a shower when he had the side of his hard body pressed against mine. However, I’d forgotten how hypnotic his voice was—deep and almost raspy with grit. It could melt a chastity belt with as little as “hello.”
Jerry Maguire had nothing on Jason Watson.
Realizing I still held on to him for dear life, I let go and took a step back. Running away wasn’t much of an option now, and acting like it’d been an accident wouldn’t be very convincing—one, there was a chance he remembered me from Diane’s house, and two, I couldn’t act to save my life. So, I figured I’d lift my chin and own the moment.
“Hey. Sorry about that. I saw you standing over here and thought I’d
come say hi.” Yeah, I was about as smooth as sandpaper. At least I could admit my inability to fit in, and in fact, I’d even learned to embrace it. Social settings became much easier when I stopped trying to hide my awkwardness—I mean, it wasn’t like I was fooling anyone. Now I just had to pray he wouldn’t shun me in front of my coworkers.
“That was quite a way to say hello.” His smile widened, causing the subtle creases next to his eyes to deepen and spread like rays of sunshine. Not even the slight scruff dotting his face could hide the dimples in his cheeks.
I shrugged, trying to play it off and more than likely failing. “Yeah, what can I say . . . I’m a hugger.” I was not a hugger. Not at all. The idea of it practically gave me hives. It wasn’t that I was a germophobe or suffered from PTSD. I simply valued personal space.
“You are?” He didn’t believe me . . . shocker. “Good to know.”
Just then, the guy next to him spoke up. “You gonna introduce us, man?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Jason laughed under his breath and shook his head, as if he’d forgotten about his friend. “Aaron, this is Kelsey’s best friend, Tatum. Tatum, this is Aaron Baucus, a buddy of mine from high school.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with his arms spread wide.
Well, I’d made it this far, no point in turning back now.
Like I had done with Jason, I launched myself into him and squeezed his waist with my cheek against his chest. He didn’t smell as nice as Jason, though, and his physique wasn’t as impressive, either. Needless to say, that embrace didn’t last long.
“Well, it was nice running into you.” I began to walk away. “I should probably get back to my friends. Have fun.”
Jason watched me leave with smiling eyes and humor curving his lips. Considering he was Kelsey’s cousin and I’d more than likely have to see him again, I wasn’t keen on the idea of weirding him out. However, if it meant he wouldn’t approach me while I was with Rebecca and Amanda, I couldn’t complain.
The (Half) Truth Page 3
