When the waitress returns with my drink, it takes all my restraint to not gulp the thing down in one swallow like an oversized shot. I decide to order grilled chicken to give me a little more substance over a salad because if I’m going to be sitting across from the sexiest man alive—as determined by People Magazine three years ago—I’m going to need booze. A lot of it.
“How did you get into soccer?” I ask him. I know what the internet tells me, but I want to hear the story from him.
“My mom signed me up for it when I was about ten or so. I’m convinced she wanted to get me out of the house because I was doing a lot of stupid shit back then. Climbing trees, jumping off our roof, normal boy shit. I was breaking a bone multiple times a year and I’m pretty sure she got sick of my shit.”
I laugh and take a sip of my drink. “What was she like?”
“She was your typical mom. Tough but insanely supportive. Neither of us thought her pushing me into the sport would take me anywhere. She and my dad worked hard to get me everything I ever wanted and needed.”
“Where’s your dad now?”
“In Spain, back where he grew up.”
“Wow. So, how did your parents meet?”
“My mom was studying abroad in Spain and met my dad through the school program. She was over there for a year and when she had to go back to California, he followed her. They were together ever since.” The waitress returns with our food, causing him to pause. When she leaves, he continues as he leans in and lowers his voice like he’s telling a secret. “When she passed, I was in Australia and my dad couldn’t, or didn’t want to, be here anymore without her. With her gone, he flew home and never looked back. I see him a few times a year and we talk often, but I think somehow losing my mom was harder on him. She was his soulmate. He lost half of himself that day.”
“I’m so sorry, Tatum.” I reach across the table and hold his hand. He shrugs and a sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“What about you? How did you start playing?” He slides his hand from under mine to cut a piece of his steak.
“Almost the same. My mom wanted to get me out of the house too, but…it was to get me away from my dad.” Even saying the words, talking about my dad, causes bile to rise in my throat. My anxiety skyrockets and I take a sip of my drink to re-center myself.
He looks at me with furrowed brows and a frown. “Putting it lightly, I would say my dad was very controlling. He hit the booze hard, but hit me and my mom harder.”
I try to use a tone of joking to cover up my pain, but when I glance up, I nearly break. Tatum’s jaw is locked and his fists are wrapped so tightly around his utensils I’m afraid he’s somehow going to bend the metal.
“So, yeah, my mom wanted me out of the house as often as possible. I’d go to camp in the summer to stay away. I played the sport year-round and got a full ride to school.” I shrug as if my sperm-donor wasn’t the scum of the earth and didn’t break me over and over again. He’s affected every aspect of my life and I’m glad he’s gone.
“Bria,” my name is a breath of sadness and pity on his lips.
“Don’t. It’s okay now. He’s dead and he can’t hurt me anymore. I’m stronger now because of him and I don’t take shit from anyone.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
I smirk at his response.
We eat in quiet for a while. I’m sure the things I told him are swirling around his head because every time he looks up at me, he has a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. This is why I hate to tell people about my dad because it changes everything.
“What about your mom?” he asks after a while.
“She’s great, truly. Her only regret is not getting us both out of the house and away from him, but I believe he would’ve found us anywhere we went. She protected me as much as she could and I don’t hold any of it against her. Once you’re in an abusive relationship…I know how hard it is to get out. For a very long time, I still loved him, you know? He was my dad. I felt obligated to love him and wanted to feel it back. But I don’t owe him anything. I don’t owe anyone anything.” I take a sip of the drink and ask for another as our waitress walks by.
“When I used to play, I would think about him because he was the whole reason I got into the sport, you know? I was trying to escape him and the thing I loved only reminded me of him. Not anymore. I play for me and for my mom, to prove to her that none of what she did for me was in vain. All the money and the practices she put into it…I didn’t want it all to go to waste.” My cheeks heat at the emotional monologue I unloaded onto him.
“I’m sorry you went through that. You are so strong and beautiful and talented. I’m sure your mom is very proud of you. I know I am.”
“Thank you. But don’t ever look at me with pity in your eyes again,” I joke, pointing my fork at him in faux-threat.
“I was never looking at you with pity, Bria. Maybe pride and a whole lot of lust, but never pity.”
Chapter Twenty
Bria
Lust. He was looking at me with eyes full of lust. I snap my gaze to his, and there, I see it. His pupils are dilated, making his brown eyes appear black. The corner of his mouth pulls into a cocky smirk as he watches me take him in. I suck in a sharp breath and he heard me, causing his smile to spread wider.
I don’t know where we go from here. I mean, I know where, because we have to go back upstairs to our rooms. Our hotel rooms where no one is here to spy on us or catch us or stop us from doing a myriad of things we definitely shouldn’t be doing.
And God, the things I want to do to him.
“How was everything?” the waitress asks us and Tatum’s eyes never leave mine.
“We’ll take the check.” She scurries away. I’m sure she knows exactly where our heads are. Tatum’s voice was gravelly and his eyes are devouring me the same way he devoured his steak.
I finish the rest of my drink and half of me wishes I had another, but the other part of me is glad I’m not drunk. I wouldn’t want booze influencing any of Tatum’s or my decisions tonight.
He bills the dinner to his room and leads me back to the elevators, his palm burning a hole through my lower back. I’m glad we’re not the only people in the elevator or I’d probably jump his bones without a second thought.
Despite the four other people in the car with us, the air is still charged with electric possibility. My mind is focused on the small circles Tatum’s thumb is rubbing on my back. Either my lower back has a direct nerve to my groin or it’s a side effect of having a super-hot coach touching me.
The doors open on the tenth floor and I step around the other people to exit with Tatum right behind me. We turn right out of the elevator and head down the hall to my room. I open my clutch and pull out the white key card as we approach my door.
My hands are shaking as I insert the key into the slot and open the door. Without a word, Tatum follows me right inside. I toss my purse on top of my suitcase which is lying on the floor by the bed and turn. I’m unable to get a word out before he’s on me.
In a sense, it’s a blessing. I don’t have time to over think or to make stupid small talk when we all know where this night is going. Instead, I focus on the man in front of me.