Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes at her not-so-clever nickname. “He’s not an asshole, Tatum.”
If I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll believe it as well.
“But he is, and you know it. I know it. His mom probably knows it. You can hate me, though I know it’s not possible, but it’s your graduation day. A once in a lifetime event. He knew how much it meant, and he couldn’t bother to even go to dinner with you when your father made it a point to invite him.”
That bothers me more than I care to admit, but all I can do is come up with another excuse. “It’s not his fault he had to cover a shift.”
Her snort fills the cab. “Right. I forgot about his career at his uncle’s gym.”
Romero pulls around the enormous circular courtyard in front of the sprawling brick mansion.
“The gym he’s going to take over,” I remind her as gently as I can. “It’s a serious investment. If he wants to act the part, he needs to make responsible choices; otherwise, what’s the point of taking over?”
“I’m just telling you… you deserve better. He could’ve got the time off. He didn’t even try, and that means he doesn’t care.” She burps, then groans. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like seeing you hurt, and that’s all he does.”
“I’m not hurt.” At least, not really. Not like I should be. Would be if I cared enough about him to let him hurt me.
Romero parks the car, climbs out, and opens the car door for us like we’re royalty. I’ll never get used to the star treatment I receive when Tatum and I are together.
Climbing out of the car, I grab my overnight bag from the seat and give a wobbly Tatum some room to exit.
“Do you need assistance?” Romero questions, his dark gaze taking in Tatum’s swaying body. She’s tipsy but not unable to stand.
Tatum’s glossed pink lips purse, and her green eyes narrow on Romero. “Excuse you, sir.” She jabs one manicured finger into his suit jacket. “My father pays you to take care of me, not judge me, and you’re looking at me very judgmentally right now. Yeah, I had a few drinks. I think I deserve it. I graduated from college today. What did you do?”
Romero rolls his eyes, and I’m so amused by their relationship I can’t help but smile. They’re like gasoline and fire. One match strike away from causing a cosmic explosion. She pushes his buttons, and he pushes right back. Of all the men I’ve seen her interact with, Romero is the only one who refuses to handle her with kid gloves.
“Get her to bed before she makes a bigger ass of herself,” he orders without looking away from her.
I snake an arm through hers, tugging her toward the front door.
“You’re incredibly rude, and I’m going to tell my father to fire you,” Tatum yells over her shoulder.
“That would be fucking great. In fact, do it. I’ve been meaning to take a vacation. I could use a day or two away from your stuck-up ass.”
“You… you’re a fucking asshole!” Tatum struggles in my grip, and I pull her closer, tightening my hold. She’s ready to throw down, but it’s not going to happen. Not tonight.
I give her a little jerk. “Stop. He’s goading you, and all you’re doing is proving his point.” It’s not like we’re children. We’re allowed to go out and drink, but I don’t want to make a scene, and her determination to kick Romero’s ass will definitely make a scene. The last thing either of us needs is Callum coming out to scold us. That is, if he’s even here.
“Why does he have to be such a jerk?” She tries to whisper, but her volume control is drunk too.
“I don’t know. But you don’t make it better. You push back just as hard. If that’s how you flirt, I don’t want to see what it looks like when you fall in love.”
“That was not flirting.” She uses her finger to unlock the door, which she pushes open as soon as it beeps, the lock disengaging. We step into the house and a wave of calm washes over me. Unlike the nights when I’d return home to my father, no overbearing parent is waiting at the door, peppering me with questions. No suffocating anger or fear. Just quietness. Peace.
“I should’ve eaten something,” Tatum pouts while I walk with an arm around her waist. As we approach the kitchen, she leans on me harder. “My stomach hurts.”
“Of course, it does. All you had to eat today was half a sandwich at lunch.” Once I get her upright against the counter, I grab a granola bar from the walk-in pantry and a couple of waters from the refrigerator. Hopefully, it will soak up some of the alcohol.