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“Oh, but it needs to be. I insist on it. Like... we made a whole agreement,” I told her. “Me and him, we said we weren’t going to make this more than it should be. We were vibing. What would it look like for me to be going back on that?”
“It would look honest, bitch,” she countered. “You have it literally so bad for this man.”
I fake gasped. “Why would you say that?! Based on what exactly?”
“Based on you lighting up when you talk about him. And based on him delivering consistently good dick. Based on him making you happy as fuck. Based on you getting along with his family. I could give a million reasons, Rori.”
“And I could give a million counterarguments.”
“And it would be a million lies,” she shrugged, then continued, “And how about we just don’t do that? You are going to accept what it is. And nobody is saying that you’ve got to run the man to the altar. But it’s okay—more than okay—to be happy with the place you’re in and happy being in that place with the person you’re in it with.”
“You’re talking in circles, babe.”
“And I’ll talk in a million more until you get the damn point, girl,” Sierra laughed. “Are you picking up what I’m putting down?” she asked.
I sighed. “I mean, yeah, I guess. I just... I don’t want to end up with my feelings hurt because I was trying to make things something they’re not. Because I wasn’t smart. I’ve already done not smart,” I laughed. “I’ve got to protect my heart this time.”
“I absolutely agree with you protecting your heart. I’m just saying, are you protecting it from what is actually in front of you? Or what the worst-case scenario might be?”
With that, she had a point that I couldn’t truly argue, even as badly as I wanted to.
Tatum hadn’t given me any indication of the kind of stuff that had been happening with Monty.
So, when it came down to it… I really was just, as the old folks said, borrowing trouble.
Sierra switched the channel over to where the interview was coming on, and we cracked open our wine to settle in and watch. Even seeing him on screen set off butterflies in my stomach.
Yet another sign I was in far too deep, as far as I was concerned.
He just looked so damn good though, in his white linen to match the summery vibe of the show. We were tuned in, listening and laughing as he talked about team shenanigans, growing up on the ranch, college stories—a random assortment of things leading up to what I’d been most anxious about: them asking about me.
My chest clenched when they opened the section asking about Monty in such a blatant manner, but Tatum was able to successfully deflect the topic in a way that made his stance clear without saying anything that would get his hand tapped by his manager.
Not tapped too hard, that is.
He did almost slip up, but he recovered well, again fielding questions—embarrassing questions—about our relationship that made me blush and hide my face.
Then there was a comment that made my head pop straight up.
“She’s definitely the homie, no question there.”
I looked at Sierra, who had already paused the TV, and she looked at me.
“They boxed him into that,” she said. “He was just trying to get them off his back, get them to stop asking about it, you know?”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all it is,” I agreed.
Even though internally, there was a siren going off in my head with a horn that sounded suspiciously like “told you so, told you so, told you so” over and over again.
“Rori…” Sierra said, and I shrugged.
“What?”
“I can already see the overthinking.”
“I’m not overthinking,” I denied.
“Liar.”