Page 8 of Only You

SEVEN

I can’t get over how good Tatum looks. I need to get over that—for obvious reasons—but I can’t seem to.

His relaxed smile when I answer the door, and his confident glide into my house when I step out of the way and welcome him inside—it’s all too easy. It feels too good.

I never stopped thinking about him, no matter how hard I tried to, and now he’s here. In my home. It kind of blows my mind every time I see him.

The pasta dish I’m baking for dinner is still in the oven and has about a half hour left, so we settle into my living room on my couch as we wait. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so.

“So how was your hookup?” Tatum asks, his voice sounding loud in the otherwise totally quiet room. It startles me a little, especially when I look at him and see something in his eyes I can’t decipher. Is he angry? Judging me? I can’t tell.

“It was fine,” I say, though I kind of squirm a little in my seat, my cheeks heating a little bit at Tatum asking me about a random hookup I had last night. One that actually wasn’t all that satisfying and left me feeling a little adrift, if I’m being honest.

One I don’t want to think about because it wasn’t even really a blip on my day. Without a doubt—the best part of my day yesterday was my lunch with Tatum, and I don’t really want to even think about how messed up that is.

“Just fine?” he prods, and I look at him, trying to decide what he’s actually asking me. Or why? Is he being oddly polite and wanting to just ask about the rest of my day yesterday? Or is he actually asking about the quality of the hookup?

This is new territory. We’re barely even friends. Right? I mean, I don’t know what the hell we are. It’s confusing. That much I know.

“What are you asking me, Tatum?” I decide being blunt is probably for the best. He’s never had a problem just saying what’s on his mind, so why should I?

He just shrugs his big shoulders, leaning back into the couch and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “It just seems like a hookup should never be described as fine—or maybe it’s not worth doing.”

“It was fine. I got what I went for.” Mostly. Kind of. Not really . But I don’t think I need to go into it. He grimaces though, his face twisting into total discomfort, and my hackles rise. “Wait, did you just ask me about my hookup and then... Are you disgusted because it’s two men?”

“What?” His eyes widen in surprise. “No. Not at all.”

“Then why do you look a little sick?”

“It’s not at all that it’s two guys.” He motions toward me, his hands moving almost frantically, which would be comical if I wasn’t on my way to being pissed. “My best friend is with a man, remember? You met him.”

My lips are still pressed in a firm line, trying to hear him out but still a little irritated because I’m convinced I saw a look of disgust on his face. “Then why the grossed-out look?”

“It wasn’t a grossed-out look. It was...” He shifts in his seat, sitting up a little taller. “I just don’t like the thought of someone using you. And I know I probably don’t even have that right yet, but I just don’t like it.”

I can’t pull my gaze off the sincere look on his face. He looks almost distraught. Like the thought of someone using me was too much. I try to ignore the fluttery feeling low in my gut at that thought. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a protective guy—always has been.

“Well honestly, I was probably the one doing the using,” I admit because the guy had actually wanted to see me again, apparently. I tried to let him down easily but quickly. I don’t ever see anyone twice.

“Wait...” I can see the wheels turning in his head, and I’m not sure I even want to hear what comes out of his mouth next, based on the look of confusion I see there. “You’re a top?”

Okay, that’s not even a little bit where I thought this was going.

I swear there’s never a dull moment with this man.

But he’s not being a dick. Not at all. He’s actually trying to understand something.

That much I can tell, just by looking at him.

It brings me back to the few times we did our homework together.

He would get that same look on his face when he was trying to figure something out. “Um... that’s not what I meant, Tatum.”

“Oh.” He looks even more confused now, and damn him, it’s adorable. How is someone so large and rugged that cute and clueless at the same time. “What did you mean?”

“I...” I stop talking though. Everything is kind of confusing right now.

He just came back into my life after so long away from him.

After yearning to see him again. After needing his friendship so badly and not having it.

I realize I don’t want to ruin it. So do I possibly say too much by being real or do I risk him seeing right through me if I lie and upset him anyway?

“I don’t want to get close to anyone, Tatum. So I have certain rules.”

“Rules?” he asks carefully, his head cocked to the side.

“Yeah.” I decide if I want a friendship with him, I want it to be a real one. “I don’t date. So when I want to have sex, I use an app and stay as anonymous as possible. I don’t even know their real names or want to. When we’re finished, I block them and never talk to them again.”

I wait silently as he takes in what I’m saying, my nerves on high. He settles back into the couch and turns his head to the side to look directly at me—and I can’t get a read on him. “So you’re not a top then?”

A startled laugh leaves my mouth, and he grins—way too proud of himself.

I shake my head, seeing it for exactly what it was—a way to break the tense mood.

“Actually...” I start, and his eyes widen back at me, clearly a little surprised and curious.

Which again, I don’t know what to make of that.

Tatum is straight. I’m pretty sure he’s as straight as they come, so there’s no way he’s intrigued.

“Does that surprise you? You know, stereotypes are not cool, Tatum.” I’m teasing him, though, because I know he doesn’t really have a bad bone in his body. The man is good, through and through.

His expression turns into a glare—but it’s still playful and light. “I know that.” But then he turns a little too serious for my liking, his hand glancing over his chin like he’s thinking it through. “Well, I know that, but...”

“But what?” I try to keep my tone light because I guess I just have a soft spot for the guy, and I don’t think he’s trying to be an ass.

“Never mind,” he says, trying to dismiss it, but I can’t let it go now. My curiosity is too great.

“You can ask.” Softening my tone even more and scooting a little closer to him on the couch. “You can talk to me about anything, Tatum.”

I realize I mean that. As a principal, I’m careful to let students know I’m there to listen to them, while keeping up walls and boundaries.

It’s always professional—never talking about myself and listening to them with no judgment.

Usually referring them to the school counselor.

With friends, I still usually keep up some walls and boundaries.

But with Tatum—it’s always been different.

With Tatum, I realize I’ll answer any question, even if it’s about myself. Even if it’s something I usually try to avoid and that terrifies me.

“Even bottoming and topping?” he asks, keeping it light.

I shake my head at him, grinning like a fool. “I suppose we can talk about that if you want. We’re friends, and sex is just that—sex. It’s not a big deal. We can talk about it.”

I almost convince myself, and I’m a little proud of that fact. I’m not a prude by any means. Someone might look at me and see a shy demeanor, but I don’t think sex is something to be ashamed of. I think it’s a part of most people’s lives and it should be talked about.

I have no problem talking to my other friends about sex, so why should Tatum be any different?

He cocks his head to the side, as if thinking about testing the waters. I know him, and I know that’s exactly what he’s about to do so I’m kind of prepared. “So you don’t like to...” I wait. And I’m amused by the slight pink on his sharp cheekbones. “You don’t bottom?”

I snort at that, kind of shocked that he knows the correct terms, honestly. Mr. Straight. But then I realize I’m being a bit judgmental. Just because he’s not gay doesn’t mean he doesn’t like anal. “Do you?”

“What?” His brow furrows, and he looks genuinely confused, and okay—so maybe he doesn’t like anal. At least being penetrated himself. Is this real life? Are we really having this conversation. “I’m straight,” he says cautiously.

“Some straight men love to be pegged, from what I’ve heard.”

“Pegged?” His face is adorably scrunched, like he’s struggling with this subject—not grossed-out—but confused.

“Anal.”

“But I’m straight...” he says slowly. “I’ve only had sex with women.”

“There are things you can buy,” I say, patting him on the shoulder, enjoying the hell out of his cute confusion a little too much.

His mouth pops open a little as he thinks that over, his brow crinkling a little more, and then he seems to relax. “Huh. Never thought about it.”

“Never met your prostate, huh?” I tease, and his eyes widen again, but there’s something else there. Intrigue?

No. That can’t be it.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“You should try it,” I say, and I want to call it right back, but I said it. It’s out there, and he’s looking far too amused now. Ready to throw it right back at me.

“So I’m guessing you’re not always a top then?”

I sigh and settle back into my couch, actually relieved to be having this conversation with him. Not because I need him to know details of my sex life but because it feels real.

The other night was great, but there was something missing. It felt a little awkward and forced—this doesn’t. This feels... good.

“There are lots of ways to have sex. Lots of ways to meet your prostate, Tatum. Not just having someone fuck you with their dick.”

His eyes grow comically wide, and then I swear I see a flash of something—something I’m convinced I must have misinterpreted because it looks a whole hell of a lot like jealousy. And that just can’t be right. He recovers fast. “You still didn’t answer the question.”

I guess I am skirting around that particular question. “I haven’t bottomed, per se, but I’m not opposed to my own fingers.”

Something that looks a lot like heat passes over his expression, and I have to shift a little in my seat at the look in his eyes.

He can’t be thinking about it—not with interest, but I swear I see it for a moment as his eyes sweep over me.

“Oh.” His pink tongue darts out and sweeps over his full bottom lip, and I actually gulp.

Like swallow so damn hard, it’s audible. His eyes rise to meet mine, and we’re at an impasse—because I don’t know what to say, and it appears he doesn’t either.

We just stare at each other.

And then the timer goes off for dinner, and I rush off the couch and as far away from his gaze as I can get at the moment because what the hell was that?

He admitted just tonight to being totally straight. He doesn’t want me that way, and I don’t want him that way either—I mean, not really. Because I have rules I won’t break—but would one time with Tatum even be enough? I know it wouldn’t be.

His hand on my shoulder startles me as I place the hot dish on the stove after taking it out of the oven. Luckily, I’d already put it down. I turn around and can see the concerned look on his handsome face as he studies me carefully. “That smells really good.”

“Yeah, um, I’m starving.”

“We’re okay, right? Like, I didn’t cross the line? Tell me if I did.”

“No,” I say, placing the oven mitt on the counter and quickly moving away from him to gather plates and silverware so we can sit down to eat. But he grabs my arm gently to stop me.

“I don’t want to lose you again, Remy. Please tell me if I went too far.”

I’m lost, looking in his eyes—surprised by the honest admission and the desperation in his voice.

“Not too far. I want it.” I swallow hard, my eyes widening when I realize how that sounds.

“The honest friendship, I mean.” He’s still watching me carefully.

“I want that. Talking about anything and everything.”

His smile is slow and beautiful. “Me too. You’re still teaching me things all these years later.” He releases my arm and winks at me.

My stomach flutters with intense longing, but I force myself to go about setting the table and ignoring it. “Yeah, I didn’t see these topics coming though.”

“Hey, we have to broaden our horizons, right?” He grabs the pasta dish I made and places it on the table, over the potholder he thoughtfully brought over so it won’t ruin the wood.

I laugh as we sit down to dinner—surprised how unembarrassed I actually am.

“Maybe you’ll teach me a few things,” he says, taking a bite, his face lit up with mirth as I nearly swallow my damn tongue, thinking about teaching Tatum things.

“Maybe I will,” I say, my tone dangerously close to flirty, but I tell myself that’s all it is.

Just a little innocent flirting between friends.

No big deal.