Chapter 1: First One-Night Stand

Tatum's POV

"I'm sick of this, Dad! I don't want to be an accountant for the rest of my life, drowning in numbers and other sh*t that just goes over my head. I want to be creative and do things that make me happy."

"Where is this coming from, Tate?" Dad asks, his brows raised to his hairline. His arms are folded firmly over his chest as he stares down at me. "You seemed all for doing this degree when you started a couple of years ago. What has changed?"

"I changed!" I shout, feeling the frustration and annoyance rising in my chest. "You chose this degree, and I got no say in it because you said, 'It's the best thing for your future.' Last time I checked, I'm the only person who gets to decide my future, not you or anyone else."

Why doesn't he understand what I'm saying? I couldn't have made myself clearer as we continue to go around in circles over the topic. I'm a twenty-two-year-old woman who has never felt more lost in my life than I do at this very moment. I feel directionless and not in control of my life, and that makes me want to scratch at my skin to make sure it's truly me and not a stranger.

Dad scoffs and rolls his eyes. "That's a little dramatic, Tate. Being an accountant is going to set you up for your future financially and you'll be able to have a long, and successful career. Is that not what you want? I know it's what I want for my daughter as I won't be around forever to take care of you. It's what your mother would want too."

My heart stills in my chest at the mention of Mom. Although I think about her every morning when I open my eyes and at night when I close them, it still pains me to hear someone mention her. It's been two years and I'm still grieving the loss of her as if it were only yesterday that I watched her take her last breath.

I swallow hard and take a step back from my dad. How dare he bring Mom into this conversation? She always said that she wanted me to follow my dreams of someday being a writer and was never over the moon about the idea of me going to university to be an accountant. That was all my dad's idea.

"I-I," I stammer, shaking my head. I need to get the f*ck out of here before I explode. I can feel all these emotions of anger, grief, and frustration rushing to the surface, and I don't want to stick around long enough for them to explode all over my dad. "I need to leave."

I spin on my heels and rush out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and out the front door, only managing to quickly slip on a pair of slides and grab my car keys from the bowl by the front door. Dad is hot on my heels pleading for me not to leave, but his voice barely registers in my mind as I slide into the front seat of my little yellow car. My senses feel as though I'm underwater, making my surroundings sound muffled and barely audible as I speed toward downtown Los Angeles.

It may be Monday night, but I need a f*cking drink.

With the radio on full blast to drown out my thoughts, I head toward my favorite bar in LA. It's a quiet little building on the corner of a busy street surrounded by retail stores and restaurants, but for some reason, it's not a popular place for young people to hit on the weekend.

This would make sense given it looks rundown with its rustic furniture, paint-chipped walls, and very dim lighting. But while some choose to avoid 'Mario's', I can't help but be drawn to its history and quietness whenever I need to get out of my head.

As I pull into the small parking lot by the building, I look down at my outfit and realize that I'm not dressed appropriately to walk into a bar. I don't think sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt are cut out for this venue, but I'm positive no one will be looking at me. A lot of the regulars who go to Mario's tend to sit quietly at their table and watch whatever is on the big screen at the back of the room. I'm the least of their concerns when they're too focused on whatever sporting game is on.

When I enter, I see my favorite bartender, Al, standing behind the wooden bar that needs a new coat of polish as the wood is starting to look rundown. He smiles and waves when he sees me walking toward him.

"Tate, what are you doing here on a Monday?" Al asks as he polishes a glass. His bushy mustache moves with each word, and I can't help but smile slightly at the sight.

"I've had the worst day, Al," I mutter as I lean both of my elbows on the bar top. "Everything is just… sh*t and I don't know what to do."

Al nods slowly and then sets the polished glass on the bar top in front of me. My eyes watch as he wordlessly walks to the stacked wall of alcohol bottles behind him and reaches for my favorite whiskey and pours me a glass. The tension in my shoulders slowly slips away at the sight.

"I know this won't fix what's going on, but it will sure as hell numb it for a little while."

I smile in appreciation as Al moves down the bar to help another customer. Before he is even three steps away, I'm taking a sip of the amber liquor. It burns my throat and I welcome the pain. Anything to take my mind off my father and my sh*tshow of a life.

I sigh and hang my head forward. All I have ever wanted to do is make my dad proud of me. Whether that was doing well in school, sports, or any other extracurricular activities. And just when I thought I would be making progress, it would never be enough for him.

I understand that my dad wants the best for me but is failing to consider my feelings. It's like he has tunnel vision and only wants to see my future, not the present, which is why he hasn't noticed how miserable I have been the past couple of years. It's been even tougher not having my mom around to be on my side and help me get through to him. It's just been… more difficult than I anticipated.

I take a deep breath and swirl the liquid around the glass, losing myself in the motion. It's better to have my brain switched off in moments like these.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation just now. Bad day?"

My heart jumps at the sound of a voice that doesn't belong to Al. Slowly, my eyes lift to look to my right at the man sitting just two seats down from me. Had he been there when I walked in? I was in such a haze that I didn't stop to check my surroundings before diving into a drink.

My lips part slightly to form a response, but all the words seem to be stuck in my throat as I take in the sight of this man. Like, really take him in despite the dim lighting. He is absolutely f*cking stunning. This might sound cliché, but he looks like he could've just walked straight off a modeling set with his black button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows and dark gray chinos hugging the curves of his legs. The ink etched into the skin on his right forearm doesn't go unnoticed by me, and I can't help but wonder if he has more hiding elsewhere.

I chew on my bottom lip as I look into his clear blue eyes. It's like looking into the clearest ocean water on earth. They are so iridescent despite the chocolate brown curls hanging slightly over them, making me want to see more. His lip ring has my mouth watering. This man is so captivating and gorgeous that I'm wondering if the liquor has already gone straight to my head, making me hallucinate this fine a*s man before me.

"I, uh…" I murmur, trying to find the right words but keep falling short. I clear my throat. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." I point to the whiskey glass in his large hand. "Bad day too?"

He chuckles softly and nods, lifting the glass to his divine lips. "I guess you could say that."

Again, words seem to escape me as I stare at the mystery man. Despite how desperately I wanted to get away from my dad, I don't want to be alone right now. I'm not above striking up a conversation with a random man. But I'm certainly out of my depth with a man like this.

"So, what brings you here?" I ask, gesturing to the almost empty bar despite it only being 8 p.m. "Nowhere else to go on a Monday night?"

The man turns his entire body to face me, swiveling in the chair. His eyes roam over my face before dragging painfully slow down my body and then back up. "Probably the same reason as to why you're here." He lifts his empty glass. "To get f*cked up and escape from our lives."

I chuckle. This man is speaking my language. "I think you're too pretty to be in a place like this."

My eyes widen at the sudden word vomit and I'm quick to slap a hand over my mouth. Could I be more embarrassing?

The man laughs along with me, never taking his eyes off my face. "I could say the same about you." He licks his lips – my eyes watching the movement as if it were in slow motion – and smiles. "I'm Nico."

"I'm Tate. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. I like your honesty." Nico looks around the room and then stands, walking to sit on the stool beside me. "I think you'd make a perfect drinking buddy or even something else."

The scent of his cologne hits me almost immediately. I can't distinguish a specific type of scent, but it certainly smells expensive, which is not surprising given how he is dressed. His flirtatious words don't go unnoticed by me. I'm not the type of girl to hook up with a stranger at a bar, but I would be stupid to pass up the chance with Nico if given the chance. Or am I getting too ahead of myself?

Nico and I spend the rest of the night laughing, talking, and most of all, flirting. The subtle way Nico would caress my knee or lean in close when he laughed made my heart flutter. We didn't talk about anything deep or specific about ourselves like what we do for a living or anything like that, which I liked. It feels nice to be able to talk to someone and it not be anything too serious. I get the sense that Nico has spent many nights like this, flirting, and being charming, with women he meets on nights out.

"So, tell me, Tate," Nico says, leaning in so our shoulders are brushing slightly. It sends a shiver down my spine and my heart rate spikes. "How do you feel about… casual flings?"

My heart jumps into my throat. I wasn't getting too ahead of myself. Nico's straightforward attitude is not something I have experienced before, and I must admit that it's making my core tighten with desire. I know I would never have a chance with a guy like Nico again, so I would be stupid to turn this down, right? Even with how quickly this all seems to be moving. But I can't ignore the way my thighs clench when Nico's eyes drop to my lips.

F*ck it.

Without answering his question, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and drag him off the stool. My heart is racing in my chest because this isn't like me, but I feel like doing something crazy just to feel something after today. The four glasses of whiskey I've had make me feel like I'm walking on clouds.

I push my way into the co-ed bathroom, which only has one toilet and a large countertop with a mirror. Once I've dragged Nico in behind me, I close the door and lock it, leaning my back against the cool wood.

"Does this answer your question?"

Nico runs his tongue along his bottom lip as his eyes drink me in. I would normally feel insecure under an intense gaze like that, filled with so much desire, but instead, I feel wanted. And it is so f*cking nice.

With long strides, Nico crosses the room and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest and claiming my lips. The kiss is intense, and I can't help but moan as I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Everything happens so fast that I can't keep up. Nico walks me backward toward the countertop, quickly pulls my t-shirt over my head, and slides my sweatpants down my thighs. My heart is racing with the adrenaline of doing this with a stranger in a public bathroom at a bar.

Who am I?

I keep up with Nico's pace and unbutton his shirt, pushing it away from his broad, muscular shoulders. I barely have time to take in his stunning physique before he turns me around and bends me over the countertop. I gasp at the sight of Nico standing behind me, his smooth chest glistening under the fluorescent lights. The sound of his fly being pulled down has my eyes widening and the moisture between my thighs further dampening my underwear.

"That's a good girl," Nico says as he hooks his fingers around the fabric covering the one thing he truly wants, sliding it down my thighs. "You stay right there with your perfect a*s on show."

I involuntarily clench my thighs and groan at his words. This man is killing me and I f*cking love it.

My fingers grip the edge of the countertop, eagerly waiting for Nico's next move. Thankfully, he doesn't make me wait long. The crown of his c*ck traces down my slick folds and I throw my head back in pleasure, wishing he would just hurry up and stop teasing me already. His fingers trace the curve of my a*s, his eyes staring at me through the mirror.

He doesn't say a word as he pushes into me, filling me completely. Nico slaps a hand over my mouth before my cry leaves my lips, only making this moment more pleasurable.

"Now, now, darling, we don't want the people out there to hear us," he says as he continues to push into me, making my head dizzy with his rhythm. "This is all for me."

Holy f*cking sh*t.

I can't believe I'm having a one-night stand with a stranger in a public bathroom.

I don't know this Tatum Monroe, but boy do I f*cking love her.