Tatum's POVThe voices coming from the television drift throughout the living room where Sammie and I are perched on the large, black leather couch that occupies most of the spacious room. It's a Thursday night and after getting back from classes and deciding we wanted to hang out, this is where we have been as the sun turned in for the night. Instead of watching a rom-com, thriller, or action movie, Sammie decided she wanted to put on a trashy reality television show she has been watching lately, much to my disagreement. Reality TV is not my thing because the whole show just feels fake, and the producers purposefully go out of their way to manipulate the people on the show to make them either the good guy or the villain. I could rant about shows like this until the sun rises, but I decided to bite my tongue and let Sammie have this one. As the episodes merged into each other, I tried to keep up with the couples as they got 'married' after not knowing who their part
Phoenix's POVThe music from the bar we chose to have drinks at is blasting out the front door as Khai and I approach the entrance. There is already a massive line down the street, which is standard for a Friday night at 'Crown Plaza', the most popular bar in San Francisco. I feel the eyes of all the people waiting in line on the back of my head as we walk toward the entrance where the bouncer is standing with a guest list. This is one of the only bars in the city that has a guest list for celebrities or patrons who have booked months in advance for a table. Thankfully for me, I didn't need to make a reservation. The guy who owns the bar, Rodney Stines, is a good friend of mine, so when I called him up earlier today and asked to be put on the list, he did so without hesitation. We have a friendship that goes way back to our college days as roommates. When we reach the bouncer, I tell him my name and his eyes widen with realization as if just now recognizing who I
Tatum's POV"You're my girl." My heart stutters in my chest as I stare up at Nico, his words washing over me like a tidal wave. The pressure of his hand wrapped around my hair not only sends a shiver down my spine but also further dampens the area between my thighs. Did I hear Nico correctly? Did he just call me his girl? But did he mean it in the sense that because we have a physical relationship, I can't be with other guys? Not that I wanted to do anything with the guy with the mohawk anyway. Nico was right when he asked if I was trying to make him jealous, so that stranger was the best chance I had at doing so. Us dancing together was just some harmless fun to make Nico react. It was likely the alcohol pushing me to be so bold, but I was bummed that Nico didn't want to dance with me. So, the only way I thought I could get him out of his seat was to dance with another guy and hope that he was jealous enough to come to the dance floor. But this… wa
Tatum's POVThe sun streaming in through the curtains, forcing my eyes open unwillingly with a sleeping Nico beside me, his cheek pressed against the pillow and his long lashes resting on top of his cheekbones, reminds me of the first time I woke up in his bed. The memory is still raw, and I can't help but smile. This is something I could get used to. I roll onto my side – my body aching from the activities the night before – and watch Nico sleep peacefully beside him. I'm momentarily distracted by the way his mouth forms a little o, his breaths coming out in short, soft waves. It's a stark contrast to the dominant man I witnessed the previous night. Remembering the words Nico said to me last night sends a shiver down my spine and I can't stop the smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I made the right decision to pursue this type of relationship with Nico. He knows what he's doing, and how to make me feel good. I trust him with my body. I peer over my shoul
Tatum's POVAfter grabbing breakfast with my dad earlier in the day, and then spending the rest of it exploring San Francisco with Sammie, it was time to leave for the game. Thankfully, we got a hotel nearby the stadium, so Dad was able to drive by from where he was staying and pick us up. "Are you nervous about the game tonight?" I ask from the front seat, turning my head to look at him. "Do you think the Cats will win?" "I have faith in the team," Dad responds, turning his head to briefly smile at me before looking back at the road, keeping an eye on the traffic. "The Cats and Raiders have had a long history of being rivals, so I'm sure the guys are fired up and ready to go out onto the diamond and kick some a*s. Sorry for my language." "Why is there so much history between them?" Sammie asks from the backseat, curiosity evident in her voice. "Well…" Dad says, his words trailing off as if he's trying to find the best way to explain the history to us withou
Phoenix's POVI groan as I rub my temples with my fingers, trying to ease the ache that is making my head pound. Not even taking Advil has been able to relieve the dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. The mound of paperwork on my desk hasn't helped how stressed out and annoyed I feel either. The feeling stems from what happened over the weekend and now it has followed me into Monday, which is the worst day of the week to be off my game. A lot of my time is spent catching up on work emails, following up with the board team on the new products or flavors to make sure they're on track, filing paperwork, and then having to attend a meeting with the marketing team. It's the busiest day of the week and all I can think about is how I feel like such a dick for the way I treated Tatum. Since leaving my room on Saturday morning, the feeling has been eating me inside. Images of Tatum looking sad as she walked out of the room haven't stopped flashing through my mind. I want to kick my
Tatum's POVDo you know the song "I Don't Like Mondays" by The Boomtown Rats? It's the theme song of my life right now. The lyrics have been replaying repeatedly in my head since the moment I walked on campus this morning and was faced with the dreaded classes that make me want to rip my hair out. The song has a more sinister meaning behind it, but the only lyrics I can focus on are "I don't like Mondays". Reminding myself that this is the last semester I'll have to complete doesn't make me feel any better about the situation or help improve productivity. If anything, it makes me want to curl into a ball and wait for the rest of the semester to pass me by and pray that someone kind enough will complete my assessments for me. But that would be wishful thinking. I sigh, leaning my chin on my hand as I stare across the room at the professor standing in front of the whiteboard that displays the PowerPoint he's reading from. While the content makes sense to me, I have no
Tatum's POV"God, I hate this," I groan, dropping my head forward to rest on my desk in front of my laptop. Learning a degree I'm not passionate about is already hard enough, let alone having to complete the assignments that make me want to cry every time my fingers touch the keyboard. I'd much rather be working on my novel than writing an essay about something that I care very little about. My eyes scan the screen, taking in the half-written essay that is due tomorrow morning that I only started working on an hour ago. I've made good progress since starting, but I can feel myself hitting a wall very quickly. And yes, I like leaving assessments to the last minute because oddly enough, I work very well under the pressure of a tight deadline. The longer I stare at the cursor flickering on the page where I should be starting a new paragraph, the more I can find myself getting frustrated and wishing I was doing anything other than this damn assessment. I sigh, pu