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Clearly, it was a one-time thing. Clearly, he didn’t want a woman like me. Hell, I put myself out there in a way I never had, never wanted to, but with him... God, with him it seems so wrong, but in a way that is oh so right.
I should be embarrassed. I laugh to myself because, who lays spread out on a bed, fingering themselves for a man to just kiss them? Then he went and jerked off instead of fucking me? What the hell is up with that?
I’m not that bad.
I was never pretty in the prom queen/cheerleader way, yet I’m not ugly, either. I am smart too, dammit. Doesn’t that count for something?
“Not in today’s world,” I answer myself out loud.
Get a hold of yourself, Tatum. And no more ten-hour binge writing, especially not fiction of this nature. More importantly, not in the way that leads to blank screens in the end.
I lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees, and hold my head in my hands.
I was also never a girl, or a woman, who needed a man to validate whether or not I am desirable. Why am I second-guessing myself now?
Well, smart one, I scold myself. You’ve never been so on fire before.
Fire, I never played with the stuff. It is naturally destructive, uncontrollable, and can do irrevocable damage. I am also never one to shy away from a conflict, a task, or a mere mortal because, as my grandmother taught me, “No one can make you feel anything you’re not, unless you let them.”
As if the universe thought I was giving it the proverbial finger, someone comes out of nowhere and grabs my bag, returning the fuck you. They don’t grab my drink. No, they grab my bag. Even worse, my purse is a cross body, and I am quite literally attached to it.
In a haze, things seem to happen in slow motion. I know panic should hit me, but it doesn’t. My mind simply blanks.
“Let go!” I shout as he pulls at it. “I said, let go!” I drop my coffee cup filled with the sweet wine to the ground and start to fight my attacker.
I am pulling, he is pulling, and I am losing the battle since he is bigger, stronger, and probably on some drugs, so he’s fearless.
God, why did I come out tonight? Why did I drink so much wine? Why did I let myself come here?
It’s too dark to see his face, and he has on a hoodie. I know as soon as I am out from under the streetlight, I am going to get hurt... or worse.
He pulls, and I realize his strength is greater than I first anticipated. Instinct takes over and fight or flight kicks in. I try to free myself from the damn bag and get the strap up and over my arm, when he pulls harder.
“Help!” I scream, seriously needing it.
He yanks so hard I fall to the ground, the strap nearly cutting into my neck. He won’t stop pulling.
Gagging, I try to remember to yell something, anything to draw attention. I try to kick out, but I fail to make contact with my assailant.
I’m going to be strangled by this damn Coach bag Melanie gave me last year for Christmas and die on the streets of a city I promised to visit and never did.
I think of Gregory, and how I promised him I would come here. After seven years, I finally did, and for what? This?
“Help! You mother—”
Two hits then a splash; that’s all I hear. That and the sound of me gasping for air.
A hand clamps onto my elbow and hoists me up. I look up to see “Legacy” across a black sweatshirt. I look up another foot, and there he is. Wet hair, not pulled back, and his eyes are fiery.
“Do you have a damn death wish?” he snarls at me.
I shake my head then grab my neck. It hurts.
His eyes widen, and I close mine, not wanting to be scolded or scrutinized anymore.
“Let’s get you back to your room. It’s safe in there. You have an aversion to safety, Tatum?”
The way he says my name is so sensual. It’s like he’s licking, rubbing, and sucking it right here on the street, making it even more sensual than in the confines of a hotel room.
All thoughts of my aches go away as a new ache builds between my legs. I was just accosted on the street, yet Angelo stands in front of me and all rational thoughts and reactions fly out the window.
“No,” I whisper.
“No to me taking you up, or no to you doing stupid shit that could have gotten you robbed, or even worse?”
“Where is he? Did we catch him?” I ask, holding the left side of my neck and trying to look around him for the hooded culprit.
