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Preston DucantIII—son of Senator Preston DucantII—was being groomed for his own seat on Capitol Hill.
A woman who studied architecture at RISD looked good on his arm. That woman was cultured and poised. That woman had tried to squeeze herself into a mold that would never fit.
Last season was the final straw.
I had grown tired of being that woman. When my world came tumbling down, I found that in the aftermath, I could breathe.
The buzzer to my apartment shattered my thoughts. I checked my phone. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Since I hadn’t heard anything from Tatum, I was operating on the assumption that he had just been kidding about taking me out on a date today.
Still, I had hurried home after practice and showered the funk off, dried my hair, and reapplied a little makeup. Just in case.
I poked my phone and expected to see a text from Jewel or Cora, telling me they were on their way over to hang out. No dice.
The buzzer sounded again. Did they really have to press it three times?
“Geez,” I muttered and tripped over a pile of dirty workout clothes on my way to the door, ignoring the months-old pile of mail on my coffee table. Whichever candidate sent the least amount of those annoying, oversized political mailers would be getting my vote.
I smashed the speaker box by my front door. “Yes?”
“You gonna make me wait down here, Little Bird? Pretty sure for it to be a proper date, I’m supposed to pick you up at your door. Not on the sidewalk outside your building.”
“Shit!”
Tatum laughed.
Fuck. I hadn’t taken my finger off the button. “Um. Sorry, I, uh… I wasn’t—how do you know where I live?”
“I have my ways. You coming down, or are you gonna let me in?”
I surveyed the mess. A mountain of clothes piled on the couch, waiting to be folded. The remnants of last night’s takeout dinner from the bistro had been discarded in the breakfast nook next to a petrified pizza. Project binders, swatch books, and mood boards took up the floor in front of the TV.
“Give me ten, and I’ll be down,” I decided.
“I’ll be waiting.”
I whirled through my quasi-organized closet like a tornado. Nine minutes and thirty-six seconds later, I hurried down the stairs. Since I was going mattress shopping with Tatum, I decided that I should at least represent Colette’s firm in my appearance. But it was a Saturday, and I was technically off the clock, so my outfit erred on the casual side. The long maxi skirt gave me a nautical flair with the vertical blue and white strips. As a bonus, it hid the knee brace that I very much needed in preparation for next week’s game. My crisp white tank top dipped suggestively into my cleavage but covered enough to leave a little to the imagination. My hair was pulled back in a low chignon. I paused when my sandals hit the bottom of the stairs to adjust the straw hat I’d thrown on.
Tatum was waiting on the sidewalk, scrolling through his phone. He was in a nondescript gray t-shirt that fit him like a second skin. His jeans looked soft and faded. A pair of Aviators shaded his eyes. When he turned, I caught sight of the bill of a ball cap tucked into his back pocket.
“Hey,” he said on an exhale. Tatum gave me a slow perusal as I looked down and brushed some imaginary lint off my skirt. “I think you get prettier every time I see you. And the first time I saw you in the restaurant, I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him. There was no way he was real. Men didn’t drop lines like that. Those were for movies and romance novels.
Tatum cocked his head. “Did you just pinch your arm?”
I looked down. Sure enough, I had pinched the inside of my elbow like a lunatic. “Uh, yeah… I, uh… I guess I did.”
A smile slowly worked its way across his face. “Wren, baby,” he began, letting out a melodic laugh. Cautiously, he approached and slid his hands onto my hips. “If you want proof that this isn’t a dream, all you have to do is ask.” With that declaration sent out into the universe, he tilted his head and lowered his lips to mine.
The kiss was potent and intentional. It was neither rushed nor flippant. He moved as though he had played through every outcome and knew just how to paralyze me with the first taste of his mouth on mine. Tatum cupped my jaw in his hands as his tongue pressed against the seam of my lips. My body arched into his, and when a moan slipped out from between my lips, his tongue slid in.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, finally giving into him. Tatum braced his arms around my back, giving me a strong place to rest as he stole every breath I had.
Fireworks exploded deep inside of me, sparked by lust, and fueled by attraction. There was something about Tatum Bryant that I couldn’t shake. Something that I felt deep inside my soul. We were like two puzzle pieces that just clicked.
He pulled away slowly, leaving my lips swollen and my head dazed.
“Wow,” I whispered. My arm moved of its own volition, bringing trembling fingertips to my mouth. I was floating on a cloud of oxytocin.
“My sentiments exactly.” He slid his hand around mine and led me to the shiny sports car that was idling on the curb. “Let’s get in bed. I want to get that out of the way so we can get on with our date.”
