Page 24 of Only You
We’ve talked about the fact that I don’t date—but we haven’t talked about him, and I’m more curious now than ever. His large shoulders lift and then drop as his eyes stay off me and on what everyone else is doing. “Not really my thing.”
I want to keep the conversation light because honestly, it’s been nice just joking and teasing him—playing around—it’s been really nice. “And you gave me a hard time for only wanting hookups.” I place a smile on my face—hoping it’s coming across as teasing, but I’m curious.
“Yeah. It’s just...” I can tell he’s being very careful with his words, and I don’t like it. It’s very un-Tatum. His eyes finally meet mine again, and I can see the seriousness there—the wary kind of concern. “You always seemed so gentle. Kind. I thought for sure you’d be a romantic and want that in your life.”
A dark sense of dread starts to fill me, but I try to push it away. I’m the one who started the conversation. I can’t slink away from it now. “I thought I’d want that.” And I did. I used to dream of coming home to a husband, maybe even kids someday. Definitely some animals. Maybe a dog or a cat.
But things changed. I realized getting a husband would force me to get close to someone. To trust. And I just don’t think I have that in me anymore. I was a fool once, but I won’t be again.
“I was way too naive then. I’m not now.”
“So you have to be naive to find love?” He’s not angry, but there is tension in his voice.
“Maybe,” I answer, my defenses starting to go up. “I mean, why don’t you want a relationship, Tatum?”
“Because I’m a player who thinks with his dick, and people get hurt.” His blunt reply surprises me, even though it really shouldn’t. Tatum is a pretty blunt person. “I’m not meant for relationships, but you are.”
My entire body feels itchy all over, like I want to crawl out of my skin and get away from this topic.
I start to walk away, to catch my breath to regroup, but Tatum gently captures my wrist and keeps me in place. “If it’s because of what happened...”
“Don’t,” I say, tugging my arm from his hold and taking a step away from him. “Please don’t,” I say a little quieter but keeping my voice firm with my eyes on his. This is a boundary I need. He can’t cross it because I can’t go there again.
I try to portray all that with just a look, and when his shoulders slump ever so slightly, I know that he gets it. Joking and talking about sex—bottoming and topping. Me teasing him about being drool-worthy in a towel. That’s all fine.
But I can’t go back to the past.
“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, Tatum,” I answer him honestly. I know he blames himself for me pushing him away all those years ago—that’s Tatum for you. He wants to fix everything, and he takes it all onto his broad shoulders. I don’t want him to feel that way, but I know myself well enough to know if he tries to prod me about it, I’ll do the same thing again.
I’ll run.
And I don’t want to.
“You wanna hit some more?” He nods toward the cage next to us, and I realize he’s changing the subject. He’s not going to push. Relief washes over me, and I laugh.
“No way. My arms are killing me.”
His hand moves to my upper arm, and he gently massages it with his hand, feeling the tight muscle. It’s heaven and hell at the same time because his touch just does something to me. I lean into him, and he smiles sweetly. “Hmmm, I suppose we can call it a day. But you have to promise to come back with me sometime.”
I want to lean into him. I’d give anything for his big arms to wrap around me and hold me tight, to not let any of the bad things in. But instead, I just nod my head and say, “Deal.”
He looks relieved, I realize, and I hate that he was probably afraid I’d push him away.
We may be friends again, but it’s becoming pretty clear we still have a long way to go just to feel safe and comfortable.
It’s worth it though. I know it is. I’ll do everything I can to make him feel that way with me and to not run. To not push him away.
TEN
I can’t believe I almost messed this up again. I could feel him starting to pull away at the batting cages today when I brought up dating. But thankfully, for whatever reason, he didn’t push me away.
I know I need to tread lightly, but I can’t seem to help being sort of obsessed with him not ever finding love. Not that I want anyone else putting their hands on him, but still. The thought of Remy not dating, not having romance, it’s too much for me to bear.
But as I lie here on the couch with my arm wrapped around him and him snuggled into me as we watch a baking show, all I feel is stark fear of losing this. So I know I need to keep my mouth shut. Keep my questions about why he doesn’t date to myself.
Because it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to talk about it. But as long as he’s still here—still cuddling with me—shouting at the television because one of the competition’s chefs is doing it wrong—well, I’ll be okay.
