Page 47 of The Players We Hate
My chest tightened. “What were you doing?”
“Umm… I don’t think you want to know that part.”
My stomach dropped. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Tatum?” I snapped. “Who’s in the photo with you?”
“It’s of me and Wells. It’s hard to make out when he took it, but I think it was from when we were staying at his lake house. He took them without me knowing while we were together, doing…”
“You don’t have to tell me, Tate. I think I can figure it out.”
She paused, then sighed. “All right, well, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “What?” I barked.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—Wren had shifted closer, curiosity written all over her face. I angled away, lowering my voice again.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” Tatum said.
I didn’t need to guess. “Let me guess, it’s Reed. I thought I told that fucker to stay away from you.”
Wren tilted her head, watching me carefully. I turned back toward the dash, trying to get my head straight as the line rustled on the other end.
“Can I talk to her when you’re done?” Wren whispered.
I shook my head. “Not now,” I muttered.
Tatum’s voice cut sharper through the line. “Who are you with? Who are you talking to?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“I heard you, Talon. Don’t act like I didn’t,” Tatum snapped.
“Please,” Wren pressed beside me, her voice low but insistent. “I won’t ask where she is. I just want to talk to her.”
Shit.
Tatum sighed on the other end. “If you’re busy, just call me back later.”
“No!” I said too quickly. “Wait, Tate—”
Before I could stop her, Wren slid the phone from my hand and lifted it to her ear. “Tate? Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Tatum answered cautiously. “Who’s this?”
Wren exhaled. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I sent a few texts, but you must’ve changed your number.”
There was a beat of silence, then Tatum’s voice jumped. “Wren?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Wren said softly, her gaze flicking to mine.
The tension in the cab spiked.
Tatum didn’t miss a beat. “What the hell are you doing with Talon?”
Wren looked away, lips parting, but nothing came out. Finally, she said, “It’s kind of a long story. One you probably don’t want to hearright now.”
“I didn’t know you and Talon were… friends,” Tatum said, suspicion sharp in her tone.
“It’s not what it sounds like, Tate,” I cut in, frustrated.
