Page 113 of Free Agent

There was no fixing that man.

And leaving me with him at the bar after dinner was Sierra’s way of being funny.

Security at Rendezvous was very tight, and I had a way home that didn’t involve Jay, so she knew I wasn't going to come to any harm.

Sierra was staunchly Team Tatum, even in the midst of cussing up a storm about him downplaying our relationship —my take, not hers—because she was staunchly Team Rori as well.

I guess she wanted me to understand just how pissy the dating pool really was.

When Tatum showed up, it damn near felt like a rescue mission had just touched down.

Had Sierra planned that?

Told him where I was?

Who cared.

Thank goodness he was here to save me.

Then I remembered I was supposed to be mad at him.

Which was actually kind of hard in the face of: "You want me and I want you, so we're going to be together."

It was the truth.

It was so simple.

“Okay.”

That acquiescence rolled out of my mouth before I could even think about it that hard. Maybe because, really, it was the conclusion my heart had already arrived at, without any feedback from me.

I had reason upon reason to reject the idea of being with Tatum in any type of serious or official manner, but none of those reasons changed the fact that it was absolutely what I wanted.

"Okay?" he repeated, face stretched in confusion. "Just that easily, huh?"

"Yeah,” I agreed. “Okay."

"So you had me stressed out for what, crazy ass girl," he said, reaching to cuff the back of my neck, pulling me in for a publicly inappropriate kiss. Tongued me down right there at the bar, like he was trying to make a point.

And I was letting him make his point, too.

But we still needed to talk.

He made a pit stop to use the restroom since he’d been dealing with the airport for an obscene amount of time. I expected us to get a car, go back to my apartment, but when he came back… he had a room key.

The elevator ride up was quiet.

“Why did you do this?” he asked, pulling me into him just on the other side of the door.

His grip was firm, and warm, and damn if I didn’t feel right at home.

“Do what?” I muttered, more focused on his hand creeping past my hip to slip under my dress than on his words.

“Entertain that nigga.” A grin parted my lips as his fingers parted my others, sliding inside of me with no resistance. “Excuse me, entertaining that nigga with no panties on,” he corrected, his tone shifting with that realization. He grabbed the back of my head, angling my face to his. “Why are you playing with me like this?”

“It had nothing to do with you,” I told him, honestly, which wasn’t the easiest feat with him fucking me with two thick fingers, his thumb pressed to my clit. “It was about me.”

“What if I said that if it’s about you, it is about me?” he asked, his lips brushing mine as he moved his fingers deeper, faster.