Chapter 1
3131 Words
CHAPTER ONE
EASTON
As hot water streams down my back, I grip my shaft and pump it with visions of Tatum. Her long chestnut-brown hair, ocean-blue eyes, and full curves consume my mind.
Like every morning for the past two months, I start my day with inappropriate thoughts. Not only does Tatum work for me at my surf and swimsuit shop but she also rents the place across the hall.
A double temptation.
When I first interviewed Tatum, I felt an immediate attraction, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Not only would it be unprofessional but I could also tell she was going through something just by the vague details of her life.
She moved into the furnished apartment above my shop with two small bags. Being the nosy bastard I am, I searched her name on social media but found nothing. Not even a f*******: profile or Spotify account.
Tatum has no digital fingerprint.
Yet I didn't care because something made me want to help and protect her. That may or may not come back to bite me in the ass someday, but for now, I'm using every opportunity to get to know her better.
Aside from the mysterious aspects regarding her past, she's quiet and keeps to herself. A complete one-eighty from the last person who lived across from me.
But Tatum….she’s exactly what wet dreams are made of.
The tightness in my balls overpowers me as the buildup shoots down my spine. I press a palm to the shower wall and brace myself. With my eyes closed, I picture Tatum in the bikini she tried on last week at work.
My f*****g knees nearly buckled when she walked out. Even Nova, another one of my employees, was speechless.
I know Tatum’s older and probably sees me as a goofy surfer boy, but the things I'd do to her—if she’d allow it—would send me straight to hell.
I'm seconds away from exploding when a screeching sound distracts me. My eyes pop open as I realize it's the smoke detector.
“You've got to be f*****g kidding me,” I hiss, then turn off the water. My c**k is still hard and aching for release, but I wrap a towel around my waist and walk to my bedroom. Every alarm in my apartment is screaming in protest.
I take out the battery and try to reset it. The high-pitched beeping continues.
Next, I go to the living room and do the same.
The motherfuckers still blare.
The sound of the hamster wheel turning steals my attention. I look at the cage near the bookshelf, and George stares at me as he runs.
“Don't give me the stink eye. I'm trying.”
I go to the kitchen and know I've found the one that's making me go deaf. Grabbing a chair, I step onto it, and seconds later, my door whips open.
There stands a frazzled Tatum in her tight pajama shorts and tank top. Her n*****s are hard and standing at full attention.
Another image burned into my brain.
“What in the—?”
Her lips freeze as she looks up at me through her lashes and lands on my bare, wet torso.
I reach up and twist the cover from the detector, then pull out the battery.
“Oh...that's what took you so long.” She swallows hard as her eyes linger on the towel.
“Yeah.” I jump off the chair, then slide it back into place. “s**t like this would happen at the worst possible time.”
Of course, I don't mention I was j*********f to images of her. I don’t need to embarrass myself before nine o’clock in the morning.
“Sorry for barging in. I thought something was wrong.” She crosses her arms as if she’s realized she's half naked too.
I raise a brow and smirk. “You were worried about me?”
“Don't be arrogant. I was coming to rescue George.”
Her words are firm, but her body language says otherwise. She's still staring at my erection poking through the fabric.
“That hamster gets more love than I do.” I scowl at him but can't deny he's the cutest fur ball I've ever seen. He's become the shop's little mascot and hangs out in the office when I'm there.
Tatum smiles at George as he continues to feverishly run on his wheel. She grabs the treat bag next to the cage.
“Good morning, Sir George,” she coos.
I can't hold back the grin on my face. She gave him that nickname when she first met him. Once she places the stick between the bars, he immediately takes it, then buries it underneath his bedding.
“I'll be ready in twenty,” I tell her when she turns around and slides her gaze down my body again. We’re working the morning shift together, but I have to unlock the door for her.
Tatum stands in silence as her eyes linger. I feel like an art model being painted for a college class. Folding my hands over my groin, I clear my throat and wait for her to snap out of her trance.
She blinks hard. “What? Sorry, I missed what you said.”
I stifle a laugh and suck in my bottom lip. Tatum and I have never crossed the line, not even close, but right now, she's giving me all the signs that she wants to. To catch her staring at me so intensely is a rare occurrence, and I like it.
“I said I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Then we can go to the shop.”
She looks down at herself. “Oh, s**t. I gotta get dressed. Okay, I'll be ready in a few.”
“Don't forget the coffee!” I call out as she closes the door.
“I never do,” she replies, shutting it completely.
I release a long breath, uncomfortable from the blue balls I have, and decide I'll put new batteries in the smoke detectors after work. Since it's peak season, the shop's been nonstop busy. I can't complain, though, because the sales keep me afloat during the slow winter months. Summer in Florida is a hot spot filled with young college kids who want to swim, surf, and party. It was my dream to open a surf shop, and once I did, I incorporated different boards, gear, and swimwear. Since opening four years ago, it's surpassed all my financial goals and personal expectations. That doesn't mean it comes easy, though. The competition is high.
“Dressed and ready to go,” I mutter when I see her waiting for me in the hall. I have George's cage in one hand and grab the tumbler from Tatum with the other.
“What's today's special flavor?” I ask, inhaling the coffee to see if I can figure it out. “Hmm...cinnamon?”
“You're getting better at this,” she says as we walk toward the stairs. “Cinnamon and sprinkles.”
“Sprinkles?”
She shrugs as we make our way to the back door of the shop. “I was in the mood for it today.”
I take a sip, relishing in the cinnamon flavor and tasting the sweet sprinkles on top of the foam. “Interesting choice, but I kinda like it. Gonna turn me into one of those bougie coffee drinkers in no time.”
She smiles as she takes George so I can unlock the door.
“You're bougie in every other aspect of your life, so why not?”
I furrow my brows as if I'm offended because what the f**k does that even mean? “I am not. I work out, surf, own a business, and take care of a hamster all on my own.”
Tatum snort-laughs, which lights up my entire body. Getting a smile out of her is a win for me.
“You sound like every other frat boy out there.”
“Frat boy, huh? Guess I need a den mother then. You volunteering?” I waggle my brows, knowing damn well she's ignoring my flirting.
I said I’ve tried to be professional, not that I was a saint.
Tatum's nine years older than me, and it's become very obvious since I hired her that she's more mature than me too. Not just by how she acts but also by how she presents herself. Aside from being the sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on, Tatum's personality is what draws me to her the most.
Once we're inside, I flick on a few lights and head to the office while Tatum sets up the registers. I place George's cage on the desk and turn on my computer. Though I have a social media manager, I still check our comments and messages. I like seeing what people are saying, and when I'm feeling generous, I like to give one-time discounts to get them in the store.
As soon as it hits nine o'clock, I walk to the front and unlock the doors. Tatum follows with a folding chalkboard sign and sets it on the sidewalk that’s bustling with tourists.
“What do you want it to say today?” she asks with a white marker in her hand.
Though I usually have something planned, I'm feeling rebellious today. “Can I have the marker?”
Tatum hands it over. “Be my guest.”
Once I'm done writing, I take a step back and read it over. “So how do you like it? We'll sell lots of swimwear today, don’t ya think?” I flash a smirk, waiting for a reaction, but her expression is flat.
“Buy a suit. Get the owner's phone number for free,” she reads aloud. “Hmm...yeah. I mean, I'll be sure to direct every guy to that section today. I won't let your number go to waste.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan at her smart-ass remark. “Exactly what I was hoping for.”
“Just helping my little student out.” She pats my shoulder before leading the way into the store. “First step is getting out there, ya know? I haven't seen you bring a date home since I've been here.”
That gets my heart racing, and I pop a brow. “You've been watching me, huh?”
“No, no...I mean, yes, I've noticed only because I live across the hall. So if this is your attempt at getting a date, I'll gladly help in any way I can. It's the least I could do since you gave me this job.”
She busies herself behind the counter and avoids eye contact. However, I see right through it. Tatum has a ten-foot wall around her ninety-five percent of the time, but right now, her body language screams what she won't say aloud.
I don't have a revolving door of women coming in and out of my bedroom, and she’s noticed, but she also doesn't like the idea of me dating either.
Stepping forward, I rest my arms on the countertop, then inch closer. “As much as I appreciate that, I don't need help.”
“Then why are you single? I thought women in their twenties would love a secure, responsible man. I half expected I’d be pulling them off you.”
I snort. “While you aren't wrong, I actually don't like women my age.”
She wrinkles her nose as if she just smelled rotten eggs. “Oh.”
It takes me a moment to realize what that implied. “Wait, no. Not minors. I didn't mean that. I prefer older women, someone who isn't going to clubs every weekend and getting s**t-faced.”
“Ah, see, now I don't think that's your shop’s demographic, so I’m not sure that sign will work. Most of your customers are under twenty-five.”
“s**t, you're right. Okay, marker, please.”
She hands it over, and I go back to the sign, adding a disclaimer.
Must be over the age of thirty-five to get phone number.
“Thirty-five?” She gasps when she reads it.
“Told you. I like my women older.” I flash her a wink, then work on rearranging a few displays.
A few hours pass and the shop is full of customers. There have been several comments about the sign, mostly college-aged girls who have begged to be the exception.
Tatum has rolled her eyes behind their backs at least a dozen times.
When it slows down, I order us food from a local cafe, and we take turns eating in the back. Since it's just the two of us until Aubree comes in for her shift, we can't eat together.
Just as I'm responding to an email from a vendor, Tatum rushes into my office and hides behind the door. She's breathing hard and looks frightened.
I immediately stand, worried she's having a panic attack. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”
“There's a man outside coming this way. If he asks about me, I need you to lie. Please. Tell him you've never seen or heard of me. Say whatever you can to get him to leave.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly. I try to wrap my head around what she just said when I hear the bell from the door.
“Please,” she mouths, shaking her head. “I'm not here.”
I nod, then make my way to the front. A tall man in black slacks and a blue shirt looks around the store. I'd guess he's in his late thirties to early forties. As soon as he sees me, he approaches like he’s on a mission.
“Are you the owner?” he abruptly asks.
“Yes, Easton Belvedere. How can I help you today?”
He grabs something out of his jacket pocket and holds it out, showing me a flier of Tatum. “I'm Detective Justin Nichols from Nebraska. I'm looking for my wife, Tatum Nichols. She's been missing for the past two months. We're very worried about her. I got a lead that she was seen in the area, so I immediately flew here.”
I study the picture as I try to wrap my brain around everything he’s revealed in the past ten seconds. His wife? The last name on the paper isn't Benson—the one she gave me—but the photo is definitely her.
“Sorry, never seen her.” I stand taller, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You sure about that?” He pins me with his eyes. At first, he acted sincere and genuinely worried, but now, he sounds like an asshole.
Tatum wouldn't ask me to lie if it wasn't crucial, so no matter what this detective—her husband—says, I'm not budging.
“Positive,” I reply sternly.
“Another shop down the road said she's been working here,” he states. “If that's the case, you could be held liable for hiding a missing person.”
“Dozens of women with long hair and blue eyes come inside my store daily. It's possible they mistook her for someone else.” I shrug, not intimidated by this dickhead.
“I should warn you that I have connections with the local authorities. They got a tip, and that's what brought me here.”
“You're free to look at my payroll, Detective Nichols, but there's no Tatum Nichols on it. I don't know who that is. Sorry, but I can't help you.”
Justin glances around, his teeth grinding hard as I keep my stance. More customers enter, so I usher him toward the door.
“If you do see her or have any information, call this number,” he demands, pushing a business card to my chest. “Any hour of the day,” he adds before leaving.
What a f*****g prick.
I greet and help the ladies who walked in at the perfect time, and when I'm done ringing them up, I go to my office.
Tatum's in a ball on the floor.
“Jesus.” I lower to my knees and brush the hair away from her face. “Are you okay?”
“Is he gone?”
“Yes. Total douche, by the way.”
“I hate that my body reacts to him this way, but—”
“You don't owe me an explanation, Tatum. Unless you want to talk about it, of course, then I'll listen. But he's your husband?” I keep my tone calm and steady.
“Soon-to-be ex-husband. If he ever signs the paperwork my attorney sent him. He has a God complex, and on top of being abusive, controlling, and manipulative, he doesn't like to lose. It's why I had to leave as soon as I filed for a divorce. I knew he wouldn't accept it. I could tell by his tone that he knew you were lying. I can’t stay here any longer because he’ll come back,” she says with certainty.
“Why didn't you file a restraining order? You deserve protection, regardless of his job title. Didn’t you tell someone?” I ask softly.
“That wouldn't stop him from keeping his distance. And no. I knew no one would believe me by how he flashed our marriage on social media and made me act around his friends and business partners. The bruises were always in places people couldn't see unless I was in a—”
Memories of her in that damn bikini appear again. As I scanned my eyes down her perfect body, I remember seeing a mark on her inner thigh that looked questionable. It was almost healed, but I didn’t think anything of it until now.
“So you ran,” I confirm, realizing that was her only option. I should find him and go put a few marks on him.
“I saved up some cash from secret side jobs and got a prepaid phone. I had no choice but to use my car since renting would leave a paper trail, but I sold it once I decided to stay here. I knew he'd put an APB out on me, so I had to get rid of it.”
It's why she changed her name for payroll.
I ball my hands into fists, feeling anger boil inside me. It’s something that I haven't felt in a long-ass time. When Tatum randomly showed up needing a job and place to rent, I knew there was a problem. I figured she'd explain when she was ready.
“Can you drive me to the Amtrak station? Maybe I can get a ticket tonight for someplace else. While he's looking for me here, I’ll escape.”
“If he's already searching the area, he’ll have alerts set for you for all forms of transportation out of town. I don't think running is the answer, Tatum,” I tell her genuinely. “You can hide in your apartment as long as you need. He'll eventually leave when he’s bored.”
Tears well in her eyes, and I hate that fuckface for what he's put her through. Against my better judgment, I lean in and wipe her cheek.
“Let's talk more about it over dinner tonight. That way, you’re not alone, and we can develop a solid plan. You don't have to do this alone. We can go to the authorities together.”
She swallows hard, blinking up at me. I can tell she's nervous, but I'll do whatever it takes to reassure her that I'll keep her safe.
“Okay,” she squeaks out. “I'm sorry for lying. I didn't want you to get involved or be put in the middle of my terrible situation.”
I shake my head, angered by how her husband, a man who vowed to love her, has traumatized her. Pieces of s**t like him deserve to go to jail, no matter who they are.
“Don't apologize. Put me in the dead center of it. I want to help you through this, Tatum. It’s the least I can do.”
She flashes a faint smile, and I help her to her feet. Our eyes meet for a moment, then I walk her to the back door. I make sure no one is watching as I lead her upstairs.
“Lock your door. I'll come over at five.”
- Writer
