4. Tatum

Tatum

Chapter four

We approach the door to his hotel room up on the seventh floor. The hotel hallways seem quiet and plush compared to the storm that is raging outside. I take the length of our walk to think over the fact that I was being utterly ridiculous in my confrontation with Atlas. I let my anger and humiliation get the best of me and it boiled over onto this man. Though, he is partially responsible for my bruised face right now. But it's not his fault this crazy blizzard hit us the way it has and honestly, my dad would be happy to know that he was nice enough to offer me a place to stay to wait it out. He won't be happy that it's-

"One bed," I state as Atlas opens the door to the room and that's the first thing I notice. "You didn't mention that," I add on as I lean against the door, watching him as he drops his bag to the floor and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah, but it won't be a problem, I hope. I can sleep on the couch. I didn't anticipate the company." He mimics my movements and leans against the dresser that holds the TV.

Just then, I hear laughter come from behind me and I turn to see his friends that were downstairs leading a group of girls towards their room down the hall.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say to him as I roll my eyes and he just chuckles.

"Come on. Don't be like that. Not every football player in the world is a man whore," he says to me as he leaves his position and walks toward me.

I step out of his way not knowing what he's doing but then he reaches behind me and closes the door shut.

I don't miss the scent that feathers in the air between us as he walks by, sweat mixed with something clean and fresh. I let my nostrils breathe in his scent for a minute before I turn back to face him.

"Well, I wanted to say thank you for letting me stay here. But you will be sleeping on the couch, and I will be out of here as soon as the storm clears." I'm still annoyed, don't get me wrong. But there's really no point in me fighting with this man if I'm going to be sleeping here tonight.

He doesn't respond to me as he walks into the small kitchenette attached to the suite and opens the fridge to grab a water. "Want one?" he asks as he tilts a bottle my way.

"No thanks. I was actually thinking about heading over to that coffee machine down the hall for a hot chocolate." I cover my arms with my hands, despite being in a warm hotel, the chill from the snow still bites at me.

"Let me. You can hop in the shower if you want, to warm up and I'll go grab your cocoa." Atlas grabs his wallet and heads back toward the door.

"Wait." I stop him. Atlas is still in his shorts and tank top. He looks like a complete bad boy with his huge muscles, his tree-trunk thighs, and his sharp cut jaw. Not to mention the football player part. But he's been nothing but kind to me since I got in his car.

"What's up?" He waits for me to pursue the point of my keeping him from leaving.

"Do we know each other or something?" I ask, knowing that it's not possible but I can't explain why he's being so nice.

"I don't think so. Why?" He flips his wallet around in his hands.

"You're just way too…nice. If we don't know each other, why are you being so kind, especially after I jumped down your throat in the car?" I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself warm, watching his eyes think over my question.

"I'll be honest, Tatum. When the team bus drove past you on the road earlier, I recognized you right away. I knew that my football hit you in the face at the game. I saw the whole thing happen. When we passed you, I saw the bruise it had left you and I felt so bad. My mother raised me right and she'd be disappointed to learn that I just left you stranded and bruised like that. I took a risk going back for you, not knowing if you'd still be there but I figured if you were, I could help you find a place to stay tonight. That's all. I just wanted to help." His admission is kind of a surprise to me. And it makes my irritation fade a little to hear him say that he was worried from the moment he threw that ball into the crowd.

Here I was thinking he was some arrogant jock just doing what he pleases because he can. Little did I know, he felt guilty.

"How much was your fine?" I ask him. Players can face hefty fines for celebration dances and throwing footballs into the crowd.

"Five thousand," he says with a sexy smirk on his face.

"Six," I correct him.

"No, it was only five."

I roll my eyes. Only five thousand dollars.

"Five for the celebration fine. One thousand for my pain and suffering. I take Venmo or Cash App," I say to him with a smile and a hand on my hip. He simply chuckles at me.

"Let's start with a hot chocolate." He waves his wallet at me before turning and leaving me in the room by myself.

I can't help but notice how tight his ass looks in his shorts before he leaves. Atlas really is super fucking attractive, which causes me to think about how I'm going to be stuck in this room with him all night. The game ended at three o'clock which was two hours ago.

Are we going to eat dinner together? Watch TV? I guess I didn't think about those things when I agreed to this.

And the shower.

He offered me a shower, but I don't have anything with me to change into. I take that thought with me to the large window and open up the curtains to the bright, harsh light of the snow shattering against the darkening sky.

Never in my life did I think I'd be trapped in a snowstorm like this, let alone in the hotel room with some hot football player.

That reminds me, I need to charge my phone to call my dad and let him know I'm safe.

I look around the room, the light grey walls and the light wood furnishings against the soft white carpet make for a cozy hotel room. I check the drawers of the dresser just to see if maybe the hotel stocks chargers or if someone left it behind, but I find nothing.

I wander over to the full bathroom. The lights provide a soft amber glow as it bounces off the wood and marble. I don't see a charger in here but I notice the shower has one of those fancy ass shower heads hanging from the ceiling and a full-length mirror up against one of the walls. That's a classic sign of a fancy ass bathroom. Before I leave, I think to check my reflection in the mirror and that's when I notice how much of a hot mess I am. My hair is still wet and my curls have flattened out slightly, my makeup is a little smeared across my face and I notice the proof of my assault in the form of a light purple bruise forming right along my cheek bone.

I decide not to mess with my appearance too much as I turn off the light and leave the bathroom.

I get sidetracked on my quest for a phone charger at the sound of a buzzing sound. I search for the source and find a phone sitting on the counter of the kitchen. Atlas must have left his phone here.

I don't want to be too nosey but as the phone continues to vibrate to the pattern of the ringtone, I look down at the screen and see a girl's name, Laken, flash across with a pink heart next to it.

My stomach drops a little only because I was right to assume that every football player is indeed a man whore.

I decide in this moment, as the phone continues to buzz and buzz, that I don't want any part in whatever this is. Whether he was just trying to be nice or not, he has a girlfriend, and I shouldn't be here.

I grab my own phone and make sure I have my purse before heading to the door and right as I reach to turn the knob, it opens from the other side and Atlas is standing in the doorway with a cup of hot cocoa in hand.

"Where are you going?" he asks, a look of confusion painting his facial expression.

I step aside to let him in. He sets the cocoa down and turns to look at me.

"I uh-" I think to make up a lie and tell him I found a ride home. But then his phone starts buzzing again.

His head turns in the direction of it, and I just let it out.

"Go ahead. Your whore awaits you." My diss is harsh, calling his girlfriend his whore. But anger boils inside of me again as the phone vibrates against the counter.

Atlas walks a few steps to grab his phone and he looks at the screen before giving me one last glance, something unreadable in his eyes but I know that he's just hiding the fact he's been caught.

"Listen, I don't care. I don't know you. But I can't stay here while you have a whole ass girlfriend waiting for you at home." That's the last thing I say to him before I decide to walk away.

But as I get past the threshold of the door and into the hallway, I hear Atlas answer his phone.

"Hey, sis. What's up?"

Fuck me.

I stop in my tracks, frozen. I just called his sister a whore.

I turn around slowly, feeling awkward, stupid, and ashamed for jumping to conclusions and resorting to name calling instead of minding my own business.

Atlas meets my eyes with a cocky grin and playful eyes, phone to his ear, almost as if to throw it in my face that I just made an ass out of myself, which I did so I deserve it.

He takes a step to the side as if to lure me back in, letting me know that my invitation to stay hasn't expired despite my rude and assumptive remark in regard to the female caller. I take the walk of shame back into the hotel room and close the door behind me quietly, as if to close my shame behind me.

Atlas looks right at me as he says, "Laken, let me call you back," then hangs up the phone.

He sets it down behind him, right next to the hot chocolate he so willingly went and got for me. He takes a few steps closer to me, causing my heartrate to kick up a few paces. He leans in and whispers just inches in front of my face, "Now, what were you saying?"