TATUM'S MORNING WAS PLEASANT. She'd just gotten fresh out of the shower following her first match of the tournament. She won, obviously. There wasn't much competition to begin with when it came to Riley Santos.

But it still reminded Tatum of that one match in 2009 against a girl from Vanderbilt. Both were in their senior year and finishing off their collegiate tennis careers — each wanting to go out with a bang.

Tatum beat her. 6 - 1.

Her dad had died that morning and Art had left Tatum just the night before. Storming out of their shared apartment after a long hypothetical argument about marriage.

Both had been in a horrid state of mind but Tatum utilized hers, channeling her anger into each beat of the racket against the tennis ball.

And now, Tatum was hungover and simply set to beat someone like Riley.

The towel wrapped loosely around her build, the white of the fabric growing damp as she stepped out of the bathroom and into her hotel room, where the TV shouted words at her. She'd fallen asleep watching the Men's Day One last night and didn't care to turn the channel off this morning before leaving either.

"And as you've probably heard," the commentator says on the TV. "we had a very interesting last-minute wild card yesterday."

Tatum's looks over her shoulder as she drops the towel and goes to reach for a t-shirt from her newly set-up closet.

She blinks and suddenly, Art Donaldson's face appears on the screen.

"Art Donaldson, coached by wife Tashi Donaldson."

It's like a punch to the gut.

She blows out a harsh breath and within a matter of seconds, a remote is in her hand and she's just turned the TV off.

Fuck.

      AARON WAS OUT AT SOME COACHES' MIXER PARTY, leaving Tatum alone to herself.

Initially, she had planned to stay in her room and order room service, maybe put on a movie until she drifted off to sleep. But she was still thriving off of a high--the one that winning gave her.

Today was the first she felt like a champion--like she did as a teenager--in a desperately long time. And she wanted to feel like her old self.

So, there she stood in the golden-detailed elevator, her six-inch heels clicking against the polished floor, wearing a tiny black dress that hugged her curves just right.

She was going out to a bar, or perhaps a club—anywhere away from here, where she could be free, not some tennis icon.

The double steel doors opened, and to her surprise, there was a pair of eyes she recognized: Patrick's. He was sitting at the bar with a woman whose short black hair sat at her shoulders. But Patrick had a look on his face that Tatum recognized all too well. Utterly uninterested.

He'd given it to a lot of girls in college, especially. He'd lead them on for a night, play games with them, give flirty looks, but never did a thing with them.

Tatum gave him a simple smile, acknowledging him before walking toward the lobby's doors.

He says something Tatum can't quite make out to his date and within a matter of seconds, he's standing right in front of her with his hand brushing against her elbow; preventing her from going any further.

But when she faces him, she realizes she no longer has to tilt her chin up to look at him. With these heels, the two are practically eye to eye.

She raises a brow at him, both confused and intrigued with what he's going to say next.

"Going out?" He asks, shifting the energy entirely and leaving Tatum to have to hold in her laughter.

"What gave it away?"

He purses his lips, internally cursing at himself. "I, um, wanted to ask you something."

He looks frantic almost, and his eyes keep drifting from Tatum onto something past her shoulder.

"What is it?"

He's checked out completely; he just keeps looking at that thing behind the two of them.

With brows furrowed ever so slightly, Tatum follows his gaze only to see that same girl he was sitting at the bar with. She looks worried—embarrassed.

Tatum actually laughs now. "Are you really about to ask me out while you're already on a date with another woman?"

Patrick's eyes dart to meet Tatum's, his eyes so wide you'd think he was a deer in the headlights. "No. Shit." He shakes his head in a panic, trying to compose his words and it's quite frankly adorable, Tatum might think. She'd so rarely ever see him like this due to his confident nature, so just seeing him crumble apart like this was satisfying to watch. "I wanted to ask you if you would be my coach."

Oh.

The question isn't what Tatum was expecting, to say the least. And she can't help it when her lips part with shock. "Your coach?"

He nods, slowly regaining his confidence. "Yeah. Aren't you retiring this season?"

"You've known me this long, Patrick." She gives him a dumbfounded look. "What makes you think I want to stay in this sport any longer than I have to?"

He narrows his eyes on her; analyzing her; carefully depicting what to say to get her to say yes. But he doesn't get to.

He doesn't get a chance to because when Tatum looks up, Tashi Duncan is standing in front of them.

Sure, her head is facing the opposite direction but either of them could spot her from a mile away, even if she does have a new haircut and they haven't seen her in a decade.

Patrick is now the one to follow the blonde's eyes, and when his own pair lands on her—his entire face drops as if he's in disbelief.

Everyone knew she'd be here, especially after the news broke about Art being a wildcard for the challenger. But neither of them expected her to be the one staying at the same hotel as Tatum.

The only thing Tatum really cared about in this situation was that if Tashi was here, Art was likely somewhere following like a lost puppy.

Patrick gives Tatum a warning stare but she's already locked eyes with Tashi. She watches as the woman scoffs before turning back to face the receptionist, assumingely checking in to her room.

"This is gonna be fun." Patrick mutters, a small smirk on his face as he leans his shoulder back against the wall, awaiting Tashi's arrival into their conversation.

Unfortunately, it's not long at all. She says goodbye to her parents, mumbling something about meeting them in their suite.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" She asks, wasting no time.

It catches Tatum by surprise, honestly. Tashi always did have a hostile demeanor but she at least expected a little bit of fake decency.

Patrick doesn't answer, just looks to Tatum with a knowing smile, handing her the invisible microphone.

"I'm staying here." She says with confidence, just waiting for the unnecessary conversation to be over.

Tashi nods, crossing her arms over her torso but is disbelieving. "And he's staying here too? Really?"

Patrick nods in agreement and Tatum has to send him a glare.

"You expect me to believe that?" She asks, anger visible in her tone but her eyes stay on Patrick. "You smell like shit."

Tatum rolls her head back in annoyance as Patrick welcomes an amused smile on his face, leaning deeper into the wall and shoving his hand in the pocket of his joggers.

"Why are you staying here? I'd assume you guys would get a villa or something." Patrick says.

The tension between Tashi's brows soften as she looks up at him. "Lily likes hotels."

Neither Patrick or Tatum know the name, or if they were supposed to.

Patrick looked to Tatum, as if she was some crazy stalker who was supposed to know every person in Tashi Duncan's life.

"Our daughter."

Oh.

Tatum wasn't sure why she never thought of Tashi and Art starting a family of their own — after all, it'd been 9 years and they were married.

But it felt like a knife was being twisted and pulled out of Tatum solely because she'd been imagining a family with Art since they were teenagers.

"So what, are you two friends again?"

The question was entirely irrelevant—and honestly, caught Tatum completely by surprise.

"Not sure when we stopped."

Tashi keeps her eyes on Tatum for a long moment before returning back to Patrick. "Just get out of here, will you? Art already thinks I planned this to humiliate him."

"Didn't you though?" Patrick counters with a devious glint in his eye.

Tashi removes her gaze from Patrick entirely before it trails down Tatum's body. "Not this part."

Her eyes linger on Tatum's for longer than a minute. As if she has a secret she doesn't want to tell. And it intrigues Tatum.

But as she walks away and the elevator doors close behind her, Tatum finds herself going back to look at Patrick.

"Okay, I'll do it."

BLAKELY SPEAKS !
2k in one day??? i love it here