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connected. The O'Sheas wanted that connection. In their minds, Tatum had ruined that, had ruined everything . Worst. Christmas. Ever .
    She wasn't invited back for Easter.
    Her apartment had been paid up till the summer, nothing Daddy could do about that, and Tate certainly wasn't lazy. Going against her own nature for years had been hard work. She went out and found a job. Found two jobs. Made friends. Real friends, for the first time ever. Had a social life. Dated. Screwed around. Acted her age. She didn't talk to her family at all, but that was okay, because she didn't like them anymore than they liked her.
    So now all these years later, life was better than ever – in her opinion. She realized that sure, maybe some of that was thanks to a certain blue eyed he-demon, but she didn't think about him too much. Jameson had awakened something in her, brought about her change, but she was responsible for her life. She had taken control. She had grown up. And he hadn't been there for that. He wasn't anything to her. Nothing at all. He didn't exist anymore.
    And she was perfectly fine with that.

    *

    Tatum came to with a start the next morning, not quite sure where she was, at first. She squinted in the bright sunlight, held up a hand. There was an open window across from her. She moaned and almost pulled the covers up over her head, but a snort came from the pillow next to hers, and she stopped moving.
    “Oh, jesus,” she groaned, bringing a hand to her head. Brad was snoring next to her.
    She kind of remembered now. She had gone to an after-hours club with Rus and Brad. More drinks had flowed between them. Shots were taken. Tate was a pretty solid party girl. Under normal circumstances, she could handle her liquor and controlled substances very well, but last night had gotten a little wild, even for her. She could sort of remember stumbling up to Brad's apartment. Doing something naughty in the hallway outside his door.
    There was something about going down on a guy in public that just drove her wild.
    But it hadn't gotten a whole lot better from there on – a couple drinks, and Brad was pretty much done for the night. He'd passed out on the bed, right in the middle of Tate's striptease. Not confidence inspiring. But since she was already half naked, she just crawled in to the bed next to him and passed out, as well.
    She was regretting that now. Brad tended to get clingy when she stayed the night. He wasn't her boyfriend. More of a stress reliever, really. She liked that, and wanted it to stay that way. But it had become more and more obvious that he didn't want it to stay that way.
    Tate managed to slide out of the bed without waking him up. She tip toed around the room, collecting the clothing she'd tossed everywhere. She shimmied in to her tight white t-shirt and then hopped around, struggling more with the tight leather leggings.
    “Now that's a sight I could get used to,” she heard Brad say from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. She was bent over, struggling to get her foot through the pant leg. Her thong-clad ass was pointed straight at Brad.
    “You could take a picture,” she offered, and then succeeded in getting her foot through. She got the other leg in no problem and yanked the leggings up over her hips.
    “You'd really let me do that?” he asked. She shrugged, pulling on her boots.
    “Maybe. Depends. Not with my face in the picture,” she said, grabbing her jacket off a chair.
    “Why are you always in such a rush? I could use some help here,” he chuckled, gesturing to the tent that was happening in his sheets. Tate laughed out loud.
    “ Are you joking? You owe me one, after last night,” she pointed out, searching around for her purse.
    “What are you talking about? I thought we had a great time,” he said. She gave him a Look.
    “ You had a great time, coming in my mouth after about two seconds, and then passing out. You have the the worst case of whiskey dick, of anyone