BASELINE ✸ Art Donaldson

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nineteen. Love You Like Oxygen

TATUM WASN'T ABLE TO sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time since the night before last in which she spent with Art.

Today was his match — Patrick's too — and if Patrick really was going to lose like Tashi requested, she'd might as well pack her things and leave already.

And that was the plan.

She stood at the edge of her hotel bed with rows of carefully folded t-shirts and pants in her black matte suitcase.

Maybe Tatum did tend to run away from things — maybe it's what she preferred versus confronting things head on.

Fact is, when she did confront, things always ended badly and she'd be left back at square one with the opposing person nothing but a stranger to her once again.

And Tatum didn't mind it Art was another example of that (or, so she claimed).

But just like the prime example of her running away — in that dorm room all those years ago — there was a string of continuous, panicked knocks on her hotel door.

Aaron is the one to open it but Tatum already knows who it is.

Mere milliseconds after the door is open, the blonde can see in the corner of her eye that Art has now pushed past her brother and is already walking toward her open doorway like a lost puppy.

He's in his white uniform like he's prepared for the match but he's already drenched in sweat.

He looked like something out of the movies.

"It was cute the first time." Tatum says, continuing to push folded displays of clothes in her luggage, referencing the exact memory of Art doing this same very thing, and Tatum running away. She looks up at him with an annoyed look in those brown eyes of her — so quick that if he wasn't already so fixated on her then he'd miss it. "Not so much the second time."

"Maybe you should stop running away."

He makes a fair point but Tatum is obligated to disagree.

She scoffs, turning her entire body to look up at only him. "Maybe you should stop choosing Tashi over me."

"I didn't—" he works himself up only to stop mid-sentence. "We're separated."

"I'm not a homewrecker." She bites the inside of her cheek as she says the bitter words to him, eyes cold.

There's a moment of shared silence between the two of them before Art finally speaks. 

"How many times are you going to make me tell you?" He asks, but it's more rhetorical than not. His hand finds the small of her waist and it makes Tatum's heartbeat quicken because the look in his blue eyes have changed and it's mesmerizing. "How many times are you going to make me run into your room, scared out of my mind that you're going to leave me?"

He closes the door quietly with one arm before both snake around her waist as he plants a kiss to her cheek and then another on her neck.

"How many times are you going to make me tell you that I can't live without you?"

He slowly gets down on his knees and swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, wetting them enough to make Tatum wonder what it is he's about to do next.

He kisses the open slit of skin between the waistband of her jeans and the trim of her shirt. "How many times are you going to make me tell you that I have always loved you?"

Tatum can feel every bone and muscle start to collapse as if it's all just turned to putty and it bewilders her that she still lets him do this to her.

"You're married." She says, finally, but not to him — to remind herself that he's a taken man.

He shakes his head, fingers burrowing into her skin ever so slightly. "Separated."

"We can't be together." Again, to convince herself.

"Why not?" He asks genuinely, eyes softening. "We're both retiring. We're rich. We could get a nice house with a white picket fence."

"White picket fence?" Tatum voices the idea out loud, images of what they could have flashing before her eyes.

He smiles, humming. "Didn't you always want a dog?"

"Two."

His smile widens. "We can get two of any dog you'd like."

Two dogs running in the backyard that's surrounded with a white picket fence overcomes her memory — one black and white spots and the other a golden retriever.

"You wanted two kids right? Both girls?"

Tatum hadn't thought much about kids since being with Art. Sure, Daniel and her always has the conversation but it wasn't something that sat right with Tatum until now.

"What about Lily?" The problem was that Art already started his make-believe fairytale life. With another woman.

Tatum was already 7-8 years behind and she'd be lying if she said it didn't bother her.

"She's always wanted a little sister."

It's amazing how two people can go from such tension — hatred, almost — to sharing a dream of starting a family together.

And at that, Tatum pulling Art up to her level to finally kiss him.

And when she does, he doesn't have to say it — it's already something she can feel in the way he kisses her — but for some reason, he does.

"I love you, Tate." He says as she climbs onto the bed and pulls him between her legs as if she can't bare to have him any further than right against her. "I can't stop."

I can't stop loving you is what he tries to say but can't due to Tatum's need to kiss him. To love him.

"What time is your match?" She asks, hurried and rushed like she won't ever have time to kiss him again in her life.

"I can miss it. I don't care." He says, telling nothing but the truth.

She grins, parting from the kiss. "What time is your match?"

He sighs, checking his watch, his lips wet and beginning to swell. "Twenty-two minutes."

Tatum has to laugh — she can't help it. She'd hardly been ready, she was in a hoodie and shorts and not at all dressed in coach attire.

Art tries to continue kissing her and as much as she wants to never stop — she does.

She gives him another smile, her warm hand still resting just beneath his jaw. "Let me get dressed and we'll go."

"You're coming?"

Her grin widens. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."