~9~

“Okay, so what's the plan today?”

“No plan.”

“But it's just us.”

“Just us, Porn God.”

“I like that. That's my name today, I'll only answer to it.”

“Got it.”

“And why is it just us?”

“Jameson is meeting with that lawyer, finally.”

“And that takes all day?”

“If you wanna go hump your Brazilian girlfriend, it's fine. Go.”

Ang laughed and yanked on a lock of Tate's hair.

It had been a week since the failed hotel room party. Isadora the Brazilian hoochie-slash-model had given up on wooing Jameson – apparently Ang more than fulfilled her needs. That left Tate and Jameson and Sanders with a lot of together time, which was nice. For a week, she got to pretend like it was old times again.

But that morning, Jameson informed her that his lawyer had finally flown into town. Sooner than expected. Wasn't Tate happy about that? She could finally get back to her precious Boston and her precious bar. She gave him a wet-willy as he walked out the door, which earned her a slap and a threat of retribution.

Good times.

Jameson took Sanders with him, so that left Tate alone in the hotel room. Which she promptly left to invade Ang's room. He was spooning with Isadora, or possibly having half-asleep sex, Tate wasn't sure, but she burst into his room anyway, all but dragging him out of bed. Like a true friend, he ditched his skank and hit the town with Tate.

“I've humped her enough. It's already boring. So are we going to do this all day?” he asked, looking around him. They were on a bright red, double decker tour bus. The top floor didn't have a roof and they sat up there, watching the sites roll by them.

“No. But I figured this would be a cheap, easy way to see the city,” she explained, turning to look as they rolled by the famous Peninsula Hotel. Jameson had told her he normally stayed there when he visited, but had decided on a larger, “brand name” hotel for her this time.

“Cheap? Do you actually have to worry about stuff like that anymore? Big Daddy Kane won't give you access to his funds?” Ang teased. She rolled her eyes.

“That's boring. I can whip out the black American Express card easy peezy, but then we wouldn't get to see it like this,” she pointed out.

“He gave you a black American Express card!?”

“I am not buying you stuff.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

They actually did go shopping after that, near the water front there were a lot of shops. Tate was a sucker when it came to Urban Outfitters, in any country. Sometimes, a person just needed a clock that looked like it was melting. Or at least, she did. They laughed at their purchases as they headed to the Sky 100 deck, inside the seventh tallest building in the world. They had tea service while over looking Victoria Harbor.

“He's calling me,” Tate mumbled, glancing down at her phone. Before she could answer, Ang yanked it away from her.

“This'll be good, trust me,” he said quickly, then answered the call, making moaning sounds.

“We are in public!” Tate hissed, smacking him with her napkin. Ang waved her away and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Sorry, sorry about that, you know how Tate's mouth is. God, she's even better than I remembered – glad you haven't ruined all the years of hard work I put into her,” Ang said quickly, sounding breathless. Tate couldn't hear Jameson's response, but she could guess.

“You're such a dick,” she grumbled, throwing the balled up napkin at Ang's face. He was silent for a while, then glanced at her before turning away.

“No. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Gotcha. Do you want to talk -, okay. On it. Too late, Satan, you said whatever it takes,” Ang's voice was teasing towards the end.

What the fuck are they talking about?

But before Tate could ask that question out loud, Ang hung up the phone. Didn't even offer for her to say hello or goodbye.

“What was that!? I wanted to talk to him!” Tate snapped.

“Just some man talk. His meetings are running late, he told me to entertain you, so c'mon. Get naked,” Ang instructed. She snorted.

“Fuck off. What did he say?” she asked.

“Just that – he's gonna be with his lawyer for a while, that's why he was calling you. Said that we could hang out and do whatever we want tonight. So let's make it good, god knows when we'll get a chance like this again,” Ang said, slowly standing out of his chair.

“I'm not having sex with you.”

“You're so boring now.”

Tate wanted to go back to the hotel to change, but Ang pitched a fit. He wanted to go to the Avenue of the Stars, take a picture next to the Bruce Lee statue. And once they were down there, he wanted to stay so they could watch the “symphony of lights” - when several of the city's larger buildings would put on a light show, set to music. So another couple hours were spent milling around till that happened.

Despite her continued complaining about wanting to change out of her sweaty clothing, Ang dragged her to a nightclub. Tate had to admit, it was pretty good fun. He plied her with alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. After a certain point, she stopped caring that she was wearing sweaty clothing. Stopped caring about almost everything.

“We should do this more often!” Tate yelled, hopping around to the heavy bass.

“If you could convince Satan to move to L.A., we could!” Ang yelled back, dancing around her in a circle.

“He does have that condo there,” Tate said, trying to sip at her drink while still hopping.

“Use your magic snatch to talk him into it,” Ang suggested, poking at her crotch. She spit out her mouthful of liquor, laughing.

“Magic snatch, that's the best.”

Tate had no clue what time it was when they finally left the club. Late enough that the stifling heat had abated somewhat, a breeze blowing through the streets. Ang caught them a cab, managed to get them back to the hotel. She was somewhat aware of the fact that he wasn't nearly as drunk as she was; in fact, he didn't seem drunk at all. But she was too tipsy to care. She laid back in the taxi, sticking her feet in his face.

When they got to the hotel, Tate tried to take out her cell phone so she could call Jameson, see if he was home. If he was, he probably wouldn't be happy – it was after two in the morning. But as she felt around her shorts, she didn't feel the familiar lump of her phone.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing Ang's arm as they walked through the lobby.

“Huh?” he mumbled, chowing down on some sort of meat-on-a-stick he'd bought from a street vendor.

“My phone. I lost my phone, we have to go back,” she said, shoving her hands down the front of her shirt, checking to make sure her cell wasn't stashed in her bra.

“Nah, I've got it,” he told her, continuing on towards the elevators. She jogged after him, straightening out her top.

“Why!? When? Give it to me,” she demanded. He took it out of his back pocket and she snatched it from his hand. The screen lit up – eight missed text messages and three missed phone calls. Oh god. She unlocked the phone.

 

Home now.

 

By me saying I'm home, that means I want you home.

 

Where the fuck are you?

 

Pick up your phone.

 

If you fuck Angier, I will beat the shit out of him.

 

You better not be fucking Angier.

 

I am going to kill Angier.

 

Please text or call.

 

The last text actually made her the most nervous. Angry, cursing Jameson was normal. Soft, gentle Jameson was a completely different beast. It was the calm before the storm. It usually meant trouble, and not always the sexy kind.

She didn't like hurting his feelings, even if it was on accident.

“Why didn't you tell me!? He's been texting for the last two hours!” Tate snapped, following Ang onto the elevator and smacking him in the arm. He shoved her away and hit the button for their floor.

“Hey, he said we could do whatever we wanted. I wanted to spend the evening alone with my bestie. It used to be just the two of us, remember? Us against the world. Now we're lucky if we see each other every other month,” Ang pointed out. Tate swallowed her sarcastic remark. Two men, two guilt trips. Not fair. At least with Jameson, she could seduce him into submission. Ang was shit out of luck.

“I'm sorry. You're right. And I had a great time,” Tate said, stumbling into the wall as the elevator stopped at a floor. The doors slid open and Ang grabbed her hand, yanking her close as a large group of young guys got on the elevator. They looked to be in their early-twenties, and from either America or Canada.

“Hey, bro, 'sup,” one guy said, doing the head nod thing at Ang.

“Hey,” he responded, smiling down at them. Tate hiccuped and tried not to laugh. One of the guys kept staring at Ang, though. Looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away. Then turned towards him.

“This is gonna sound crazy,” he started, “but you look just like -,”

“I am,” Ang answered, cutting him off.

“No way!”

“Way.”

“Dudes! This is that guy, from the movie last night!”

Tate really started laughing. Ang just rolled his eyes, managed a wave as the younger guys all guffawed and high-fived.

“Yeah, that's me,” he said, his smiled strained.

“Can I get a picture with you!?”

“I don't think that's -,”

FLASH.

Tate was just drunk enough to roll with it, so she organized everyone into a pile in a corner, so one of the guys could take a selfie of all of them. Then they all took turns taking individual pictures with Ang, who was looking less and less pleased with the adoration. Tate egged them all on, getting a thrill out of seeing him so uncomfortable.

“Get in here!” one of the guys suddenly demanded, waving his arm at Tate.

“Me!? No, no, you don't want a pic of me, I'm nobody,” Tate laughed. Ang gasped.

“Nobody!? How could you say that, after all those awards you just won!?” he asked. She blinked at him.

“Huh?”

“Guys, you know who this is, right?” Ang asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him.

“She, uh, she looks kinda familiar?” one of the dudes said, but it sounded more like he was guessing.

“This chick right here just won FOUR awards at the AVNs, for her anal scenes! She's the best in the business!” Ang went on.

“What!?” Tate shrieked.

Maybe teased him too much.

“Oh, that's probably why we don't recognize her.”

“Yeah, usually the camera is pointed a little lower on this one. C'mon, get in here, one more selfie!” Ang offered, wrapping his arm tightly around Tate so she couldn't get away.

Mother fucker.

Another round of pictures was taken. The elevator had long since stopped at a floor, where the boys had originally planned on getting off. But they kept laughing and taking pictures, holding the doors open.

“You guys wanna party with us!?” one of the guys asked, gesturing down the hallway.

“Oh, no way, we've gotta practice for a shoot tomorrow,” Ang explained with a heavy sigh, wrapping his arm around her hips. She punched him in the chest.

“No we -,”

“Oh man! Like a porn shoot!?” their new friends practically shouted, beside themselves with excitement.

“What other kind? Have a good night, guys,” Ang winked at them, lowering his head towards Tate.

“Get it on, man! Can't wait to see this movie!”

“Ang,” Tate warned, “don't you do it. I will kick you in the -,”

His lips entirely covered her own, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. Tate hadn't kissed Ang in a long time, she'd forgotten how much tongue he liked. The boys in the hall hooted and hollered, shouting words of encouragement to Ang. She snorted, pushing against his shoulders. He just moved them across the elevator, pushing her up against the far wall. This earned another round of hollering, and then the elevator doors slid shut.

But Ang didn't let up. It took a real shove to get him off of her.

“What the fuck was that!? Award for anal!?” she demanded, wiggling against his hold.

“Hey, you started it, making them take all those pictures. And it wasn't too far from the truth, you love anal,” he pointed out.

“'Love' is a stretch. What are you doing? Get off of me,” Tate grumbled, yanking at his arm. When he still didn't let go, she glared up at him. He was staring down at her, a very serious look on his face. An almost sad look. She stopped moving.

“Tate,” Ang sighed her name, moving one arm so he could trace a finger down the side of her cheek.

Oh god. I'm not drunk enough for this. Please don't let him say something weird.

“What's wrong?” she asked, her voice soft.

“I just …, miss you. You know?” he said with a laugh, twisting some of her hair around his finger.

“I miss you, too, Ang, but that doesn't mean you get to make out with me in an elevator,” Tate tried to joke, grabbing his free hand and linking their fingers.

“That's not what this is,” he said quietly, his eyes wandering over her face. “I just know that it's going to be a long time before we see each other again. A long time before we have a day to just be us, together. Maybe never.”

Ridiculously, Tate felt like crying.

“Why are you saying that? We still have the rest of this trip, and I can come visit you, and we can -,”

He kissed her again, and this time Tate allowed it. It was different. It was soft, and it was sad. It was like he was saying goodbye, the only way he really knew how. She held onto his hand even tighter, pressing it to her chest.

“You were always my fave, Tater tot,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Ang, what is going on?” Tate whispered, staring up at him.

He didn't answer her. Just then, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, startling her. They were on their floor. Even more startling was Jameson, standing in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. One of his eyebrows cocked up as he took in the scene, Ang holding Tate, pressing her up against a wall.

“Interesting,” Jameson murmured. Ang took a deep breath, then smiled. Turned to face the door.

“Hey, Satan, you said do whatever we want,” he teased, then dipped Tate, practically licking the inside of her mouth. She made gagging noises.

“Very funny, Angier.”

Ang finally let her go, but not before slapping her on the ass hard enough to send her stumbling into Jameson. He saluted them and said goodnight, then strolled down the hall towards his room, whistling a little tune. Tate stared after him with her jaw hanging open.

What the hell is going on!?

“What the hell was that?” Jameson's words mimicked her thoughts.

“I swear, I have no idea. One minute, we're riding in the elevator with a bunch of his groupies. Next thing I know, he's kissing me like he's gonna die tomorrow,” Tate tried to explain.

“Ah.”

And that was it. Jameson turned and started walking back towards the room. Tate's mind was blown. Jameson hated it when Ang touched her. Hated it when Ang so much as breathed in her direction. She had just told him that Ang had kissed her, and he didn't care!?

“Is there something I'm missing!?” Tate called out, stumbling after him. Jameson held the door open to their room and let her go inside ahead of him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking her purse from her and tossing it onto a counter.

“Ang was being all weird, and you're not mad, and … and … I can't get this off,” Tate grumbled, hopping around on one leg as she tried to pull her sandal off. It finally came free and she chucked it over her shoulder.

“You want me to be mad?” Jameson asked, slowly moving to stand in front of her.

“You're always mad, it's one of the things I love most about you,” Tate laughed, and got her other shoe free. She threw that one, as well.

“Hmmm, one of the things. And what do you love the most about me?” he questioned in a slow voice.

“It's a toss up,” Tate answered, yawning while she swept her hair up into a ponytail.

“Between what and what?”

“Your dick and your mouth.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, by mouth, I mean words. How you talk.”

“Not much better.”

She snickered and moved out onto the balcony. The breeze was stronger that high up, lifting and moving her hair around. She sighed and pressed her forearms against the railing, leaned over it. Jameson came out and copied her stance, leaning against the railing as well.

“You know I don't mean that,” Tate said in a soft voice.

“Excuse me?”

“The thing I love most about you is you,” Tate tried to explain, then hiccuped. He laughed and moved behind her, putting his hands on the railing on either side of her.

“That would be much sweeter if you weren't drunk,” he pointed out.

“I'm not drunk. Just …, tipsy,” she offered. He laughed again, but it was a dark sound, and then she felt his teeth against her shoulder.

“Tipsy enough to let Angier put his tongue in your mouth,” he growled.

“Aha, I knew it, you are angry,” she teased, then yelped when his teeth nipped particularly hard.

“According to you, I'm always angry. Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, moving back from her a little.

“I did,” she answered honestly, shivering as she felt his fingers run through her ponytail.

“Did Angier get anything else inside you?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” she joked, then gasped as he yanked back hard on her hair.

“You wouldn't appreciate finding me with my tongue down Isadora's throat,” he hissed.

“No, I wouldn't.”

He let go of her hair and turned her around, so she was facing him.

“Did you like it?” he demanded. She barked out a laugh.

“What kind of question is that? It was a kiss, of course I liked it. Kissing is fun,” she replied. He glared at her.

“Stop being a smart ass.”

“I didn't ask him to kiss me, I didn't want him to, I tried to get him to stop. Jesus, when did you become Mr. Insecurity?” Tate questioned.

“Right around when I caught my girlfriend deep throating another man's tongue,” he snapped back.

“Oh, for fuck's sake. You know, I was actually having a good time, so if you're gonna keep acting like a bitch, then I'd rather finish the night somewhere else,” she warned him.

“Watch it,” he countered.

“No. I didn't do anything wrong, and you're throwing a hissy fit!”

“A what?”

“A hissy fit, you know – that thing little girls do when they don't get their way.”

When his hand wrapped around her throat, Tate wondered if maybe she'd pushed him too far.

Or not far enough …

“Does this feel like something a little girl does?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. She took a deep breath through her nose.

“Feels like something a bitch does,” she replied.

His fingernails dug in as he squeezed and air became difficult to come by.

“How come Angier gets to maul you in an elevator, but I try to have a conversation, and I get back talk and arguments?” Jameson growled. She smiled.

“Because it's so much funner,” she teased, her voice little more than a breath.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Alright.”

Angier may have gotten to maul her in an elevator, but Jameson got to strip her bare on a balcony. Ate her out like he was starving for her. Then bent her over that railing and fucked her so hard, security came to the door to investigate all the screaming and cursing.

Best night ever.