~12~

Of course, she hadn't planned on just immediately flying off. Tate had booked a hotel room for three days. She went and saw her sister, said goodbye to her and the baby. She wouldn't be gone forever, just for a while. Long enough to get over him a little. She had never let herself do that before, it would be a hard road.

Ang thought she was being abso-fuckin-lutely stupid. When he had crossed over to the dark side, she didn't know. Ang hated Jameson – why was he calling her stupid for leaving him? She pointed this out to him.

“Because, you stupid bitch, you're in love with him. And in his own creepy, sadistic, satanic way, he sorta kinda loves you back. Why are you doing this!? Because some slutty model tells a lie about him!?” Ang demanded.

“She's probably not lying, but no, it's not just about that, there's a lot of other stuff I realized. Some things ..., just aren't meant to be,” she told him.

“Tater tot, you two have been dancing around each other for seven years. I'd say it's pretty fuckin' meant to be.”

Tate threatened to refuse to see him before she left, so he calmed down. Ang gave one last loud speech about how stupid she was being, and how it was the worst idea ever, and how Nick Castille was one of the most boring people he had ever met, and then he didn't say another word on the subject. Just held her and cuddled her while she cried.

And cried, and cried, and cried.

Surprisingly, Sanders stayed with her the whole time. Her hotel room had double beds, so he didn't even book another room, just laid down across from her. He never went home, and Jameson never even called. She would wake up at five in the morning to find Sanders ironing his suit. It would have been funny, if the idea of never seeing him do stuff like that again hadn't been so goddamn sad

“You don't have to stay here,” she told him on her last night. He was sitting in a chair, pulled up next to a bed, facing the TV. Tate was stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He shrugged.

“I know that. I would like to stay,” he replied.

“To the bitter end?” she laughed.

“To the bitter end.”

“You can't take me to the airport, I probably wouldn't be able to stop crying long enough to find my plane,” she joked.

“Then I should definitely take you.”

“Sandy,” she warned.

“There is time to go back. Time to fix this,” he assured her, his eyes trained on the TV. It was on mute.

“No. That time passed a long time ago,” Tate told him. He shook his head.

“No. He's upset, but he would forgive you. He is very forgiving,” he said.

“I don't want to be forgiven. I shouldn't need to be, for feeling a certain way. There is nothing wrong with not wanting to be with someone. It's horrible, and it's sad, and it hurts – but it's not wrong,” she explained.

“It is when it's all a lie, though, and you're doing it just to hurt somebody,” Sanders pointed out. She frowned.

“You think that's why I'm doing this? Just to hurt him? Sandy, he'd have to have a heart, first, before I could hurt it,” she snapped.

“He has a heart. He has shown it to me many times. You, however, have been purposefully blind to it.”

Ouch, okay, that kinda hurts.

“It was always more sex than anything. He said that a dozen times, maybe a hundred times. He just wanted me for sex, I was only supposed to be sex to him, just sex, sex, sex. Do you understand how that makes me feel?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.

He had taken off his jacket, and his arms were folded across his chest, bunching up his tie. She was wearing her underwear and a loose tank top. Normal evening wear for the pair.

“You wanted that relationship as well, in the beginning. You changed it, and he went along with it. It was never entirely about something as ridiculous as sex,” Sanders told her. She laughed.

“Sandy, there was nothing ridiculous about the sex Jameson and I had,” she snickered. He frowned.

“I shall take your word for it.”

“That's another thing that sucks about this whole situation,” she said, looking back up at the ceiling.

“What?”

“Sex. I think he's kinda ruined me for other men.”

“Good.”

“Stop. How am I supposed to ever have a normal relationship? Hard to do that, when there's only one person I can think about having sex with,” she sighed.

“You could just be having sex with him, problem solved.”

“Sandy.”

“Not everything is about sex, Tatum. The world does not revolve around it.”

“It kinda does.”

“You make it that way. He makes it that way. But it doesn't have to be.”

“It's hard with a person like him. He makes me feel like that's all I'm good for, all I'm worth to him, so I feel guilty, but then it's so good, I can't stop wanting it, so I feel even guiltier. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever had sex like that?” Tate asked, putting her hands behind her head.

“No,” Sanders finally replied after a long pause.

“Well, okay, but like ..., you've had really good sex, and it's basically like that. Imagine the best sex you've ever had, and then imagine that person treating you like trash,” she urged. He was silent for a long time.

“I can't do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't.”

It hit her like a lightening bolt. She sat straight upright. Turned her head to face him.

“Sandy ..., are you a virgin!?” she exclaimed. His neck turned bright pink, but he didn't look at her.

“There is nothing wrong with that,” he said quickly.

Oh. My. God.

It made complete sense. If anything, the idea of Sanders having sex was actually weirder than the idea of a twenty year old virgin. But he was right, a large chunk of Tatum's world revolved around sex. She just assumed everyone had done it, including him. Especially him. He was wealthy and he was good looking; those two things alone would make women overlook his personality quirks and social oddities. She had watched women overlook them. Why had Sanders never taken the leap!? Tate was shocked that Jameson hadn't simply hired a hooker and locked the two of them in a room together.

Kinky.

She suddenly felt so guilty. For touching him inappropriately. For parading her body around in front of him, for flaunting her sexuality. God, all the times he had walked in on her and Jameson. She had thought it was funny. She had assumed that none of it was anything he hadn't seen and done before, himself. It must have made him so uncomfortable.

“No, no, of course there's nothing wrong with that,” she agreed quickly. “I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“Why?”

“Just ..., because. I hate to tell you this, Sanders, but you're kinda hot. And the way you spend money -,” Tate started.

“Jameson's money,” Sanders corrected her.

“Doesn't matter to chicks, they love that shit. Sexy guy in an expensive suit dropping money, that's all they see. I just assumed ... I figured ... I mean, Jameson ...,” she stammered. He cleared his throat.

“Jameson hasn't questioned me on the matter. Just because he is promiscuous does not mean I am going to be,” he assured her.

'Going to be'. So he has plans to lose it someday.

“Why have you waited so long?” she pressed, swinging around and sitting cross-legged style, facing him. He still refused to look at her.

“I ..., am uncomfortable. Around people, in general. Women, specifically. I am also a perfectionist. I don't like to rush into things,” he explained. She laughed.

“I guess that's good,” she chuckled.

“I am also strange. I am aware of this, I just don't care. But women do. I don't want it to be an issue, when the time comes. I want it to be ..., perfect,” he told her.

“Awww, that's kinda romantic,” Tate sighed.

“You're wrong. I don't mean perfect as in waiting for true love to come along. I mean perfect as in as soon as I have studied everything on the issue and am confident in my abilities,” Sanders clarified.

Oh my. He's going to study? For losing his virginity?

“You could hire somebody. I mean, I'm not saying that to be rude, just like ..., someone who has done it before, a lot. Someone who knows what they're doing,” she suggested quickly.

“I have thought of this. It is a very viable option.”

Someone who knows the ropes.

“Sandy,” Tate suddenly breathed, pushing herself to the edge of the bed.

“Hmmm?”

She stood up and walked towards him.

“I was seventeen when I lost my virginity,” she said softly.

“Yes, I know. Jameson has told me.”

“Did he tell you it was awful? It was with my first boyfriend, and I didn't even really like him. He was horrible in bed, but I didn't know that then, and he was horrible for a first time. I didn't know what I was doing, he didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't care. It was over before I even knew what was happening,” she told him. He frowned.

“See, that is what I am trying to avoid.”

“Jameson was the second person I ever had sex with, and he knew exactly what he was doing. It was so much better. The best thing ever,” she said. Sanders nodded.

“I'm sure. Sounds like a much better experience.”

“Sanders. I have a lot of experience.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“Excuse me?”

She stood in front of him.

“I have a lot of experience. I've been told I'm pretty good at it. I like you. I want you to feel good. I would want it to be special,” she whispered. He held up a hand.

“No. No. The very idea is repug -,”

Tate put her hand on his mouth and straddled his legs. Sat down on his lap. Sanders stared at her, wide eyed. She almost laughed. He looked terrified. Sure, they were very close. They cuddled, slept next to each other, and he had seen her in many various stages of undress. But this was different. She was almost pressed against his chest, in a very intimate manner. She could feel, see, his breathing pick up.

“First of all, telling a woman she is 'repugnant', is a definite turn off,” she  hold him. She let go of his mouth.

“You're not repugnant, the idea is. Please get off of me,” he urged, his arms hanging rigidly at his sides. She ran her hands up his chest. He was very solid and firm.

“Second of all, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. Women are very fickle. One minute, you think you're getting laid. The next minute, she's yanking those panties up and stomping off. You should take it where you can get it,” she suggested. He squirmed under her weight.

“We can't do this.”

“We can do anything we want.”

“Jameson would kill me,” Sanders stressed, his eyes looking past her, at the wall. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.

“No, he wouldn't. He would probably congratulate you. Pat you on the back. Then you could swap stories,” Tate teased. Sanders shook his head.

“No. He would kill me. He loves me, but he loves you more,” he whispered.

Tate couldn't handle that, handle those words. She yanked him forward and kissed him.

She had actually kissed Sanders quite a few times. Always in a silly manner, just to make him blush, or to make Jameson laugh. Now, knowing what she knew, she felt awful. God, what if she had been his first kiss!? Had she ruined that for him!? Selfish, thoughtless bitch. She would make up for it.

She moved her hands up to cup his jaw, holding him gently. He hadn't moved. Hadn't kissed her back. She gave a soft moan, pressing her lips to his once again. Twice. On the third time, she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue. Knowing that she was the only one to have ever done so sent a shiver down her spine.

Sanders cracked. His arms went around her waist and he leaned into her, his tongue diving into her mouth. She gasped at the intensity of his kiss, almost slid backwards off his legs. His hands were flat against the back of her hips and he yanked her forward, forcing her flush against him.

Strong. He's so strong. Why do I never remember that?

It was over almost as quickly as it started. He got control of his breathing, pulled his mouth away from hers. She pressed her forehead to his, her hands still holding onto him. His fingers were digging into her hips, almost painfully. She panted against him, watching him. He cleared his throat, but kept his eyes closed.

“That was very nice, I'm sure,” he breathed. She chuckled.

“'Very nice'!? Sandy, I think you just ate my tonsils,” she laughed.

“Yes. Just because I don't have sex, does not mean I am not sexually frustrated,” he explained, and she burst out laughing harder. He finally laughed, as well.

“Sandy, if you have sex the way you kiss, then you have nothing to worry about,” she laughed, fanning herself.

“Thank you. It was very lovely. But may I be honest?” he asked, finally opening his eyes. She smiled.

“Always.”

“I do not have any siblings, that I know of,” he started. “But if I did, I imagine that if I kissed one of them, it would feel very much like the kiss you and I just shared.”

Tate laughed even harder and started to slide again. This time he let her go, and she fell onto her butt at his feet. She laughed so hard she cried a little, and he had to help her get to her feet.

“Sorry, Sandy, I don't think you're getting any nookie from me,” she told him.

“Pardon me, but thank god.”

Later that night, after they had gone to bed, Tate crawled out from under her covers and crawled under Sanders'. Scooted up next to him and wrapped his arm around her waist. She settled her back against his front.

“No hanky panky,” she warned him, and he chuckled sleepily.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“But you will find someone, someday. I promise,” she whispered.

“You wouldn't have done it, you know,” he told her.

“Excuse me?”

“You wouldn't have actually done that, with me. You wouldn't hurt him, that way. You couldn't,” Sanders informed her. Tate sniffled. Nodded.

“I know.”

“Though I am flattered by the offer. And it was a very good kiss,” he assured her.

“It was one of the best I've ever had. Are you going to tell him?” she asked. He hesitated.

“Probably. Would you like me not to?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Whatever you think is best. I don't want to hurt him. And I wasn't using you, I promise,” she stressed. His arm got tighter around her.

“I know. You are confused. I understand. I thought maybe making a mistake with me, would help you realize the mistake you are making with Jameson,” he told her in a soft voice.

“You would do that? Jeopardize your relationship with Jameson, for mine!?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, I would, but the fear is unnecessary. When Jameson and I say we love each other, it is unconditional.”

She felt like such. Complete. Utter. Shit.

“Someday, Sandy,” she cried, “I hope I can be as good a person as you.”

“Someday, Tatum. Someday.”

 

*

 

She was gone. She had really left.

Three days later, Jameson watched the Bentley pull up the driveway. Sanders got out of it, alone. They hadn't spoken the entire time. Jameson hadn't called – if he had, he probably would've lost his shit and demanded Sanders drag her home. And he didn't want to do that. Sanders probably hadn't called for the very same reason.

“Nice little vacation you had there,” Jameson commented, taking in Sanders' rumpled suit. He had been wearing it for three days straight, obviously.

“I wouldn't say that,” the younger man replied, heading into the house and straight into the kitchen. Jameson followed him.

“I almost thought you had left with her,” he voiced his fear. Sanders stopped in front of a cupboard.

“I would never do that. I simply stayed with her till her flight left. Tried to reason with her,” he said.

“Oh really. And how did that go?” Jameson snorted. Sanders snorted as well and pulled open the cupboard.

“Not well. She is severly unbalanced.”

Jameson was a little shocked as he watched Sanders pull a bottle of Jack Daniel's out of the cupboard. He walked up next to him, watched as Sanders got a tumbler out of another cupboard and then poured about three-fingers worth of the amber liquid into the glass.

“She is also a bad influence. What are you doing?” Jameson demanded. Sanders handed the glass to him.

“This is for you,” he replied. Jameson took the glass.

“Oh god, why?” he groaned, then knocked back the liquid.

“She offered to sleep with me.”

Jameson started choking on the whiskey. Sanders pounded on his back, but Jameson waved him away. Stumbled over to the sink and turned on the faucet, stuck his mouth underneath it. He must have heard wrong. He couldn't believe it.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped for air, leaning against the counter. “You'll have to repeat that. What happened?”

“Sex. She offered to have sex with me.”

“I see. Did you take her up on this offer?”

Pause.

Oh my god. I have to kill Sanders. How am I going to do this!? That stupid bitch.

“I let her kiss me.”

I think there is a shovel, in the pool house. I can bury him under the roses. He likes roses.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was very nice.”

Then I am going to fly to Arizona, and I am going to strangle her. Just a little.

“And the sex? She is pretty fantastic.”

“She didn't actually want to do that. She discovered that I am a virgin. She wanted to do me a favor. The kiss was just calling her bluff. It worked. She was very upset at the idea of hurting you,” Sanders explained.

Oh thank god, thank god, thank god, thank god. Even I can only handle so much.

“Somehow,” Jameson started. “I highly doubt that.”

“Regardless of what you believe, it's true. She said it. When are you going to go after her?” Sanders asked, pouring another drink. Jameson moved to stand by him.

“I'm not. Did you hear the things that were said between us? She doesn't want this, Sanders. She doesn't want me. I'm sorry. I gave it my best shot,” he said. Sanders shook his head.

“No. She is scared of you. Do you see what your actions have done? One act of cruelty, and you have caused her to doubt you forever,” he started. Jameson went to argue, and Sanders held up a hand and continued. “Her running away is not right. It is not fair. She made promises that she is going back on. I do not condone this. But you know that she wants to be here. That she wants to be with you.”

“Sanders, she said it was all a lie. This was her plan, ever since Paris. I don't think she ever forgave me, ever stopped wanting to do this. She said she loved me,” Jameson's voice fell into a whisper. “And it was a lie. All a lie. She got me. Finally won something.”

“No. It wasn't a lie. You know that.”

“I don't. I don't really wanna talk about this, I already feel like shit. I've got lawyers up my ass about this whole Pet thing, I've got clients I've been ignoring, and I feel like shit. Like absolute fucking shit. I'm so glad you spent the whole weekend making her feel better, while I had to stay in this goddamn house and wallow in my own self-loating,” Jameson snapped.

It was true. Paranoia and panic, for three long days, wondering if he had lost her forever. Wondering if Sanders had left him, too. By the third day he had somewhat come to peace with her being gone. He couldn't force her to love him. Couldn't force her to return any of his feelings. But Sanders. Sanders was family. He couldn't just walk away.

“Good. Sometimes I think you need a little of that. Pity it didn't help,” Sanders said, and handed Jameson the glass with the Jack Daniel's in it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jameson snapped.

“It sounds like you have given up on her. And the Jameson I know doesn't give up on something, not when he really wants it,” Sanders stressed.

“Maybe I don't want it anymore.”

“Now who is the liar?”

Jameson slammed the whiskey down in one shot.

“She doesn't want me, Sanders! Get that through your fucking head. She wants to pretend to have some nice, normal life, with her goddamn baseball player. I can't change that! What do you want me to do!?” Jameson demanded.

“I want you to go get her back.”

Jameson slammed his hand down on the counter.

“I can't do that! You act like I'm some kind of god, like I can just snap my fingers and she'll come back! That's not how it works, Sanders, believe me. How often are we going to go through this!? How many times am I going to have to chase her down?” Jameson asked.

“As many times as it takes.”

“Takes to what?”

“Takes for her to realize where she belongs.”

Jameson poured his own shot that time around.

“Sanders,” he breathed after swallowing the whiskey. “I know this may be hard to believe, but I do feel things on occasion. She said she loved me. I believed her. I have believed it for a long time. I have pretended not to care. But now that she has taken it back, I have discovered that I care very much. And it hurts.”

“Do you see where pretending has got you? Alone. Maybe if you spent half the amount of time being honest as you did pretending, we wouldn't always find ourselves in these predicaments,” Sanders snapped. Jameson raised his eyebrows.

“Do you speak to Tatum this way, when you're trying to make her feel better?” he asked.

“No. She prefers cuddles.”

“Maybe I'd like a cuddle.”

“Forgive me, sir, but that is not going to happen.”

Jameson laughed, and took another shot.

“I miss her, Sanders. It's been three days, and I already miss her. Was it all a lie? Tell the truth,” Jameson said softly.

“Only what she said at the end; that was all a lie. Nothing else.”

Jameson dropped his head to the counter.

“Fucking bitch,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn't matter, Sanders. Lie, or truth. She doesn't want me. So much so, that she was willing to lie and run away. I'm not going to force someone to be in my presence. I am better than that; we are better than that,” he gestured between him and Sanders. Sanders nodded and poured another shot. But this time, he didn't hand it to Jameson. He took the shot himself.

“One more question, sir,” Sanders' voice was barely above a breath.

“What?”

“Why do you think you are incapable of love?”

Jameson blinked, caught off guard.

“Excuse me?” he asked for clarification.

“You pretended to not care that she loved you. You pretended not to love her back. Why can't you just let yourself love her?” Sanders pressed.

“Since when did you become a fucking couples therapist?” Jameson snapped. Sanders shrugged.

“I don't think I even necessarily understand what love is, but I understand that it is very important between the two of you. And I see that you won't allow yourself to do it. I don't understand. You love me, yes?” Sanders asked. Jameson made a growling sound.

“Yes.”

“Then why can't you love her?”

“It's not that I can't ...,”

“Why don't you?”

“Sanders,” Jameson groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “Can we get existential another day? I am so fucking tired.”

But he thought about it, as he went to bed. Jameson laid in the middle of his bed, on purpose. Trying to erase the distinction of there being “sides”; her side, his side. She slept on the right side of him, most of the time. But it was his bed, so really, there shouldn't be sides.

Even you started calling it “our bed”, as opposed to “my bed”. You know what's going on.

Jameson didn't think he was incapable of love. He had loved his mother. He loved Sanders, very much. But he had never been in love with somebody. He certainly hadn't loved Pet, and he had never been with any other woman for too long, before her. Hadn't ever really liked any of the women he'd been with; he hadn't even been with Tate for that long, so he certainly couldn't love her.

Could he?

He loved her body. He loved fucking her. He loved her filthy mouth, and her sick mind. He loved how she would let him do anything he wanted to her. Loved that she was never scared of him. Loved that she had always allowed him to be himself, through and through. He loved that she was funny, and smart, and that sometimes she would look at him like she was so happy to see him, she couldn't even stand it.

He loved coming home to her, and he loved waking up next to her. He loved calling her names, and he loved that she loved it. When he had first talked with her, in his office so many months ago, he had never imagined it would go so far. Tatum O'Shea had looked like a good fuck, and that was all he had been looking for; she had been looking for the same thing. When had they gotten so lost in each other?

God, every piece of him was tired. Sometimes, even the devil needed to be cut a break.