~13~

Arizona wasn't so bad.

Nick had picked her up at the airport. He didn't say anything, just wrapped her in a big hug and carted her home. Tate had called him, after Ellie had her baby. Gave him a brief overview of what had happened. Of course, he had instantly offered to take her in, which she had been counting on. Tate made it very clear that she wasn't coming to him for some sort of relationship. She just needed a break. If he wanted something more, then she would rather stay in Boston.

He promised to leave her alone.

It was sunny, and compared to Boston, it was warm. He had a nice, three bedroom house in a cul de sac. She stayed in a hotel, in downtown Tucson. He didn't even ask her to come stay with him. Smart man.

Tate was thinking of it as a vacation. As a way to clear her mind. Thinking while Jameson was nearby was impossible. She had to figure out what she wanted, what she really wanted in life. So far, all she knew was that she didn't want to be harassed by a psychotic supermodel, and she might want kids. Someday. Maybe.

Not a very big list.

She thought of what she had told him, once.

 

“... I want Prince Charming to ride up on a white horse, and carry me off to his castle. The only difference between me and other girls is once I get there, I want him to bend me over the throne and pull my hair while he fucks me hard and calls me names. But I know that'll never happen with you ...”

 

That wasn't asking for too much, she felt. And it was relatively normal. Lots of people had wild sex, she wasn't the only one. She could always dial back the sex, anyway. No one would ever be as good as Jameson, so she should probably just get over that right away.

She talked to Ang, every single day. He asked her to come home, every single day. But she didn't mind Arizona. She spent most of her time alone. It was peaceful. Quiet. Still. She had already put in applications for jobs.

Ang threatened to cry.

“Move out here with me.”

He told her to go fuck herself.

Mostly he was worried that she was simply hiding. Sure, she was standing in one place, but she was effectively running away. He was scared she would eventually run straight into Nick's arms. Then there would be no going back.

“Don't settle for him,” Ang hissed into the phone.

“He's a great guy!” she snapped.

“He is, he really is. I don't have a problem with him. It's you. You're fucking using him, Tate. That's fucked up.”

“I'm not doing anything. I told him from the get go that I'm not doing this to be with him. I have repeated it, over and over. Threatened to cut his nuts off if he so much as looked at me wrong,” she pointed out. Ang laughed.

“Why do these men want you so bad!? We've had it all wrong – you've been the devil, this whole time,” he joked.

Too close to home.

Tate worried about Sanders. During the first week, he didn't call her. Didn't return her phone calls. If it was part of his tactic to get her to come home, it almost worked. She was beside herself with panic. Had Jameson killed him, when he found out what Tate had tried to do? Did Sanders hate her now? Or worse, was he embarrassed?

When she was almost to the point of hitchhiking back to Boston, Sanders answered her phone call. He had been busy, he explained. He chatted with her for a while, but he was very tight lipped. He didn't say one word about Jameson, or one word about asking her to come home. Obviously still upset with her. She vaguely referenced the idea of him maybe possibly sort of coming to visit, some day in the far off future. He got off the phone, almost immediately.

At night, Tate thought about Jameson. He hadn't tried to contact her at all. She wondered what he was doing. Who he was doing. He had been very upset when she had left. It shocked her a little. His face. Breaking the window. Bleeding. He had been angry. He had been upset. And, if she was completely honest with herself, he had been hurt. She wouldn't have thought it possible. When she had told him it was all a lie, wanting to be with him, loving him, he had looked ready to commit murder.

So, in Jameson-speak, his feelings were hurt.

Selfish. He wanted her to love him. He wanted her to live and breathe for him, but he would never return the favor. Tate didn't want that anymore. She wanted someone to live and breathe for her. Someone to begin and end with her. Fuck real pearls. She deserved love. He would never understand that. He could throw all the sex and money he wanted at her, but he could never give her what she really wanted.

Sometimes, it almost didn't sound like settling, giving into Nick. He was halfway to loving her, anyway.

 

*

 

Two weeks later, those thoughts were still in Tatum's head. Something had to give. She wanted to claw her face off. She was having dinner with Nick, zoning out. She hadn't spoken to Sanders or Ang in a couple days. She felt like a life line of sorts had been cut. She figured she should get used to it, if she wanted to start life over. She sighed and turned her attention back towards Nick.

“... but then Chet said he wants to drive over to San Diego, pick up some – hey!” he stopped, smiling at something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. A small boy was being pushed towards them, a very eager looking father behind him.

“Go ahead, Hank. Tell him,” the dad whispered. The little boy held out a pad and paper.

“Mr. Castille ..., I really loved your double-play ..., in the last world series,” the boy said softly. Nick smiled and leaned down, ruffling the kid's hair.

“Thanks. It wasn't easy,” he laughed. The kid held out the paper.

“Could I have your autograph?” he asked. Nick nodded.

As he signed the piece of paper, the dad began to blabber on and on. They were from Worcester, Massachusetts, and were huge Red Sox fans. Had been to every home game, loved the pitcher. Loved the team. Were so happy have run into him. Nick went along with it for a while, and then finally leaned back in his chair.

“Look, I'm really flattered, but I'm trying to have dinner with my lady friend,” he explained, gesturing to Tate. She smiled down at the little boy.

“Sorry. Your girlfriend is really pretty,” he whispered loudly. Nick laughed again.

“Thanks. But she's not my girlfriend. You should put in a good word for me,” Nick stage whispered back, winking at Tate. She laughed and the little boy turned towards her.

“You should like Mr. Castille. He's real good at basbeall, so he'd probably be a good boyfriend,” he assured her. Tate leaned down.

“Oh really? So being good at baseball is what makes a guy a good boyfriend?” she clarified.

“Sure. It's pretty much the best thing ever!” the kid exclaimed.

Everyone laughed at that, and the dad lead the kid away. Tate and Nick finished their meal, the mood lightened a little. The little scene had been pretty adorable. They walked back to her hotel after that, laughing about the kid.

“He's right, though,” Nick started as they wandered into the lobby.

“About what?” Tate asked, digging around for her key.

“Being a baseball player does make me pretty good boyfriend material,” he said. She glanced at him.

He had been very good about not mentioning his feelings for her. She had been in Arizona almost three weeks, and they had spent many days together, and he hadn't hit on her. Hadn't tried to touch her, or be inappropriate with her, or anything. She sighed.

“And why is that, Mr. Castille?” Tate asked, turning to face him once they had gotten on the elevator.

“Well, I'm good at working in a team. I'm strong. I make a lot of money. Some people say I'm nice, and a lot of people tell me I'm good looking,” Nick laughed. She laughed as well.

“All good things, I'm sure. I just don't know if those are things I want,” she told him.

“What does Tatum O'Shea want?” he asked. She chewed on her lip.

“I don't know, most of the time. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.”

“Then how can you be so positive you don't want me?” he pointed out, and the elevator came to a stop. They got out on her floor.

“Nick ..., okay. So we date. We have sex. We go out on lots of dates. And I still feel the same way. What then? I lose another friend?” she pointed out.

“I'm not that weak, Tate. You're stuck with me. I'm not gonna hate you, just because you don't like me. I'm just asking for a chance to change your mind,” he explained. She snorted.

“You say that now, but most men wouldn't be so okay with it after the fact. 'So how was that, baby?', 'Good, but I was picturing the last guy who fucked me, the whole time,' - you okay with that?” Tate asked bluntly. Nick stepped up close to her, pressing her into her door.

“No. But I am very confident in my abilities to make you forget him,” he said softly. She sighed, looking up at him.

“No offense, Nick, but I'm not,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her. She didn't want to, but she kissed him back. She had to do something. Sever a tie. Cut her losses. She was already heading in this direction – at least she had warned Nick that she most likely wouldn't like him. That she wouldn't be thinking of him. Because she certainly wasn't right at that moment

She fumbled to open her room door, and he pushed them through it, yanking her up against him. She pressed her hands to his chest, not knowing how far she wanted things to go between them. Kissing was fine. Sex? Hmmm ..., she didn't know if she was willing to test that theory quite yet.

How far down the rabbit hole are you going to go, baby girl?

“We're good together,” Nick whispered, his lips wandering down her chin as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“That doesn't necessarily mean we'll make a good couple,” Tate whispered back, as he pushed her jacket away from her shoulders.

“We were good together once before,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“That was a whole lifetime ago. A whole different girl,” she warned him. His hands ran down her body.

“Then let me get to know this girl,” he pressed, his hands sliding over her hips.

“She might not like you, either,” she warned him.

“She might love me.”

“Nick, I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No expectations, Tate. No pressure. Just give me a chance,” he said softly, squeezing her butt and lifting her up, walking her backwards.

“You say that, but what about tomorrow? I don't want you to hate me,” she told him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

I don't want to hate myself.

“I won't hate you, no matter what.”

You need to do this. You need to get over him. You need to at least try.

He laid them on the bed, put his weight onto her. Tate always loved that, feeling a heavy frame pressing down on her own. He bit his teeth into her bottom lip, pulled on it, and she loved that, too; loved it when he nipped at her ear lobe. Loved his hands, running over her breasts, clenching, massaging.

Nick peeled her clothes off, kissed his way down her body. She lost herself in the feel of his skin, the movements of his muscles. He rolled them around on the bed. His arms were so strong, she felt like he could just throw her around. But of course, he didn't. His touch was gentle, his words kind. He worked above her, pressed his lips to her ears, whispered sweet things to her. His body felt amazing, his skin hot to the touch, and his hips were pounding her straight towards an orgasm. What wasn't there to like?

It feels wrong, and you know it. But get used to this, cause it's your future. Settling for not quite what you want, but definitely what you need.

Nick came right after she did, stiffening on top of her, then collapsing. Tate took deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling. She wondered if this was going to be forever. Wondered what Sanders would think if he knew. Wondered what Jameson would think. She felt like he was in the room, sitting in a dark corner, watching her.

“Is that the best you could do, baby girl?” he would've laughed.

I gave it all I got.

“You gave me so much more,” he would add.

I gave you everything.

“Well, it's only fair – it all belongs to me,” he would remind her.

I know. It always has.

“Good. Remember that. And next time, ask him to talk dirty to you. It'll remind you of me.”

Everything always does.

Tate apologized. Nick said it was okay. She told him that she liked him, and that she really wanted to be in love with him. Said she could try. He said he wasn't asking her for anything. She said she would try. He told her to calm down, then he carried her into the shower, left her alone with her thoughts.

She turned the water scalding hot, wanting to feel the burn and sting against her skin. Wanting to be punished. Wanting to be absolved.

The sex hadn't been bad. It had been great – Nick was no slouch. But Tate was no nice, normal girl. The whole time he'd been inside of her, she was thinking of someone else. Someone with sharp claws and sharper words.

This is it. This is your choice. I hope you're happy with it.