~5~

Tatum woke up the next morning alone. She thought she remembered him climbing into bed next to her at some point, but Jameson wasn't there. She glanced around the room before realizing there was a note on the pillow next to hers. She picked it up.

Be good.

She smiled and slithered down the bed, stretching her arms up over her head. It sounded corny, but she really felt like it was a brand new day. She felt like she had woken up without a heavy weight on her shoulders. Sure, thinking about what he did to her last fall still made her want to claw his eyes out, made her want to hold him underwater in a cold, dark swimming pool. But he also made her happy. He made her feel alive. He made every nerve ending, every synapse, come alive with want for him. He was right – she either needed to get the fuck over what he had done, or get over him.

She made her way downstairs. At first she was surprised not to see Sanders. He was almost always up and puttering around before anyone else was home. Then she remembered the night before and she laughed. She threw one of Jameson's coats on over her tank top and underwear, then tripped over to Sanders' house. She didn't even bother with shoes, just hurried along in her knee high socks.

He was up, and he was dressed, and he looked immaculate, as always. But he had a set of bags under his eyes that made her laugh and laugh. He didn't look her in the eye, just pressed his lips together so hard that they turned white. She linked her arm through his and walked him back to the main house, promising to cook him breakfast.

“The very idea of food makes me want to pull my own tongue out of my head. No thank you,” he replied curtly.

He said he remembered everything they'd talked about, and he wasn't embarrassed at all about being “over emotional”. He did, however, apologize for bringing up her stint in the pool. She pointed out that if that's what he considered to be “over emotional”, she was dying to see hysterical.

“Have any plans for today?” she asked as he followed her into Jameson's bedroom.

“Not really. I was hoping for it to be peaceful. Quiet,” he replied. She laughed, heading into the closet.

“I was going to go downtown. Wanna go with me?” she asked, shrugging out of Jameson's jacket. Sanders came to stand in the closet doorway and stared at a wall while she hopped up and down, trying to squeeze into a pair of leggings.

“Of course. What are we going to do?” he asked.

“I never got Jameson a birthday present, I wanna take him one,” she replied, yanking off her tank top before rifling through a bunch of shirts. She settled on a loose, grungy, black tank top with a band logo on it. She pulled it on and looked in the full length mirror. It was a shirt from her life before Jameson, a thrift shop special she had cut the sides low on, so it showed off her lime green bra. She nodded at her reflection and traipsed out of the closet, moving over into the bathroom.

“Oh really. How were things when you got home last night? I know before I left, he was not happy about your absence,” Sanders told her, not moving from the closet doorway.

“He's never happy about much, is he,” she laughed, digging through her makeup bag.

“He is. Sometimes.”

“We talked a little bit. He told me some things. Things I need to understand, if we're gonna do this,” she explained, leaning over the counter as she carefully drew eyeliner around her eyes.

“And may I ask what it is you're going to do?” Sanders' voice floated to her. She was quiet while she finished her eye makeup, making it all smudgy and dark. Dirty. She looked over her handiwork, then moved onto powder and lip gloss.

“This. What you want. I'm going to try – try – to get the fuck over my hang ups, his hang ups, everybody's hang ups, and just ..., see. See what happens, see where this goes. Pick up where we left off last fall,” she said, examining her face in the mirror. Done. She finger combed her hair, swung her head up and down a couple times to give it volume, then called it good.

“You're sure this is what you want?” he asked as she walked back into the bedroom.

“I think so. Isn't this what you want?” she asked in return.

“Of course. I am just making sure. I don't want to see either of you hurt because of rash decisions,” he replied. She rolled her eyes.

“Stop confusing me. How do I look?” she asked, holding her arms out wide and smiling broadly at him. He took his time, his eyes sweeping over her whole form. When he got back to her face, he cleared his throat.

“You look exactly like the woman I first met back in August,” he replied. She sighed happily.

“Good. We haven't seen her in a long time.”

The drive to Boston took roughly half an hour, depending on traffic. She offered to drive, because of Sanders' condition, but he refused. If he was going to be in a car, then he was going to be the one driving it.

She had him stop at a store first, told him to wait outside. Then they stopped at a little shop right downtown, and Sanders insisted on coming into that place. Then they stopped at a party shop and she got a “Who's The Birthday Boy!?” balloon. Satisfied with her purchases, she had him take her to Jameson's offices.

“Should I call him to tell him we're headed up?” Sanders asked as they walked towards the front doors. She shook her head.

“It's a surprise party,” she laughed.

Jameson hadn't been lying, the secretary in the main lobby was a knockout. A chesty brunette with a blunt bob and bangs, she looked like Bettie Paige. She smiled sweetly at them as they headed into the elevators. The secretary in front of Jameson's office wasn't as polite, however, and made a racket when Tate burst into the anteroom that connected to his office. She didn't shut up till Sanders strode into the room, staring at her. She closed her mouth pretty quick and Tate walked through Jameson's door, sticking her tongue out at the lady.

“Excuse me, what do -,” Jameson started to bark out, and then he saw who it was. “Oh. What are you doing?” He looked suspicious.

“Sandy and I wanted to surprise you,” she laughed, taking off her coat and throwing it in a chair.

“To clarify, I did not want to surprise you. I simply drove,” Sanders interjected.

“Surprise me with what? What's with the balloon?” Jameson demanded, still looking between both of them like they were there to assassinate him. Tate took the small brown bag from Sanders. The ribbon for the balloon was tied around the top of it.

“Happy birthday!” Tate shouted, waving her free hand around. Jameson still stared.

“My birthday was January ninth,” he replied. She dropped her hands.

“I know. I kind of ruined it, I didn't even get you a present. So I got you something now,” she explained, holding the bag out towards him. If anything, he looked more suspicious.

“What's gotten into you today?” he asked. She groaned and stomped forward, plonking the present down on his desk.

“I had the very bad idea of doing something nice for you,” she told him, folding her arms across her chest.

He narrowed his eyes, but he leaned forward and untied the balloon. It floated up to the ceiling while he opened the brown paper bag. He cocked up an eyebrow, glanced at her, and then back at the bag before pulling out a bottle.

“Very original, Tate. No one's ever gotten me one of these before,” he said in a snippy voice, holding a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

“Not like that, they haven't,” she replied, slipping into her seat. He flicked his eyes up, then back to the bottle. He turned it over in his hands, and finally realized she had scrawled across the label in black marker. He lifted his eyebrows.

“Sanders?” he called out, not looking up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you, for the surprise.”

“It was nothing, sir.”

“Good. Now you can leave,” Jameson ordered. Sanders nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“You like it?” Tate asked, smiling as she slunk lower in the chair, her arms resting over the sides.

“It's interesting. You're right, I have never gotten a bottle quite like this,” he chuckled, looking over the label again.

“Do people buy you a lot of bottles of Jameson?” she asked. He nodded and pointed across the room. Behind her was a large bookshelf. On the top of it were all different kinds of bottles, with labels in different languages, colors, styles.

“Everyone thinks they're clever,” he replied.

“What's the most expensive one?”

“Jameson Rarest Vintage Reserve, only about $250.”

“Only.”

“Tatum. What brought this on?” he asked. She turned back towards him.

“I've been thinking, about what you said. About needing to get over it. About you bending over backwards for me. While I don't agree entirely with that last part, I still want to call a truce,” she offered.

“Oh really?” his voice was soft, and he finally set the bottle down.

“Yes. You need to not be such a dick to me. If you have a problem with me, or you think I'm lying or bullshitting or fucking around, then you need to say it – not hide in a different country and get mad about things you don't know anything about,” she told him bluntly.

“Bold words, baby girl,” his voice held a warning in it.

“And I need to deal with the fact that this is you. You are a dick. If I can promise not to freak out every ten seconds about it, then you have to promise to at least check with me before you decide to rip me in half again,” she laid out her deal.

“I don't have to check with you for shit. But maybe, if I'm feeling generous, I'll give you a heads up,” he replied, but he was smiling.

“I never want to deal with Petrushka again,” Tate warned him, and she hoped her voice conveyed just how much she meant that.

“Me, neither. I won't use her against you, ever again.”

“I have never dated Nick. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend, and we never were. I haven't slept with him, since that very first time,” she said.

“I knew he couldn't handle you,” Jameson chuckled.

“You can't even handle having me as a girlfriend,” she snorted.

“So if everything between us is all good, does that mean I get to fuck the secretary downstairs?” he asked.

“I don't think things between us ever were, or ever will be, 'all good', and no, you cannot fuck that secretary,” she replied.

“What if I fire her? Could I fuck her then?”

Tate snorted again.

“Would you like to see what you got me for your birthday?” she changed the subject. His eyebrows shot up.

“What I got you?” he clarified. She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Christ, I'm scared to ask,” he groaned, leaning his elbows against his desk. She scooted even lower in her chair and stuck her leg up, jutting it over his desk so her shoe was in his face. It took him a second, and then he saw it. He curled his fingers around her ankle and pulled it closer.

“Like it?” she asked. He shrugged.

“It's okay. At least they're real this time. Why did I buy you the tiniest pearl bracelet you could find?” he asked, still examining the pearls she had strapped around her ankle.

“I'm not comfortable spending money the way you do, I needed it to be cheap,” she explained.

“Why did you do this?” he asked, letting go of her ankle. She sat upright and put her foot back on the floor.

“I bought it so ..., you would know that I can remember things, too. Good things. You said I deserved them. I listened. I did it so you'd know that I hear you. I'm not very good at it, I'm still trying to figure out how to speak your language, but I'm trying. It isn't necessary to spend $50,000 on a necklace for me. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to know you would have, that you think I 'deserve' them. But real pearls or fake pearls – I wouldn't know the difference anyway. One is just as good as the other to me,” she explained, laughing a little at the end.

“Depending on the intent with which the gift is given,” he repeated what she had told him so many months ago. She nodded.

“Yes. You don't have to spend $50,000, Jameson. Sometimes it's okay to get me the crappy, junior high prom style, pearl necklace. It's okay to just say you like me. You don't have to buy me,” she told him.

“Tatum, come over here.”

She got up and walked around his desk. He swiveled his chair towards her and she moved next to him, swung her leg over his knees, then sat on his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and helped her to adjust, so she was sitting as close as she could get, her face inches from his own.

“Hi,” she laughed, as the chair rocked back and forth.

“Tatum O'Shea, sometimes, I almost think I like you,” he told her.

“See? Such a dick.”

“Shut up. When do I get my real present?” he asked, using one hand to pick up the bottle from off his desk. He turned the front of the whiskey towards her. She had used the label to address him, then wrote her own little note.

 

When this bottle is empty, you may return it for one night of anything-you-can-think-of-sex, and the giver must comply. ANYTHING. Happy Birthday, Satan.

 

“It says it right there, when the bottle is empty,” Tate replied. Jameson let go of her entirely and unscrewed the lid.

“You do realize, I have a very vivid imagination. You wrote 'anything', and I'm going to hold you to it,” he warned her, before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a healthy swig. She nodded.

“I know what I wrote. I'm just very glad you don't own any double ended vibrators,” she joked.

“Yet.”

“I said anything, meaning anything you want. I'm a woman of my word,” she assured him. He narrowed his eyes and took another drink.

“Sometimes,” he amended her statement.

“But I'm begging you, please, no threesome with the busty secretary,” she pleaded. He laughed and his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head up.

“You said anything I want, baby girl,” he reminded her, then poured the Jameson down her throat.

Doesn't taste as good as him.

 

*

 

Since she was on a roll with the apologizing and forgiving, she decided it was time to face her sister. She wasn't sure if Ang had already told Ellie about their dinner, but Tate figured she had to talk to her anyway. Just get it all out there. So she invited her sister out to the house that night.

She made Jameson promise to stay hidden in the library. He wasn't very happy about it – he'd had plans to finish the bottle of whiskey then possibly fuck her with it. She told him it was quite a waste of such an extravagant gift, was that the best he could think of? She was literally thrown out of the library after that comment, and told not to come back unless she was on her knees.

As she watched her sister waddle across the driveway, she couldn't help but wonder what Ellie was thinking as she stared up at the grand house. In another life, Ellie had thought everything would be hers. The house that Tate felt was more like home than the one she had grown up in, was meant to be Ellie's. The man Tate slept with, had been picked out for Ellie. The apartment in Spain, the penthouse in New York, everything, all meant for Ellie.

It must be hard. I should be nice to her.

“Did you find the house okay?” Tate asked. Ellie leaned down to air-kiss her cheeks.

“Yes. It's very beautiful,” she commented, and the wistful look was plain-as-day on her face. Tate shut the door and led her into the kitchen.

“There's a formal dining room, but I figured we could just snack in here,” Tate explained, gesturing to some stools at the end of the large island which sat in the middle of his kitchen.

“I can't believe I'm here. I always wondered what this place was like,” Ellie breathed, her eyes roaming over everything.

“You knew about this house?”

“Yeah, his father talked about it, a lot. His dad was originally from this area,” Ellie explained. Of course, Tate already knew that – but she didn't say anything.

“Oh. Well, he's done a lot of remodeling. The conservatory on the back is new, and he had all new hardwood floors put in, wiring, new modern bathrooms, the works,” Tate explained, waving her hand around. Ellie frowned.

“Pity. I would never have let him do that, I would've kept it as close to the original building as possible,” she commented. Tate frowned. She didn't care for Ellie's tone. It was one she recognized well; Ellie's “I would've been soooooo much better than you, at everything you've ever done” voice. Like Tate wasn't keeping Jameson in line enough, or something.

“I love it. You should see the master bedroom, he completely gutted it, doubled its size. The bed is huge,” Tate couldn't resist adding. Ellie frowned.

“I'll take your word for it.”

They sat in silence for a while, nibbling on snacks Tate had sat out. She and Ellie had never really reached a place where they were comfortable just chatting. They were a lot better than they were a year ago, but still not besties. Sometimes they could laugh and have fun together. Other times ..., other times were more like old times, and Tate felt like she was in a competition. This felt like one of those times.

“So when is the baby due?” Tate asked, glancing at Ellie's huge stomach.

“About six weeks. God, I'm over this. I'm just ready to meet him,” she laughed, patting her baby bump. Tate smiled.

“Still gonna name him Mathias?” she asked. Ellie scrunched up her face.

“I've been having second thoughts. Daddy still won't speak to me,” she replied.

“Join the club. I think we're better off,” Tate assured her. “What about Robert, is he coming down for the birth?”

Ellie's abusive ex-husband, Robert Carmichael, lived in upstate New York. Or rather, he hid. Jameson had once threatened to rip his jaw off, after he had slapped Tatum. When Ellie had first left him, Robert tried to get back together with her, but after he found out she had run away to Tate's apartment, he had left her alone. Granted her anything she wanted in the divorce.

Sometimes, Jameson being the devil was a very good thing.

“I hope not. I'll call him after it happens. He's not getting any custodial rights, so I don't know why he would,” Ellie snarled. Tate nodded.

“Good plan. So does Ang, like, go to lamaze classes with you?” Tate couldn't help but snicker. Ellie shook her head.

“Oh, no. We're not into all that, we're more like you and Jameson,” she said quickly. Tate's ears perked up.

“Excuse me? What do you mean?” she asked.

“Just sex. You know, like -,” Ellie started to explain again. Tate shook her head.

“Wait, wait, wait. What are you saying? You guys just have sex, and that's it? You're not boyfriend-girlfriend?” she clarified. Ellie nodded.

“Well, yeah. We don't go on dates, or stuff like that,” she said.

“But ..., but I thought you guys were dating. The word dating implies going on dates. He calls you his girlfriend,” Tate stressed. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“I know, it's horrible. I can't figure out how to tell him we're not like that,” she replied. Tate nearly choked on a pretzel.

“Apparently you are like that! Ellie, Ang hasn't had a girlfriend the entire time I've known him. He's a sex-machine, only uses women for one thing. If he calls you his girlfriend, then you're his goddamn girlfriend!” Tate snapped. Ellie frowned.

“I thought you were the liberal thinker, here. I'm just trying to be like you, you know, sow my wild oats. I never meant for him to get so attached,” Ellie whined.

“Be like me!? Ellie, I never pretended to be a guy's girlfriend so he would fuck me. I would never do something like that – I'm always honest. And don't say you guys are like Jameson and I, you don't know the first thing about us,” she argued. Tate. Was. Pissed. Ang had defended Ellie. Tate had felt guilty over Ellie. Ellie had only cared about Ellie. Big fuckin' surprise.

“I know that you guys use each other for sex. How come it's okay for the two of you to do it, but no one else!? Not me, not Angier?” Ellie snapped back.

“Don't call him that!” Tate yelled, jumping out of her chair and slamming her hands on the counter top. “His name is Ang! And you better fucking call Ang and tell him exactly what you just told me, or I will!”

“Stop being so dramatic, Tatum. I'll tell him in my own good time. It's not like I hate him. I like spending time with him, we have fun. I'm just never going to be with someone like him, we both know that,” Ellie stressed.

“I don't think he knows that. I can't believe you. Daddy won't even speak to you because he's such a fucking snob, and you're still the exact same way! You need to talk to him, Ellie. Seriously,” Tate insisted. Ellie sighed and lumbered to her feet.

“If I had known you were only going to bring me here to yell at me, I wouldn't have bothered,” she grumbled, pulling on her purse.

“I wasn't planning on yelling at you – but you're using my best friend. You came between us, made us fight. Serious shit, Ellie. You can't just tell me it was all over nothing, over sex,” Tate said, following Ellie out into the hallway.

“I'm so surprised at your reaction – I honestly thought you'd be proud of me. The way Jameson talked at home, the only thing you two care about -,”

“Shut the fuck up, right now. You don't know shit about what goes on between me and him. Is that what this is about? I fucked your boyfriend, so you fucked Ang!?” Tate demanded.

“No. I mean, it's still messed up that you slept with Jameson, when he was my boyfriend. Even you have to know that wasn't right. Angier was never your boyfriend, so I still haven't done anything wrong,” Ellie replied, standing in front of the door. Tate let her jaw drop open.

“Jameson and I never planned that night, it wasn't like we were carrying on some illicit affair behind your back for months and months. It just happened. Get the fuck over it. You are using Ang – I never did that to you,” Tate pointed out, her voice loud. Heated.

“No, what you did was worse. You always bitch that I ruined your life. Well, you kinda ruined mine, too, you know,” Ellie reminded her. Tate threw her hands up.

“Seriously!? HE WAS NEVER GOING TO MARRY YOU! It is time to let him go!” Tate insisted.

“I have, I am over it, I just don't think it's fair. I don't think it's right, that you're sitting in this house, pretending to be some fairy tale princess with him, when I was the one -,” Ellie started.

She had expected it to happen sooner, so Tate wasn't shocked when she heard the library door open. Jameson casually strode down the hall and stood behind Tate. Ellie looked stunned; no one had told her that Satan was in residence.

“Ladies. I am trying to get some work done. What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Tate knew he was being facetious, but both she and Ellie burst out yelling at the same time. Curses were thrown, fingers pointed, Ang's name yelled a lot. Sanders eventually appeared from somewhere, and soon the two men were between them. Sanders was urging Tate backwards towards the library. She hopped around on her toes, watching as Jameson blocked Ellie from her.

“You're a snob, Eloise! A fucking snob! You're not fit to lick the ground Angier walks on!” Tate shouted.

“He knows what he got into with me! And at least we're consenting adults! You were practically a child when you stole my boyfriend!” Ellie yelled back.

“And it only took me one time, to get him to break up with you! So GET FUCKED, Eloise!”

Tate was completely shocked into silence when Sanders' arms went around her waist and he picked her up. She always underestimated his size, his strength. He carried her into the library like she weighed nothing. She didn't say anything, just let him deposit her in the middle of the room. She stood there while he shut the door behind them.

“I apologize, but you need to calm down,” he informed her. She nodded.

“I know, I know,” she breathed, almost panting from all the adrenaline rushing through her body.

“I don't know why you always let her goad you. You are better than her. It is beneath you to act this way with her,” Sanders pointed out. Tate groaned.

“I know,” she agreed, dropping her head. The library door swung open and Jameson strode inside.

“Outstanding, Tatum. You've really topped yourself, fighting with a pregnant woman. Why did I have to explain to her, again, that she and I would never have stayed together?” he asked.

“Because she's a stupid bitch who doesn't think I belong somewhere like here, with someone like you. And she's using Ang,” Tate replied. Jameson nodded.

“Yup, that'll do it,” he whistled through his teeth. Tate licked her lips.

“Did she leave?”

“Yes, I personally escorted her to her car and politely informed her that if she ever insulted you again, she wouldn't be welcome in my house,” he replied.

“She drove off?”

“Yes.”

Tate took off down the hallway, grabbing her coat as she went out the door. Jameson caught up with her on the porch steps, following her down onto the driveway. She had been the last person to use the Jaguar, and the keys were still in her pocket.

“I have to talk to him,” she breathed, when Jameson asked what she was doing.

“Jesus, Tate, you can call him, you know,” he pointed out.

“I know. But I have to talk to him about this in person. After everything that's happened, I don't think he'd appreciate a phone call,” Tate explained, unlocking the Jag and opening the driver's side door. Jameson shut it again.

“This is fucking stupid. All this because -,” he started. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him, as forcefully as possible. He looked a little surprised when she pulled away.

“Just stay here and finish the damn whiskey,” she told him, then she hopped into the car.

She didn't know if Ellie had already called him, or even if she'd be at his place, but Tate had a hunch she wouldn't. Ellie wasn't a “feelings” kind of person, it was probably what had drawn her and Jameson together – something in common. When Tate pulled up in front of Ang's apartment building, she didn't see Ellie's car anywhere. She figured it was a good sign. She shivered on his stoop, pressing the buzzer for his apartment until he picked up.

“What the fuck!?” his voice crackled over the intercom.

“It's freezing out here, let me in!” she shouted back. There was a buzz, and she yanked the front door open.

His apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator was broken. By the time she got to his door, he was holding it open for her. He was yawning, standing in only a pair of pajama pants, his hair completely standing on end. She glanced at her watch as she walked in the door. Eight o'clock at night.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was filming all last night, some crazy kinky fetish take on Pride and Prejudice, and then I had to waiter some wedding this morning. I was so fucking asleep,” he grumbled as she went straight to his room.

“Kinky Pride and Prejudice?”

“'Pride and Pre-Ejaculate'.”

“I don't want to watch that film.”

“What's up, sweetie pea? You usually don't come slum it anymore,” he yawned again, stretching out on his bed. She patted his stomach.

“No sleepy-time Ang. Up, up, up,” she instructed. He pulled himself up so he was resting back against his headboard.

“Is someone on fire somewhere? Oh god, you're not gonna tell me there's some other incident you've been festering over for like the last year,” he groaned. She actually laughed.

“Shut up! No. Has Ellie called you?” Tate asked. He frowned and glanced at his phone.

“No. I haven't heard from her since the day before yesterday, actually. I tried to call her last night, to tell her all about your little melt down, but she never called me back,” he explained. Tate licked her lips nervously.

“Why didn't you tell me? I mean, if your relationship with her is just based on sex, why did you let me feel so guilty for trying to break you up?” she blurted out. His eyebrows shot up.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Based on sex? Tate, two weeks ago, we talked about me moving in with her,” he said. Tate winced.

“You and her? Or just you?” she stressed.

“If you came here just to be a bitch, you can go right back home to Satan, I'm sure -,” Ang started, moving to get off the bed.

“She was just at my house. She said she's only using you for sex, and that she would never really 'be with someone' like you,” she rushed out all in one breath. He paused for a long second.

“You're lying. You just thought that your little show last night would -,” he was angry, obviously. Tate held up her hands.

“I'm really not! I promise! We got into a huge fight, I almost beat up a pregnant lady for you. Ask Jameson. Ask Sanders, he had to carry me out of the room. I told her she had to tell you, or that I would,” Tate explained.

She watched as Ang warred with his emotions. He had known Tate longer, but she knew she had been weird lately; trust was shaky between them. He was sleeping with Ellie and calling her his girlfriend, but he knew that she was capable of being almost as shitty as Jameson. It was a tough call to make.

“If I call her, and she denies all of this, I am going to be very pissed,” he said slowly, picking up his phone.

“Not fair! What if she denies it just to prolong it!? Call Sanders!” Tate demanded. Ang held up his hand and pressed his phone to his ear.

“El? Hey, Ang. Uuugggg, don't call me that, I hate my full name. I know, but he's the devil. Yeah. Yeah. So, something really weird happened ..., uh huh. Uh huh. She ..., called,” his eyes moved to stare at Tate. “Uh huh. I see. I see. Really. Really? Ooohhh. I didn't realize. No. No, not at all. Just glad to know how it is – I totally feel the same, I just thought you would freak out. No, we're totally cool. You're sure about this? Yes, I'm fine. Yes, she told me. No. No. I told her it was cool, she's coming over so I can chill her out. Yeah, I will. Don't talk about her that way, you know I don't like that. Sure. See you then. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

Tate was a little shocked. He had seemed so angry a moment ago – he was really okay with it? Why hadn't he said that from the beginning? She felt very confused. Up until a couple days ago, she had been plotting the destruction of their relationship. If she had just chilled the fuck out, it would have dissolved on its own, anyway.

“Wow, Ang, I had no idea you felt the same way, I'm sorry I -,” she started.

“No! Fuck that! I was fucking lying through my teeth! That fucking bitch! Used me!?  Came between you and I? Shit, Tate, what if that's what this has been about this whole time, her just pissing on you!?” Ang snapped.

“I don't think it was. Really. I think something happened between you two, she liked it, she kept it going, then it got out of hand and she didn't have the balls to back off. She could never be like us,” Tate said quickly. He shook his head.

“I'm so pissed. Do you know how many women I could have been having sex with? This whole time?”

“I'm sorry, Ang,” Tate said softly, rubbing her hand against his leg. He sighed.

“I was stupid. You O'Shea girls, I swear,” he grumbled. She nodded.

“I know. Who ever raised us, that was Satan,” she joked.

“Totally. God. I could really use that revenge fuck now,” he groaned. She laughed.

“You had your chance. Should've taken it.”

“I mean ..., just ..., what the fuck!? I haven't had a legit girlfriend in like six years, since I was nineteen. I haven't had sex with one single other woman since I got with her!” he snapped.

“Such a waste. The world is missing out.”

“I know! Fuck. Fucking bitch,” he growled.

“I know.”

“I thought ..., I thought she liked me,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair. Tate frowned.

“If it makes you feel better, I don't think she knows how to like people. Not for real. She was still talking shit about me stealing Jameson. It's insane. She's sleeping with you and pregnant with another guy's baby, and she's still obsessed with him. Half the time, I feel like I can't get rid of him, and here she is, wanting him,” Tate laughed.

“Kitty cat?”

“Hmmm?”

“Could we, just this once, not talk about the goddamn devil?”

“Of course.”

Ang suddenly scrambled to get off the bed, almost knocking her over in the process. She ducked under his legs and stared as he hurried to pull clothing out of a hamper. He changed into a pair of expensive looking jeans, dug a little more, then pulled out a really nice, slim fitting, button up shirt. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows then bent to look in a mirror, raking his fingers through his hair.

“How do I look?” he asked, hopping into a pair of shoes. Tate blinked up at him.

“Uh, really good, actually,” she replied. He held out his arms.

“Like how good? Fuckable good?” he asked.

She let her eyes wander over him. She had always thought Ang was sexy, since the first time she'd ever met him. In a completely different way from Jameson, Ang wasn't predatory at all. He was more subtle. Like the guy who would've snuck in her bedroom window and stolen her virginity, right before her prom date was supposed to pick her up. He had a naughty-fun smile and his hair always looked like some woman had just clawed her hands through it, not to mention that his lean body just looked built for fast times. Tate nodded.

“Very fuckable. Why?” she asked. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, practically dragging her out of his bedroom.

“I just can't believe her,” Ang grumbled, letting go of Tate's hand and stalking around the apartment. She watched as he undid the bolt lock and chain lock from the door. Then he ducked down to stare out the peephole.

“Ang. What the fuck are you doing?” she asked. He waved an arm at her.

“Shut up. She's gonna be here any second,” he mumbled, leaning to the side, obviously trying to look down the hall.

“What?” Tate was a little shocked. “Ang, maybe I should go. It's, like, between you two, and I don't want to get arrested for beating up a pregnant woman.”

“You won't beat her up, I just want to -, shit! She's here! She's here!” he hissed, and hightailed it back to her side. Tate could hear the sound of a key in the lock.

“Good god, Ang, you gave her a key!? I didn't even -,”

She couldn't finish her sentence, however, because his tongue was suddenly in her mouth. She gasped as his mouth completely enveloped her own. She was vaguely aware that the door was swinging open and then Ang was dipping her slightly, raking his fingers down her back before grabbing onto her butt. She squealed against his mouth and pushed at his shoulders.

“What the hell is going on!?” Ellie's voice squeaked from the doorway.

I have no fucking clue.

Tate finally managed to shove Ang off, breaking the kiss. But he kept his arms around her, swinging her around so his back was to Ellie, Tate almost bending in half backwards. She glared at him, shoving at his hand as it worked its way over her breasts.

“What are you doing!? Jameson is gonna kill you!” Tate hissed, all while Ellie shouted behind them.

“Just go with it!” Ang growled, then kissed her again.

“Angier!” Ellie shrieked.

Tate shoved him hard, finally gaining arm distance between them. She glared at him, wiping at her mouth. He smirked back. Ellie fumed in front of him. How come when Tate wanted to break them up by having dirty, nasty, fun time with Ang, it wasn't okay – but suddenly he wants to suck her face off to make Ellie mad, and it's fine!?

“What's up?” he asked casually, turning to face Ellie.

“Are you kidding me!?” she demanded before turning towards Tate. “And you! I thought this was, like, against the rules or something! You're such a slut!”

“Hey!” Tate snapped. “Technically, what I do is none of your business. And second of all, pretending to like some guy just to fuck him is pretty goddamn slutty!”

“It becomes my business when you make out with my ...,” Ellie's voice trailed off, her face turning red.

“Your what, Ellie? You just explained to me how I'm nothing more than sex to you,” Ang pointed out.

“No! We just said that's all we are, to each other,” she stressed, waving her purse between them.

“Yeah. So, I think that means I can make out with whoever I want,” he replied, coiling his arm around Tate's waist. She began smacking him in the chest.

“This is sick. You two are sick. I'm getting out of here. I hope you're happy together, you ..., sluts,” Ellie cursed, then stomped out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

“That was pretty awesome,” Ang laughed, still holding onto Tate. She shoved at him.

“No it wasn't! A little warning, maybe, next time you feel like shoving your tongue clear down to my stomach!” she snapped at him.

“Oh c'mon, you always loved lots of tongue,” he reminded her. She snorted, trying to pull free from him.

“Shut up. This is so fucked, you know that, right? I try to sex you up to piss Ellie off and I'm a bad person, but you get to do it and it's no big deal!?” she pointed out.

“It's completely different. You and I are a team – you can't make plays against me.”

“You're retarded.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

He grabbed her then, pulled her into a hug. Tate was a little shocked at first, then she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Ang sighed into her hair. He had really liked Ellie. Shocking. No one seemed to like Ellie, and Tate's best friend had gone and fallen in total-like with her. She was a little miffed at being used, but her heart hurt a little for him.

“Oh, Angy wangy,” she sighed.

“Tater tot,” he mumbled back.

“That was very bad. You shouldn't have done that. We're bad people,” she whispered to him. He shook his head.

“No we're not. We're not very good, but we're not bad. She's a bitch and we're spiteful. Everyone wins,” he replied.

“I don't know if I agree with you. But it was fun,” she chuckled, combing her hand through his hair.

“Yes, it was. God, we used to have so much fun. Do you ever think about it?” Ang asked. Tate nodded, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“All the time. Every time I saw you with her,” she replied.

“Jealous?”

“Of course. Part of you belongs to me. I never wanted to share that with her.”

“I gotta say, Tate, it feels fucking awesome to hear that,” he groaned. She wiggled against him, trying to pull free. His arms stayed locked around her.

“Good. Cause I think now we are finally, officially, completely, even. For everything. No more being mad at each other? Or weird?” she asked. He nodded.

“No more.”

“Ang?”

“Yeah?”

“Let go of me. Your hard on is digging into my stomach.”

He burst out laughing.

“Now there's something I never thought I'd hear you complain about.”

“Shut up. Makes having a heart to heart kinda awkward.”

“You love it.”

Ang let go of her and groaned, stretching and lifting his arms over his head. Tate dug her cell phone out of her pocket and winced. A missed phone call. She could guess who it was from; he was already mad at her for missing his calls the day before, he would not be happy about her missing them for Ang. She still had only ever called him once, just one time ever. When he had been in Berlin. He hadn't answered. She had resisted doing it again, ever since then. She debated whether or not to take the leap.

“I should head home,” she mumbled, staring at Jameson's contact info.

“No, stay here tonight,” Ang said quickly. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

“I'm not fucking you, Angier,” she stated. He laughed.

“Thank you for that. No, you cow, just hang out. I feel like shit. Cheer me up. You owe me,” he told her.

“We just got finished saying we're even, and you're already -,” Tate started to complain when he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Just shut up and hang out with me. Satan can miss you for one night. Please, honey-pot? I could really use some cuddles tonight,” Ang begged, pouting out his lower lip.

Tate groaned. She was a sucker where he was concerned. Geez, sleep with someone a couple dozen – or maybe hundred? – times, and suddenly she's over a barrel, emotionally. She glared at him, then an idea struck her. She held out her cell phone.

“You get to call Satan and tell him I'm staying here,” she told Ang. He glanced at the phone and grumbled.

“God, he's gonna be such a dick. Does he own a gun?” Ang asked, taking the phone.

“Several. Be nice. Sometimes it works with him.”

“Does it really?”

“No. Good luck.”

“Fuuuuck.”

She dragged him to sit on the couch, then yanked him down to her height so she could listen to the phone call. It rang three times before the line connected.

“You better not be calling to ask for bail money,” Jameson's voice barked. “I don't care if you're in prison – if you ever ignore one of my phone calls again, I swear to fucking god, I'll -,”

“This isn't Tate, so please keep your weird style of flirting to yourself,” Ang snapped. Tate reached up and yanked on a lock of his hair. There was a pause for a long moment.

“Angier. Why are you calling me? What did she do?” Jameson demanded. Ang glared down at Tate.

“Do you always assume she's done something wrong when she calls?” Ang demanded in return. Jameson laughed.

“She never calls.”

Ang raised his eyebrows at Tate, and she just waved him away.

“So you're saying your girlfriend calls me more than she calls you?” Ang asked, his smile audible. Tate pulled away enough to slap at his arms.

“As lovely as it is to hear from you, what the fuck do you want?” Jameson asked. He sounded bored.

“Look. We don't like each other. But I needed some help with something, so I need you to be understanding. You know, not an asshole. Just this once,” Ang stressed.

“I make no promises.”

“I needed to borrow your girlfriend, for like two minutes, to piss Ellie off,” Ang said it quickly. It was the second time he had referred to Tate as Jameson's “girlfriend”; she was waiting for Jameson to correct him.

“Oh jesus. I don't want to know.”

“Mostly tongue, not a big deal, I promise. She absolutely refused to fuck me,” Ang said assuredly. Tate slapped him across the back of the head.

“She kissed you?”

“More like I kissed her. Totally rape-y. She was very respectful of you, I promise.”

“You're both insane. I don't know why I bother. Tell her she needs to come home, now,” Jameson growled.

“I need her for a little longer,” Ang said. Jameson laughed, but it was evil sounding. Satan was on the phone.

“I don't give a fuck, Angier.”

“Hey, she was my friend long before she was ever with you,” Ang reminded him. “Just let me borrow her for the night. It's been a shitty day. I promise, nothing bad will happen. I won't touch your girlfriend 'inappropriately'.”

“You won't be touching her at all. I want her home.”

Tate didn't hear the next part of the conversation. She was shell shocked. Jameson hadn't corrected him. Had actually fed the assumption that she was his proper-girlfriend. It was almost as if he had said the words out loud. She shook her head. Didn't mean anything. Jameson didn't believe in titles.

“... fine. Fine, anything, as long as you never fucking call me again, understood? Tell her to be at my office tomorrow, noon. Sharp,” Jameson's voice was hissing when Tate dove back into the conversation. Punishment sounded imminent. She shivered at the thought.

“Of course, of course, whatever,” Ang was grumbling.

“Angier, if I find out you so much as looked at her while she was sleeping, I will cut your nuts off. Understood?” Jameson said in a cool voice. Ang laughed.

“You do realize I have seen her naked. Like a million times. I can shut my eyes, and see her naked right now,” Ang pointed out.

“Stop.”

“Too late. Doing it right now. Naked Tatum, all up in my brain,” Ang rubbed it in.

“The idea of strangling you and dumping you in the harbor is suddenly becoming very appealing to me.”

Ang stopped laughed.

“I'm not gonna try anything. She only has eyes for you anyway, she's mental for you. Believe me, once upon a time, I tried to talk her out of it. I've given up. So don't worry,” Ang told him.

“I never do.”

Then the line went dead.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” Tate shrieked, slapping at Ang. He finally sat upright, almost out of reach.

“What!? What!?” he exclaimed, batting her hands away.

“Why do you have to piss him off like that!?” she demanded.

“Uh ..., because it's, like, my purpose in life?” he offered.

“You're such a dick. He wouldn't be half as bad, if you weren't always provoking him,” Tate pointed out. Ang rolled his eyes and handed her cell phone over.

“Just because you're butt-crazy in love with him, doesn't mean the rest of us are – I'll probably still be making fun of him when you're both old and gray,” he laughed. She gasped.

“I am not butt-crazy in love with him!” she yelled, then pushed away from him, getting up off the couch.

“It's okay, Tate,” Ang said, getting up as well.

“I know it is, but I'm not.”

“Stop. It's okay. Like I said to Satan, I'm over it. If there's anything this whole fucked up situation has taught me, it's you can't choose who you like, who you love. It's okay that you love him. I'm not mad,” Ang assured her. She stomped into the bathroom.

“But I don't. Till a couple days ago, I was planning on ripping his heart out and eating it for breakfast,” she pointed out, grabbing a rubberband out of his medicine cabinet and using it to put her hair up. She finally turned to face him and he was smirking at her.

“Yeah. Seems to me you'd only be that angry at him if you were in love with him. Why else would you go through all this shit together?” he asked.

The breath flew out of her body and Tate slumped against the sink. Ang asked if she was okay, dipping his knees so he could look her in the face. If she had been shell shocked earlier, she was blasted now. Obliterated.

She didn't love Jameson. Couldn't love him. Sometimes, she was pretty sure he didn't even like her. How could she be in love with someone like that? Sure, she was growing more accustomed to the idea of just being with him, in whatever capacity she could, just like old times. But love!? No. No, she refused to believe it.

“I can't love him, Ang,” she said softly.

“Huh?” he asked, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“He'll never love me back. I can't ..., that would be it. Game over. He would own me,” she whispered. Ang smiled.

“I think he already does,” he pointed out. She closed her eyes.

“I didn't want to like him. When this all started, remember? I just wanted to play. You told me not to lose my heart. What happened?” she asked.

“He's a lot better at whatever game it was you were playing.”

“Too good. I thought we were only playing for sex,” Tate laughed, looking up at Ang. “I didn't realize we were playing for hearts.”

“Pity he doesn't have one.”

She cried then. She hated crying.

Goddamn Jameson Kane, you make me cry even when you're not around.