~6~

They stayed up and ate pizza and ice cream. Talked about boys and girls. A good old fashioned slumber party. Ang admitted that part of what had drawn him to Ellie had been her good girl-richie varnish. But he had liked her. He was so chaotic and crazy and over-sexed. She was so structured and crazy in her own way and repressed. It had worked. Or at least, he thought it had worked.

Tate admitted she felt guilty for wanting to be with Jameson. He had treated her like garbage, had hurt her so badly. What if he did it again? It was her constant fear. What was wrong with her, wanting to be with a person like that? Ang pointed out that all of that just came with the territory of being in love. She tried to make him eat a pillow.

She was not in love with Jameson Kane. She refused to believe it.

“I always thought I was just a freak in bed. Why is it so much easier for me to listen to one guy talk filth, than to listen to one say something nice?” Tate asked, looking at pictures of Nick on her phone. She hadn't talked to him in about a week. Why couldn't she love him? He was such a better option.

“Guilt,” Ang replied so matter-o-factly, she almost missed it.

“Huh?” she asked, lifting her head off his bed. He was sitting on his floor, playing some race car game on a playstation.

“You feel guilty, about what you did to your sister,” he said. She frowned.

“But I like it, so it's not much of a self-inflicted-penance. I mean, I love the way Jameson talks to me. I beg for it.”

“But then you freak out when he says nice stuff. Because you think you don't deserve it.”

“That's not true.”

“Okay.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

She laid her head back down. God, was that true? Tate had never really thought about it. She hated when Jameson said nice things, because she didn't believe him. She always figured he was just talking, patronizing. Saying what he thought she wanted to hear, not how he felt – that hurt. She couldn't stand that feeling. Why couldn't she believe him? Did she really think she didn't deserve his affection?

He's so much smarter than you. Classier than you. Worldlier than you. He would never love someone like you, trash like you. You're just a waste of time. He'll leave you.

It was like Ellie's voice, her father's voice, everyone in her family's voice, had been living in her brain, her whole life, and Tate was just now realizing it. A little whisper, always running up and down her spine. Warning her away. Telling her she was only good for one thing, so just ignore everything else. And Tate had – she just ignored everything, and became very good at that one thing.

“Who needs therapy, when they have a pornstar bestie?” Tate laughed at the ceiling. Ang snorted.

“I should start charging you.”

She slept in his bed, with him spooning up behind her. Ang had always been an affectionate person, right from the get go with her. It was natural. She woke up to him snoring, halfway laying on top of her. His phone was ringing, and she groped around to find it. She kept her eyes closed against the sunlight that was pouring in his window.

“Angy wangy's phone,” she croaked out.

“Oh my god you slept together you are such a slut does Jameson know oh my god you're such a whore.” Ellie's voice, talking so fast, all her words ran together. Tate snorted.

“It's too early for this, call back later,” she groaned, rolling onto her back.

“It's after noon!” Ellie snapped back. Tate opened her eyes.

“Holy shit, we really stayed up late,” she commented.

“I can't believe you! I can't believe you'd do that, again, after -,”

“Ellie, shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I didn't sleep with Ang, but if I had, it wouldn't be a bad thing. Me being a slut, isn't a bad thing. Me fucking Jameson, isn't a bad thing. Stop trying to make me feel bad about everything. God, I fear for your child. The insecurities you're going to give it. Just calm the fuck down and get the fuck over yourself. You wanna live a wild life? Have sex with no strings attached? You're not very good at it so far,” Tate pointed out.

Ellie was silent for so long, Tate had to check to see if she was even still on the phone.

“No, I guess I'm not,” she finally breathed. Tate laughed.

“I'm sorry we made out in front of you, I didn't know he was going to do that. He was really upset,” Tate explained.

“It was pretty awful,” Ellie managed a laugh.

“He liked you. Still does. You hurt his feelings. You can't do that, Ellie. I don't do that,” Tate said in a soft voice.

“He really liked me?” her sister's voice was quiet.

“Yeah. For the life of me, I can't figure out why, but he did. Something about pregnant nipples. You think I'm weird, geesh. Look, I gotta go, but call him in like an hour when he's had coffee and a chance to masturbate, he'll be in a much better mood then,” Tate told her.

“I heard that,” Ang grumbled, his face in a pillow.

“You are so gross,” Ellie's voice shuddered.

“Byeeee,” Tate sang, and hung up the phone. She let it drop to the bed as Ang snuggled even closer.

“What did she want?” he asked, his voice hoarse and scratchy with sleep.

“To talk to you,” Tate yawned. “I think she kinda wanted to yell at you, but really, she feels bad.”

“Good.”

“It's after noon,” Tate warned him. He made a clucking sound with his tongue.

“Uh oh. Satan said be at his office, noon sharp. Someone's getting a spanking,” he chuckled.

“If I'm lucky, that'll be it,” she replied, pulling away from him. He held onto her.

“C'mon, it's early still. We could cuddle some more, maybe have just a tiny bit of sex, then go for breakfast,” he suggested in a sleepy voice. Tate laughed.

“Just a tiny bit, hmmm?” she joked, pulling at his arm. He pressed his hips to her side, leaving her in no doubt of how serious he actually was; he had never been shy about his body around her. Ang slept in the nude.

“Just the tip,” he offered.

“Jameson would cut off 'just the tip' if he found out. He might still, as it is. Gotta go,” she told him, then finally broke away. She sat up and scooted off his bed.

“Can't upset the devil, now can we? You're no fun now. You know that, right? I liked you much better when you would fuck anything that had a penis,” he said through a yawn, rolling onto his back.

“I had slightly higher standards than that.”

“Barely.”

“Why are you so okay with Jameson and I, all of a sudden?” Tate asked, wiggling back into her skinny jeans. She had worn one of his t-shirts over her underwear to bed, and she pulled it over her head. “Before Paris, he was still the worst thing ever. Now you're almost cool with him, telling me to be all head-over-heels for him. Very hot and cold, Ang.”

“I have two choices – hate him and lose you, or get over him and keep you. He's not going away, no matter how hard I pray about it. Besides, seems to me, he worked pretty hard in Spain to get back into your good graces,” he replied, watching as she pulled her tight black tank top back on.

“He did some pretty shitty things, too,” she grumbled, putting on her jacket as she remembered getting tossed into the ocean.

“Yeah, but you like the shitty things best of all,” Ang laughed.

Tate rolled her eyes and bent to look in a mirror. Her hair was psychotic looking. She finger combed it all into a ball on top of her head. Her eye makeup was smudged everywhere, giving her that slutty-startled-Panda look, but sometimes Jameson was into that, so she just ran her fingers around the edges, cleaning it up a little. She turned back to Ang and crawled over him on the bed.

“You are a very good friend, dear. Thank you,” she said quickly, kissing him fast.

“Pleeeease, just the tip?” he whined when she crawled back off of him. She laughed again.

“No. Tell me how things go with Ellie,” she called out as she dashed out of his bedroom.

Tate hopped on the subway and the red line took her all the way downtown, just a couple blocks from the financial district and where Jameson's offices were, on State Street. It took her a little over half an hour, but she was finally standing outside his building at one o'clock. Only an hour late. He was going to be pissed. She was excited and nervous. She still wasn't sure how she felt, after her all night heart-to-heart with Ang. She felt giddy, and nervous. Excited and confused. A lot like she was going to either throw up, or shit herself.

Not fun.

She took a deep breath and was about to pull the door open, when her cell phone started ringing. She scrambled to yank it out of her pocket, positive it was him. If she missed another phone call, he would probably lose it and go find Ang. Put him in a pair of cement booties and drop him in Boston Harbor. Tate snickered at the thought, but then stopped when she saw her screen. It wasn't Jameson. It was Nick.

“Hey, how are you?” she asked, taking a couple steps down the sidewalk.

“Good! I have something exciting to tell you,” he said, sounding a little breathless. Wherever he was, it was noisy.

“Oookay, what's up?” she asked, moving around the corner of the building.

“Guess where I am?” he asked back. She leaned back against a wall.

“Hmmm, I don't know. Some pre-game exhibition?” she replied.

“Nope.”

“Bangkok?”

“Nope.”

“An airport?” she guessed for real.

“Yes,” he answered. She perked up.

“An airport, huh. New York?”

“Nope.”

“Boston!?”

“Yup.”

“What are you doing here!?” she exclaimed. He hadn't mentioned visiting. It was the beginning of February, spring training was going to start in like two weeks.

“They flew the whole team up for some charity dinner thing at the Hilton. I need a date,” his voice was teasing sounding. She almost swallowed her tongue.

“How long are you here for?” she asked, glancing around the corner. She halfway expected Jameson's psychic abilities to call him down to her hiding spot.

“Just a couple days. I was hoping we could catch up. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever,” he groaned. She nodded.

“Yeah, since December. A date, huh,” she mumbled, a plan formulating in her head.

“Yeah. Should be kind of stuffy, but I figured we could go out for drinks later and you could be my wing-man, help me pick up chicks,” he joked. She cocked up an eyebrow. Nick did fine picking up chicks all on his own – he had gotten her pretty easily. She wondered if he had a specific chick in mind. Wondered if it was herself.

“Look, I was just about to go to a ..., meeting, thing. Place. Can I call you back when I'm done? Maybe we can do lunch, or dinner,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. So long as I get to see you. Are you still with ...,” he let his voice trail off.

“Don't worry about him, that's my job,” she laughed.

“Yeah, and worrying about you has somehow become my job,” he laughed back.

“I promise, I will chew through my restraints and come see you tonight. I'll call you,” she assured him.

“You had better,” he stated, but there was a smile in his voice, and she hung up the phone.

She breezed into Jameson's building and smiled saucily at the sexy secretary. The woman gave a broad smile back and Tate figured if Jameson chose to use his birthday gift to have a threesome, that woman wasn't such a bad choice. At least she wasn't Petrushka. Or Sanders. That would be awkward.

She listened to his personal secretary squawk long enough to learn that he was alone in his office, then Tate waltzed into the room. Jameson was on his phone, but his stare practically screamed at her. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she was seated in her chair, across from him. She leaned back, sitting casually while he talked about numbers and stocks and bonds and things she knew nothing about. He was wearing another suit with a fitted vest, and he'd gotten his hair trimmed, though he'd been leaving it long on top. He looked very much like a wolf in sheep's expensive designer hand tailored clothing. She squirmed around in her chair.

“You're very sexy when you're working,” she said in a soft breathy voice.

He held up his middle finger.

He talked for a while. It was obvious there were several people on the other end, as he switched tones of voice and languages. Fluidly between German and English, a little more haltingly between French and English, and the Mandarin was choppy at best. Though he still managed to sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about, at all times. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Jameson got off the phone.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. Tate gestured to her crazy hair.

“Sleeping. I literally jumped out of bed and onto the red line,” she assured him.

“I don't give a fuck. I said noon, not noon-ish,” he reminded her. She shrugged.

“Too late now. We stayed up late,” she told him.

“Doing what, exactly?” he asked.

“Just some light bondage, nipple clamps, car batteries, things like that,” she said with a smile.

“Nothing in comparison to what I plan on doing to you.”

A shiver ran over her whole body and she had trouble not drooling.

“Sounds fun.”

“What did you to two do last night? Why am I giving Angier persmission to spend the night with you?” Jameson pressed. Tate sighed.

“He got upset about the Ellie thing, had a silly plan to make her jealous by making out with me. We stayed up late and ate pizza and ice cream. Very tame and non-sexual, I assure you,” she promised.

“I won't be allowing that again,” he informed her.

“Jameson, you can't me tell who I can and can't spend time with,” she pointed out.

“Wrong.”

She licked her lips and leaned forward.

“I actually have something to ask you. A favor,” she started, twiddling her fingers. He groaned and let his eyes fall shut.

“Just some sex. That's all I want out of life, money and sex. Why is sex the difficult one?” he breathed, dropping his head onto the back of his chair.

See? Just sex. That's all you are to him. Just sex, and eventually, he'll get bored and -

No. He's upset that you were with Ang. He's upset that you weren't with him. He cares.

FUCK, now I'm arguing with MYSELF. I need medication.

“I promise, I will give you sex any time you want, all the sex you can handle, if you'll give me a couple days,” Tate told him. Jameson lifted his head.

“What's your game, baby girl?” he asked softly. She shook her head.

“No game. I just want to borrow your condo,” she said. His eyes got wide.

“You want to borrow my condo? Well, gee, as long as you promise to bring it back,” he replied snidely. She rolled her eyes.

“I will. Just a few days.”

“Why?”

“Because Nick is in town.”

Jameson stood out of his chair and moved towards her quickly. Tate leapt up as well, moving away from him, putting the desk in between them. She had expected this part. Jameson always got mad at first, but then he usually capitulated. She could handle this, she just had to stay out of his grip long enough. If he caught her, sex was imminent, and when they had sex, he could get her to say and do anything he wanted. If she withheld sex, sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – she could get what she wanted. And then have sex. Win-win, really.

“You want to spend the night with Angier. You want to spend a couple days with Nick, in my condo. Anyone else you plan on fucking before I get my turn?” he asked, casually circling the desk. She kept skittering away.

“No, I think that's it.”

“Tatum.”

“I didn't sleep with Ang. I'm not going to sleep with Nick – he's going to stay in his own place. He's just visiting, and I know you won't want him at the house, so -,” she started.

“No shit.”

“So, I thought maybe I could take a vacation,” she suggested. Jameson's eyebrows went up and he stopped moving.

“A vacation?” he asked. She nodded, standing in between his chair and his desk.

“Yes. Things are ..., confusing for me, right now. I thought maybe some space would help,” she said in a small voice.

“Ah. This is about the other night. Your talk with Sanders,” he filled in. She shrugged.

“A lot of things. Sometimes it feels like you take me over, and when I remember the bad stuff, it's like I'm drowning. I just want some time. You told me I needed to figure shit out. That's what I want to do,” she stressed.

“And how does darling Nick figure into this?” Jameson asked.

“He doesn't, really, just gave me the idea to get away,” she replied. “I won't sleep with him. I won't even touch him. We're just friends, hanging out.”

“He's not coming into my fucking condo,” Jameson snapped, and Tate smiled. She had won.

“Of course not.”

“How come all your friends are men, huh? What happened to the tiny red head?” he demanded.

“Rusty? She's in school,” she replied.

“Well, introduce her to your baseball player – tell him he needs a new fucking friend. I am not okay with this, Tatum,” he growled, prowling towards her. She held her ground.

“I know, that's why it means a lot that you let me do it,” she replied.

“Just keep that in mind – I'm letting you do this,” he reinforced the notion. She nodded.

“It's just a few days, Jameson,” she pointed out.

“I have worked very hard for every day I've spent with you. I am not accustomed to giving some up,” he replied. She felt warm inside.

“That's very sweet.”

“Shut the fuck up. You better have shit figured out after this, because you will be coming back home, regardless of your boy-toy's feelings or yours,” he snapped. She nodded.

“I'm okay with that.”

“I do not like this, Tatum. I don't want to do this.”

“But you will, for me.”

“For you.”

He was standing in front of her, so close they were almost touching. He stared down the length of his nose at her, and the look of disdain he usually wore was front-and-center. She smiled at him. Reached out and straightened his tie.

“You're such shit at this,” she mumbled, adjusting his tie-pin. He grabbed her hand.

“Sanders is coming with you,” he informed her.

“Really? You wouldn't mind?” she asked, surprised. Sometimes she wondered if Jameson would be able to survive without Sanders.

“You can't be left alone in the world without a babysitter. No getting him drunk,” Jameson growled. She laughed.

“That was all him. I just made the drinks,” she pointed out.

“You are a bad influence,” he said.

“What, on Sandy?”

“On all of us.”

“Duh.”

He yanked her close and kissed her, and she moaned. They hadn't had sex since before the night Sanders got drunk, over two days ago. A long time, in their terms. He shoved her backwards against his desk and she fell onto it. She didn't even have time to find her balance before he was leaning onto her, his tongue invading her mouth. She moaned again, clawing her nails down his back.

“You sure you just slept next to Angier?” he growled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the floor.

“Next to him, on top of him, po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o,” she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“I can smell him on you. God, I wanna hold you under a hot shower till your skin turns red,” he hissed. She shuddered, combing her fingers through his hair.

“Sounds exciting,” she whispered. He grabbed her throat then, pinned her to the desk.

“Stop fucking talking.”

“You're the one getting turned on by smelling Ang,” she pointed out. His fingers squeezed harder.

“I always did love fucking a whore.”

She couldn't stand it. She began clawing at the buttons on his vest, trying to undo them while his hands ran under her shirt, pushed it up over her breasts. She let out a gasp when he sucked on a nipple, through her bra. She moaned, her head hitting the desk. She felt like she was going to explode. He hadn't even hardly touched her, and she was ready to pop.

She knew it was a bad idea, to have sex. Not with her emotions all over the place. She would probably wind up screaming that she loved him, then cry like a girl afterwards. He would love it, fuck her again, and then leave her a broken mess. He would've gotten what he wanted, won the game. She wasn't ready, not yet. But she couldn't stop. She pressed her hips up against his, felt the bulge in his pants, and wanted to feel more. Her fingers wouldn't stop moving. She left his vest and trailed her hands down to his belt, began yanking at it.

“Mr. Kane, your one-thirty is ...,”

Saved by the bell.

Tate opened her eyes. The squawking secretary was a couple feet into the room, and turning bright red. Tate smiled and flicked her eyes to Jameson. His chin was resting on her chest, and one of his hands was halfway down her pants. He looked casual, but his secretary looked ready to burst into flames. Tate wondered how many women he'd fucked in his office. Maybe she was the first. She wiggled her hips underneath him.

“Yes, Mrs. Janette?” he asked, scratching his fingers up Tate's stomach as he pulled his hand free of her pants.

“I'm so sorry,” the other woman breathed.

“It's quite alright. Do you mind, Tate?” he asked, not looking down at her.

“Nope.”

“What did you need?” Jameson asked the secretary as he slowly backed off of Tatum.

“Your ..., your one-thirty appointment. Mr. Yamamoto. He's -, he's here,” the secretary stuttered, looking everywhere around the room but at them.

“Of course. Tell him ten minutes,” Jameson replied, and the secretary fled from the room. Tate pulled herself up so she was sitting.

“Ten minutes isn't very long,” she told him. He shook his head, buttoning his vest back up.

“No, not nearly long enough for all the things I want to do to you. As sexy as your whore-y ways are, I don't think I can be inside of you, knowing that Ang might have just been there,” he explained. She snorted.

“I didn't have sex with him,” she snapped. Jameson smiled.

“I know. Still. The mental image. You have five days, baby girl. You better make sure that no one else has been here, when I get you back,” he said softly, stepping forward to run a finger up and down the seam between her legs. She rubbed her lips together.

“You think you can go a couple days without fucking me?” she asked, widening her legs.

“I've gone a lot longer than that before, I think I can manage it again. Besides, I'm submitting the termination papers to the secretary downstairs. I may not be so bored while you're gone,” he whispered, his finger pressing harder. She curled her fingers into his shoulders.

“I swear, if you fuck her, I'm definitely gonna fuck Nick.”

“Threaten me again, and I'll beat your ass so hard you won't even be able to walk during your little sabbatical with Nick.”

God, I missed this.

“Maybe,” she breathed, his fingers starting to make her pant, “maybe we could be really fast. We still have, like, six minutes left.” Before she could say more, he stopped touching her and pressed the finger to her lips.

“Shhhh. Good things come to those who wait. You want to spend the next few days with your boyfriend? Fine. Then you have to wait for me to give you what you need,” he replied.

It was only fair. She continued to squirm around on top of his desk, wanting his finger back. Wanting him to finish what he'd started. She wanted to finish him. Her eyes flicked down to the desk, then to his crotch. Down again, then up again.

“How much time is left?” she breathed, shoving him back and hopping off the desk.

“Maybe five minutes. Why? What are you thinking?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I'm thinking I might be able to fit under this desk almost as well as the desk at home.”

“Such a whore, baby girl. I love it.”

 

*

 

Of course Jameson didn't like the idea of her spending time downtown, alone, hanging out with Nick Castille. He fucking hated the idea. When she first brought it up, he had wanted to slap the idea right out of her fucking head. Who did she think she was!? Who did she think she was dealing with!? She wasn't allowed to galavanting off, just fucking whomever she pleased, and using Jameson's condo to do it. Fuck that.

But then she had asked for the time to think. And thinking was good. She was so close to just letting go. He could feel it. Whatever she and Sanders had talked about had changed something. Brought her around in a way Jameson hadn't been able to. She looked at him different, treated him different. There was a wall that was gone. The detachment was gone from her eyes. She was finally really looking at him again. After so long.

It was nice.

So if he needed to let her go, again, so she could figure shit out, then he would do it. For her. Only for her.

But good god, was she going to pay when she got home.