~7~

Tate met up with Nick later that evening, at a sushi place on a busy street. She got there before him and was able to watch as he approached. He was an exceedingly good looking guy. He smiled at everyone, a sort of sideways smile, his bottom lip pulling to the right. Chocolate brown eyes, soft brown hair. Built body. Kind soul. She smacked herself every day, for not being able to just like him back. But apparently she prefered ice cold blue eyes and fangs for smiles. She liked her toys to have a little bite, and Nick was all cuddle.

“How are you!?” he exclaimed, bustling up to their table. She had barely stood up when he wrapped her in a hug.

“Good! God, it feels like forever!” she laughed, hugging him back. He finally pulled away and held her at arms length.

“You looking amazing,” he breathed, letting his eyes travel down her form.

“I guess you haven't seen me in a while,” she commented, looking down at herself. The shirt she was wearing showed more bra than shirt at the top, and her leggings had a geometric pattern sweeping all across them.

“You look more like you, like the girl I met in the bar,” he replied. She burst out laughing.

“Oh god.”

“No, it's nice. You look like you feel comfortable in your own skin again,” he explained, sliding into a chair. She sat down as well.

“Well, I'm still not that girl, just so you know. There will be no free-fucks in the back of bars this week,” she warned him.

“Jesus, your mouth is amazing.”

Huh, Jameson always says the same thing.

“So what's up? How've you been? How is Arizona?” Tate asked, pulling out a menu.

“Hot. I'm not a big fan. You ever gonna come visit me?” he asked, looking over a menu as well. She winced.

“I don't know. Things are complicated right now, I don't think flying across the country to stay with another man is gonna help anything,” she pointed out. He smiled at her.

“You really like him, don't you?” he asked. She frowned.

“Does that make me a horrible person? I really worry about that, that I shouldn't be allowed to like him, after everything he did,” she said quickly. Nick shrugged.

“No. You can't help it. What makes you a horrible person is not liking me,” he teased. She groaned.

“Don't remind me – I tell myself that every day,” she assured him.

“Maybe if you slept with me again, I could help you forget him?” he suggested, in a halfway joking tone.

Yeah, right. There aren't enough men in the world to fuck Jameson Kane out of my memory.

“You know what, if he fucks me over again, I will definitely take you up on that offer,” she joked.

“So that's it, huh. You're going to stay with him? Try to be with him?” he asked. She sighed.

“I don't think I have much of a choice. I can't ..., get away. My brain. He owns it,” she replied.

“But what about your heart?”

“My heart ....,” she paused for a while, staring off into space. “I think he's had that since I was eighteen.”

“Well, shit. I don't stand a chance,” Nick tried to joke, to lighten the mood. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“If I could choose anyone else, trust me, it would be you,” she said softly. He nodded.

“Sure, sure. Whatever. C'mon, help me drown my sorrows in sake.”

Nick drank sake, Tate drank water. It was one thing to get tipsy with Sanders and cry in front of Jameson. She wasn't about to do any of that with Nick, and after his second bottle was done, she distracted him from ordering another.

They walked around for a while after that, catching up. She had always had an easiness with him that kind of surprised her. She had used him for sex. Good sex, but that had been it, a one night stand. Something to piss off Jameson. She had never expected to get a friend out of the deal. She looped her arm through his, leaned against him while they walked.

“You're happy?” he sighed as they made their way towards his building. His condo actually wasn't too far from Jameson's. Scary.

“Sometimes,” she joked.

“I think I could make you happy all the time,” he replied in a soft voice. She let go of his arm.

“Nick, someday, you are going to make some woman so happy, she won't know what to do with herself,” she warned him.

“I hope she knows what to do with me.”

“She will.”

“I wanted her to be you.”

She smiled sadly at him, standing outside the front doors.

“I wish I was her,” she replied, straightening out his jacket.

“You still could be,” he whispered. She glanced up at him.

“I don't think I ever could,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His arm snaked around the waist.

“Sometimes, I think you were meant to be,” he challenged. She put her hands against his chest, pushing away.

“Nick. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You were there for me in a way no one else was, after the hospital. I don't think I can ever repay that, but I can't be ..., I just can't,” she breathed.

She didn't want to break his heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone, that's why she was always so upfront and honest. The night they had slept together, she had bluntly told him she didn't plan on ever seeing him again. After the hospital, she had told him she wouldn't sleep with him again. She didn't know how else she could put it.

He stared at her for a while, then smiled. Kissed her on the cheek. Told her he would call her tomorrow, then went inside. She stared after him for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. She had needed closure with the whole Petrushka/Jameson incident. Now, she could get some closure with Nick.

Sanders was waiting at the condo when she got there. She was kind of surprised – she had forgotten that Jameson said he was going to send the other man. She smiled, sitting across from him in the living room. When they'd left, Jameson had everything packed up and prepped for shortage. She and Sanders sat on couches covered in sheets, surrounded by boxes.

“How are you?” he asked. The only light in the room was coming from the kitchen, backlighting him.

“I'm okay. And you?” she asked. He was looking over her shoulder.

“Is this some kind of game?” he asked. She widened her eyes.

“No. Why would you ask me that?” she was surprised. He sounded angry. Well, angry for Sanders.

“Because you surprised me, this all came out of nowhere. I don't particularly like surprises. I don't like staying downtown,” he told her. She snorted.

“No one is making you stay here, Sandy. You're free to go home,” she pointed out. He finally glanced at her.

“I wouldn't feel comfortable with that, I worry about you,” he replied.

“I'm a big girl, sometimes capable of making halfway adult decisions. I'll be fine,” she assured him.

“Are you going to leave Jameson for Mr. Castille?” he asked bluntly.

Ah, Sanders. So scared of losing your happy home. So sweet.

“No,” she stated.

“Then, may I ask, what is all this about?” he pressed.

“Nick is only in town for the week. I wanted to spend time with him, he's my friend. And I wanted to take some time off, to think. Think about things you told me,” she said. Sanders frowned.

“Alcohol is not as much fun as everyone makes it out to be.”

Tate burst out laughing and got up, walked over to him.

“No, no it's not. But at least you didn't cry,” she snickered, pulling him up and into a hug.

“I don't want to see him get hurt,” Sanders said in a soft voice. She sighed.

“And what about me, Sandy? What if I get hurt again? I almost didn't survive the first time,” she pointed out.

“He won't do that again. He promised me. He promised you. I promise you,” Sanders promised.

“Okay, then. Just give me some time. I'm not going anywhere, I promise you,” she mimicked him. He pulled away from her.

“Sometimes, Tatum, I very much wonder how he puts up with you.”

She started laughing again. Sanders could be very, very funny, when he put his mind to it.

 

*

 

The next two days were relatively peaceful. Nick picked them up, and all three of them went out to lunch. Sanders always seemed uncomfortable around Nick, probably because he felt like his loyalties were being pushed to the limit, but Nick never seemed to care. Nick could probably dine with Hitler, and do it with a polite smile. He was just that nice of a guy, he always wanted everyone to feel comfortable around him.

They got all dressed up for the charity event that he had come to town for, and it was actually a lot of fun. Sanders refused to come along, and though she loved him dearly, Tate was a little glad. Sometimes, Sanders made her feel guilty about having a good time. Which was silly – she was allowed to have fun, with or without Jameson. The only thing she didn't like was the photographers. There were a lot of them about, snapping photos with large flashes. She chewed on her lips.

“I don't want my picture taken,” she told Nick for the hundredth time. He put a hand on the small of her back.

“So you've said. I'm trying, but it's probably going to happen. What's the big deal?” he asked.

“Pictures of people on the internet is what started my whole problem,” she grumbled, letting him lead her to their seats.

“They're just pictures, who cares. He'll get over it. It's not like I've got my tongue down your throat in any of them,” Nick laughed.

“Oh jesus.”

He was right, though. Photographers from every newspaper were there, so it was going to happen. Tate just made sure it happened with a lot of different people, and not just Nick. No use pissing off Jameson more than was necessary. She had photos taken with almost every ballplayer on the team, and one with her hugging the team manager.

It was fun to be around the team again. It felt nice to be wanted, nice to be liked, for something other than her skills in bed. She could make the pitcher laugh, talked the alcoholic outfielder out of having a drink, and helped the mother of the umpire to the restroom. She felt pretty good about herself.

That you ever thought you could be a 'bad girl', is hilarious. You're Mother fuckin' Teresa.

There was an auction at the end of the night, put on by Sotheby's. All the proceeds were going to a charity for a specific type of lung cancer. The amount of money being thrown around blew her away a little, which really said something, considering the kind of money Jameson had, and spent, on a day to day basis. Nick bid on, and won, a perfect condition 1958 Karmann Ghia. Only $60,000, that's all. The highest bid made was on a Ferrari, which went to some older gentleman in the crowd. There were also several anonymous buyers, bidding via phone calls. A delicate China tea set went to one, a vintage Cartier necklace to another, and a bronze dog sculpture to the last one – she didn't understand that piece, but apparently it was worth $8,000 to someone.

“You people are insane with your money,” Tate laughed while Nick helped her into her jacket.

“What, you're telling me Mr. Kane doesn't buy lavish things?” he chuckled, walking her out the doors.

“Oh, he does, just not quite so publicly. He'd be more likely to buy everything in one go, then sort out the shit he doesn't want, just to save time,” she joked.

“Jesus, wish I had that kind of money.”

“Don't we all?”

“You don't get to talk, he spends it on you.”

They climbed into a cab after that, and she was quiet for a while. She wasn't sure what to make of his statement. Jameson didn't really spend that much money on her, comparatively speaking. But that he spent any at all on her, was amazing in it's own way. She had worried people saw her as a slut for the baseball team. She also worried that people saw her as a whore for Jameson. Not okay.

When they got to her building, Nick surprised her by walking her inside. She had told him at the beginning of the week that Jameson “wasn't comfortable” with Nick being in the condo. She had put it politely. He had respected that, didn't even question it, so she was fine with him coming into the lobby. She was a little surprised, however, when he got into the elevator with her.

“I had a really good time,” she assured him, a little nervous.

“Good. I'm glad. Tate, I go home the day after tomorrow, and I just wanted to tell you -,” he started. She winced.

“God, please don't say something that'll make this awkward,” she begged, and he laughed.

“I wanted to tell you, that my offer still stands,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“What I told you, when you were in Paris. You like him, or you think you like him, or he might like you, or whatever. I'm still here,” he stressed.

“Nick, I don't get what you -,”

He practically dove into her, kissing her hard. She gasped, completely stunned into immobility, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Cupped the back of her head with his other hand. He was trying to tell her something, something she obviously didn't want to hear. But she was getting it, loud and clear now. Every part of him screamed with want for her, from his fingertips in her hair, to his lips against her own, to his chest against hers, to the rock solid erection pressed against her. The elevator doors dinged open, and she finally broke away. Of course, Sanders was standing in the open doorway.

Of fucking course he is. Cause nothing ever happens easily with me.

“I'll be there for you, if anything happens. I'll wait,” Nick stressed. She struggled to get out of his arms, glancing at Sanders.

“Don't do that, not for me,” she urged him through clenched teeth.

“You're worth it.”

She finally shoved him, hard enough to push him off of her. She pulled at the material on her dress as she huffed off of the elevator. She turned back, praying that he wasn't following her. He hadn't. He was staring at her with sad, puppy dog eyes, ripping her heart in half.

“I'm not, Nick. I'm really not. Don't wait for me, I won't be coming,” she warned him. He managed a smile.

“All the same, if you ever need me,” he replied, and then the doors slid shut.

“I think it would be in your best interest to call -,” Sanders started in a immediately. She let out a small shriek, stomping through the front door.

“He's not God, Sandy! He doesn't need to know about everything, the minute it happens!” she yelled at him. He blinked at her, clearly surprised, then followed her inside, closing the door.

“I don't think he's God, but I do think he will be upset when he learns that -,” he began again.

“Sandy, right now, right this moment, he is fucking that playboy-secretary, which means a lot more than kissing her. I know he'll be pissed, but I didn't do that. I didn't know Nick was gonna do that, I have been very honest with him. You heard me, you heard what I said,” she pointed out, kicking off her heels as she walked back to the bedroom. Sanders picked them up behind her.

“I know. I appreciated it. Does that mean you have thought about the situation with Jameson?” he asked, standing near her as she let her jacket fall to the floor.

“No. Yes. God, why is everything so difficult?” she whined, lifting her hair off of her neck and turning her back to him. He immediately stepped forward and pulled the zipper down on her dress.

“Because you both over-complicate things,” he replied simply. She threw a glare over her shoulder at him, then walked into the closet.

“My life was very un-complicated before Mr. Kane, you know. I probably wouldn't have ever met Nick, ever slept with him, if it hadn't been for Jameson,” she pointed out, peeling herself out of the dress and changing into a t-shirt of Jameson's. She padded back into the bedroom.

“Mr. Castille would have come to your bar that night, regardless of whether or not you were sleeping with Jameson, so the result would still be the same,” Sanders returned her logic.

“Maybe I wouldn't have just slept with him, maybe I'd be Mrs. Castille by now,” she bit out, yanking her hair up into a ponytail while she glared at him.

“Is that what you'd like? To be Mrs. Tatum Castille?” Sanders questioned.

“No,” she replied quickly, crawling onto the bed.

“And why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because, it'd be boring,” she answered softly. He nodded.

“And that answer, right there, is why your life is so 'difficult',” he told her. She groaned while he walked into the closet. She heard hangers clanking around, knew he was hanging her dress up.

“Your attitude doesn't help, Sandy! Holier than thou, know better than all of us mere mortals, blah blah blah!” she snapped. He came back into the bedroom.

“I apologize. Would you like me to stop offering advice?” he asked. She frowned, wouldn't look at him.

“No.”

“Alright then. What would you like me to do?”

“Will you sleep with me again?”

“Of course.”

Their first night in the condo, Tate had woken up from a violent nightmare. Screaming, hands pulling at her own hair. She had been under water, fighting with someone, though she wasn't sure who. Sanders had been standing over her, looking scared out of his mind. But after she started sobbing, he climbed into bed next to her, let her hold onto him till she calmed down. Till she fell asleep. When she woke up the next morning, he had been laying in the exact same spot. After that, they slept together every night.

“Sandy,” she said softly, long after he'd changed into his pajamas and she'd turned out the light.

“Hmmm?” he responded, clasping his hands together on top of his chest.

“The first time I saw Jameson again, that first time we talked together, I'm the one who turned it all into a game. I'm the one ..., who felt like she couldn't lose. I'm terrified of losing to him. Why do I still feel this way?” she asked, rolling towards him.

“Because he is a lot to take in, to absorb. Because he never loses. And because you've already lost, you just won't admit it,” he said plainly. She winced at his words.

“Ang said that I'm in love with Jameson,” she whispered.

“I have never thought Mr. Hollingsworth to be a stupid man.”

“What if he never loves me back?” her voice kept getting quieter and quieter.

“Is that really what frightens you?” Sanders questioned.

“I'm scared ..., I'm scared that I'm unlovable. That I'm just this dirty human being, a waste of time,” she told him. He sighed and unclasped his hands. She immediately grabbed onto one of them, held it between her own.

“You are none of those things. Mr. Hollingsworth loves you. Mr. Castille loves you. I love you. It seems to me that everyone you know, loves you. So that is a very ignorant statement,” he pointed out.

“But not Jameson,” she clarified. He cleared his throat.

“I said everyone.”

“I don't think he loves me.”

“Tatum, I am not entirely sure that you know what love is.”

“Sandy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Shut up.”

“Of course.”

 

*

 

The next day, Tate avoided seeing Nick until dinner time. It was his last night in town, and she had already agreed to go to dinner with him. She and Sanders had stayed up very late the night before, talking. She had woken up curled around him, almost hugging him from behind. He woke up, and then they talked some more. As blunt as he was, he never once said outright that Jameson was in love with her, and he never once told her exactly what she should do. Just that it was obvious she was happiest with Jameson, to anyone with eyeballs, so why was she fighting against it?

Obviously, Sanders had never had convulsions and been admitted to a psych ward. Obviously, Sanders hadn't spent every day for the past couple months, worrying and waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other hand to strike. Nothing was ever smooth sailing with Jameson. Something was going to happen. She still couldn't say if she honestly wanted to see what it was.

Dinner with Nick was awkward. He laughed and tried to make her feel comfortable, but the kiss laid heavy between them. Words were almost easier to forget than a kiss. He assured her that he was fine, his heart wasn't broken. But before they parted ways, he hugged her tightly and made her promise that if she ever needed anything, anything, that he would be the first person she called.

Tate could've gone home, back to Weston. She had originally planned on going home the next day, because she had wanted to see Nick off at the airport, but that wasn't going to happen anymore. Still. She wasn't ready.

So she invited Ang over to the condo. Sanders protested vehemently, insisting that Ang coming over was almost as bad as Nick coming over. Tate just shushed him and told him to go back to Weston.

“You don't want me here?” he sounded shocked. She laughed and hugged him.

“I always want your around, Sandy. But I know you don't like it here. And Nick is gone, I don't need a babysitter. I'll be home, I'm not going to run away,” she promised him. He frowned.

“I think this is a bad idea,” he insisted.

“Stay, if you want. We're going to do a marathon of Ang's first ten porns. They start getting almost good after the first three. Anal was new to him, he didn't -,”

She had never seen Sanders move quite that fast.

Ang really did come over, though they opted not to watch the porn. She hadn't had sex in almost a week. After being celibate for so long over the winter, her sex drive was back with a vengeance. She didn't want to tempt fate.

Ang and Ellie had made a truce of sorts. She admitted to knowingly leading him on, and had apologized. He apologized for making out with Tatum, just to hurt her. She asked if they could still have sex once and while. He told her that she couldn't afford him.

Laughter all around.

“You know who was good?” Ang breathed, passing a joint to her. She didn't really drink anymore, and hadn't smoked any cigarettes since Jameson had tossed her in the ocean. But Tate saw no problems with marijuana. A fine, smoky haze drifted around the condo.

“Who?” she asked, taking a hit and holding the smoke in her lungs.

“Rusty,” he replied, referring to her old roommate, the one he had slept with to piss Tate off. She started coughing.

“Seriously!?” she exclaimed, patting her chest. He nodded.

“Yeah, surprisingly. That shy, virginal thing kinda does it for me,” he replied. She swatted him in the arm.

“Shut up, you loved it with me.”

“Tater tot, no one will ever be as good as you,” he told her, and she smiled. “But Rus was pretty hot. I think I was like only the fourth dude she'd ever had sex with.”

“One time, I had to listen to her and some dude, all night. Jameson was over. I thought we were gonna die, we were laughing so hard. It sounded boring,” Tate said. He shook his head.

“She's one of those chicks that just needs the right kind of man to turn her out,” he explained. She made a face.

“Such a pig. What about Ellie? Closet freak?” she asked. He picked the joint off the ashtray, put it between his lips.

“Nah. I mean, it was kind of obvious she was exploring her 'wild side' with me – she loved getting it on in public. Cracked me up. You should see peoples faces when you get caught going down on a pregnant chick in the public library,” he commented before inhaling deeply.

“Oh god, I feel sick.”

“What about you and that little sidekick? Sanders seems to have googly eyes for you,” Ang pointed out, blowing a stream of smoke away from her head. She made a face.

“Sandy? No, not like that. I think I'm like a cross between a springer spaniel and an incompetent child, to him. He doesn't look at me like that,” she replied.

“Does he look at anyone that way? Guys?” Ang asked. She smiled.

“Interested?”

“No.”

“No, he's not gay. I've caught him peeking at me when I'm changing, I've seen the way he looks at other women. It's not obvious, you have to know him really well, but you can tell. He's probably banged more women than you or Jameson put together,” she told him and he laughed.

“Very true. It's always the quiet types. So what about you and Satan. Did you tell him that you looooooooove him? Do you make love now?” Ang teased her. She snorted.

“I don't looooooooove him, and the last time we had sex, he bent me in half over a lawn chair and fucked me so hard, I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard me screaming – the closest house is two miles away. A postal worker came to check on us, and Jameson just waved. I don't think that's 'making love',” she told him.

“Fuck, that's hot. Can I watch you two sometime?” Ang asked. She laughed.

“No. But yeah, it's pretty hot.”

“Can you record it for me?”

“I'll think about it.”

Ang passed out not long after that; weed put him to sleep like a baby, half the time. Tate left him on the couch and crawled into her bed. Thought some more about Jameson. After they had come back from Paris, she had used sex as a weapon. As a distraction. As a way to keep him from her heart. Not that she hadn't enjoyed it – of course she had – but she detached herself a little. Separated herself from the act. Sex with Jameson had always been too much, she couldn't let him get to her that way. So she had cut herself off.

Now, as she was remembering some of their more adventurous times together, it was like opening her eyes. She stretched out on the bed, bent her legs at the knees. Remembered the first time he had told her he'd slept with another woman; other women. Two. At once. Pretty hot. She walked her fingertips across her stomach, pushing her t-shirt out of the way. Let the cool air in the apartment wash over her skin.

Remembered the time at her parents' house, when she had him screw her against the wall, making sure Ellie and Robert heard everything. Remembered the time in the bathroom on his boat. God, that time. It had been quick for them, but hot. Hotter than anything had been in a long time. Her finger tips crept down to the waist of her leggings.

After Jameson had come back from vacation and found out that Ang had been in the house. Worn his clothing. Had almost slept with Tate. Jameson had been onto her, her little plan. After going down on her like it was his job, he had flipped her onto her stomach and practically pounded her through the mattress. She'd thought she'd had whiplash for the next few days. She closed her eyes as she worked her fingers under her leggings. Under her panties. She could hear his voice, like he was in the room.

“Starting without me, baby girl? Very naughty.”

Only for you, Mr. Kane. Anymore, it's only for you.