~2~

“How could you not recognize him!?”

Tate bent at the waist, swung her hips in a circle, clapped her hands, and then stood upright.

“I don't know, I was caught off guard! I didn't recognize him.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand.

“He must look really different.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand.

“Not really. Older, for sure, but still the same. Sexy as fuck.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand.

“Then how did you not recognize him!? I find it hard to believe you forgot the face of the guy who fucked you retarded and then treated you like shit.”

“Excuse me!”

Both Tate and her best friend, Angier Hollingsworth, looked over their shoulders at the woman who had just interrupted them. Okay, so maybe a Zumba class wasn't the best place to be having that particular discussion, but Tate hadn't started it. Plus, she thought eavesdropping was a nasty trait – if people were going to do it, they should have the good graces to pretend not to be listening and keep their mouth shut.

“Oh, shut up, this is probably the hottest thing you've heard all week,” Ang snapped at the woman before he turned back towards the instructor. They began hiking their knees up, skipping in place at the same time as pumping their fists in the air.

Zumba wasn't Tate's usual work out, but free was free, and she couldn't exactly afford a gym membership. Ang was a compulsive coupon hoarder, and always took her when he got a buy-one-get-one deal. She had been to many a jazzercise, step, Tae Bo, cycling class, courtesy of Ang. They also always knew where to go to score free smoothies, appetizers, cookies, whatever. When they really put their minds to it, the two of them could spend a whole day on the town and not spend a dime.

“I don't think about him that much. I guess I kinda forgot,” Tate kept their conversation going, body rolling to the right.

“So he's still sexy, huh? Gonna hit that?” Ang asked, rolling right behind her. She laughed.

“Um, no. Don't think so. I think one time was plenty, thank you. The things he said to me ...,” she let her voice trail off as they sashayed to the left.

“Get you so hot, you're probably soaking wet right now,” Ang finished for her, and she burst out laughing. The woman behind them huffed, but didn't say anything.

“You're so disgusting,” Tate snorted at him, brushing sweaty hair away from her forehead. Stupid as she felt, Zumba was one hell of a workout.

“I'm not the one getting off in the middle of a gym full of middle-aged women. Oh my god, you really are, aren't you? I can tell, come here,” Ang said, and broke out of the line to grab at her. She burst out laughing, slapping his hands away. They stumbled to the left, Ang digging his fingers in to her waist and hips. She laughed uncontrollably, trying to skip away from him.

“Excuse me! We are in the middle of a lesson!” the instructor barked out over the microphone. Ang rolled his eyes.

“C'mon, we can do this at home with techno music and vodka, let's blow this place,” he said in a loud voice, swinging an arm around Tate's shoulders and dragging her away from the floor.

“We probably won't be allowed back, you realize,” she pointed out.

“Who cares? There's a ton of other places. Shower?” he asked, stopping in front of the locker rooms.

“Yeah, I feel disgusting. Meet you in fifteen,” she said, but he started bustling after her through the women's door. She laughed and put a hand against his chest.

“What? If you're all randy from Mr. Angry-Fucker, I think I should get to benefit,” Ang said with a serious face. She snorted.

“I am not randy, and I don't think so,” she laughed, pushing at him.

“Oh c'mon, sweetie, it'll be quick. You always love it,” he begged, pouting out his bottom lip. She put both hands on his chest.

“I'll take a rain check.”

He let up when a disgruntled looking soccer-mom shoved her way out past them. Tate crossed her eyes at him and then danced off in to the locker room. Gathering her shower stuff together, she headed under the spray.

She had met Angier at a frat party, five years ago. Her rebellious phase had been in full swing. Streaks of color in her hair, way too much eye makeup – she might have even had her eyebrow pierced. It was the first night Tate had ever tried coke, and she had felt like a live wire, running around the building. She wanted to talk to everyone, meet everyone. Ang had cornered her. A lanky six-foot-four topped with light brown hair and striking gray eyes, he was very good looking. She had thought he was going to hit on her, but he had something else in mind.

He had asked her if she would be interested in doing a porno with him.

Tate had thought it was a joke at first, but he had been very serious. She had a great body, he told her. Perfect smile, good teeth. Great for porn. She politely declined. He had shrugged it off, but then invited her to come to a taping, get a “feel” for it, maybe. It was one of the most surreal moments she'd ever had with another person.

They had been best friends ever since.

Tate never got in to porn, but Ang swore by it. He did gay, straight, “selfie” porn – he would do pretty much anything. He explained that although he was straight, for the right price he could be just about anything someone wanted him to be; she knew that feeling, having been desperate for money in those days. Since she wouldn't do porn, he taught her the ways of coupon clipping.

After a drunken night at a wine tasting – free, of course – they slept together for the first time. Ang came the closest, of anyone she had ever been with, to making her feel the way Jameson had made her feel. And best of all, he didn't have any expectations of her. Sex was just sex to Ang. Almost like exercising. Something that had to be done to stay healthy, and it felt super good – bonus! But it didn't really mean anything to him beyond that, which made it easy to be with him. He was also a total freak, so she never felt bad about her own preferences, the way she sometimes did with other men. Ang was like a security blanket. A sexy, naughty, deviant, security blanket.

“What's taking you so long!?” Ang's voice boomed through the locker room while Tate held her head under a hand dryer. A couple ladies shrieked, but Tate just laughed. She righted herself, ran her fingers through her black locks, and then grabbed her stuff, hurrying out to meet him.

“I'm a girl, I take longer to look presentable,” she pointed out.

“What, exactly, looks presentable about you?” he asked, and she elbowed him in the stomach.

“Shut up.”

“So,” he began as they pushed their way outside. “Seriously. Are you going to see him again?”

“No. I mean, why would I? Unless he needs a waiter at his firm, I don't think I'll be hearing from him,” Tate replied, bouncing her gym bag off her knees.

“So. You could call him, you know where he works,” Ang pointed out. She scrunched up her nose.

“Why on earth would I want to call him?”

“Because you still think about him,” Ang replied, and she barked out a laugh.

“I do not. I told you, I didn't even recognize him at first,” she reminded him. Ang shook his head.

“But you compare every guy you're with to him. I've pulled some of my best moves on you – remember the swing!? – and I still don't stack up,” he said. She stopped laughing.

“I do not. You're amazing, you know that.”

“Well, duh, but I can tell. I'm good at these things – have to be, in my line of work. I'm pretty good, I can tell I'm one of your faves, but I'm not him,” he finished. She frowned. She didn't like this subject. She did not compare every guy to Jameson Kane.

Did she?

How could she? She'd only slept with him once. Surely he hadn't left that big of an impression on her.

She had to change the channel.

“If you're so good at sizing sex up, how do I stack up against all the people you've slept with? It's not really fair, I have to compete with both sexes – twice the competition,” Tate joked.

“Bitch, please. If I could find a woman who fucks like you, and would let me actually film it and sell it for money, I would marry her,” Ang said with a straight face. She laughed.

“That's what I like to hear.”

He walked her up to her apartment and stayed for a little while, making flirty comments at Rusty. It wasn't right, Rus had a huge crush on him. Tate had tried to explain to her that Ang didn't really date, wasn't looking for a relationship, but it didn't stop Rus from hoping. Tate was beginning to think she'd have to share some of her and Ang's dirtier stories, in hopes of scaring her roommate off from him. Rus was a sweetheart – sex swings and ball gags probably weren't her thing.

“Oh! I forgot, you left your cell phone here – it rang a whole bunch,” Rus said, after Ang had danced out the door. Tate grabbed the phone off the table, squinting at the screen. It was the temp agency she worked for – a new job? Score. She called them back.

“Hi, Tatum, how are you?” the temp agency manager, Carla, breathed down the phone line.

“Super dooper. You called me, like eight times? What's up?” Tate asked, rifling through a bowl of of mixed nuts and goodies.

“I've got a job for you, if you're interested!” Carla breathed.

“Sure. What is it?” Tate said around a mouthful of food.

“A law firm downtown is having a conference. Their regular assistant is sick and they have an important meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. You won't have to perform her normal duties, just show up for the meeting and serve water, muffins, that kind of stuff. Quick and easy,” Carla's voice got even breathier.

How does she talk like that? Did she take lessons?

“Sounds like my kind of job. What should I wear?” Tate asked.

“Business attire. If you have a dress that works, that would be great, but a skirt, or trousers, and button down blouse would be fine. Be there at one o'clock sharp, okay?” Breathy McBreather breathed.

“Sure, sure. Where is it at?”

“Um ...,” Carla prattled off the address, her voice barely a whisper. “And make sure you're on time. They made a big deal out of that. They requested you especially, you know.”

Tate choked on an almond.

“Me!? Why me?” she managed to cough out.

“I don't know. Said they'd seen your work. I guess you did a really great job! One o'clock, remember!” Carla's breathy voice almost sang.

“Remembered.”

Tate stared down at her phone after she'd ended the call. She could kinda remember temping for a lawyer, but it wasn't like she'd done anything amazing. At least she didn't think so. She wasn't even sure if it was for the same law firm, but maybe it was; maybe her filing skills were super impressive. Legendary. Maybe she'd blown the guy. Who knows.

Oh well. A job was a job. She wandered in to her room and spent the next hour digging through her closet, seeing if she had anything that fit the bill.