Home now.
By me saying I'm home, that means I want you home.
Where the fuck are you?
Pick up your phone.
If you fuck Angier, I will beat the shit out of him.
You better not be fucking Angier.
I am going to kill Angier.
Please text or call.
The last text actually made her the most nervous. Angry, cursing Jameson was normal. Soft, gentle Jameson was a completely different beast. It was the calm before the storm. It usually meant trouble, and not always the sexy kind.
She didn't like hurting his feelings, even if it was on accident.
“Why didn't you tell me!? He's been texting for the last two hours!” Tate snapped, following Ang onto the elevator and smacking him in the arm. He shoved her away and hit the button for their floor.
“Hey, he said we could do whatever we wanted. I wanted to spend the evening alone with my bestie. It used to be just the two of us, remember? Us against the world. Now we're lucky if we see each other every other month,” Ang pointed out. Tate swallowed her sarcastic remark. Two men, two guilt trips. Not fair. At least with Jameson, she could seduce him into submission. Ang was shit out of luck.
“I'm sorry. You're right. And I had a great time,” Tate said, stumbling into the wall as the elevator stopped at a floor. The doors slid open and Ang grabbed her hand, yanking her close as a large group of young guys got on the elevator. They looked to be in their early-twenties, and from either America or Canada.
“Hey, bro, 'sup,” one guy said, doing the head nod thing at Ang.
“Hey,” he responded, smiling down at them. Tate hiccuped and tried not to laugh. One of the guys kept staring at Ang, though. Looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away. Then turned towards him.
“This is gonna sound crazy,” he started, “but you look just like -,”
“I am,” Ang answered, cutting him off.
“No way!”
“Way.”
“Dudes! This is that guy, from the movie last night!”
Tate really started laughing. Ang just rolled his eyes, managed a wave as the younger guys all guffawed and high-fived.
“Yeah, that's me,” he said, his smiled strained.
“Can I get a picture with you!?”
“I don't think that's -,”
FLASH.
Tate was just drunk enough to roll with it, so she organized everyone into a pile in a corner, so one of the guys could take a selfie of all of them. Then they all took turns taking individual pictures with Ang, who was looking less and less pleased with the adoration. Tate egged them all on, getting a thrill out of seeing him so uncomfortable.
“Get in here!” one of the guys suddenly demanded, waving his arm at Tate.
“Me!? No, no, you don't want a pic of me, I'm nobody,” Tate laughed. Ang gasped.
“Nobody!? How could you say that, after all those awards you just won!?” he asked. She blinked at him.
“Huh?”
“Guys, you know who this is, right?” Ang asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him.
“She, uh, she looks kinda familiar?” one of the dudes said, but it sounded more like he was guessing.
“This chick right here just won FOUR awards at the AVNs, for her anal scenes! She's the best in the business!” Ang went on.
“What!?” Tate shrieked.
Maybe teased him too much.
“Oh, that's probably why we don't recognize her.”
“Yeah, usually the camera is pointed a little lower on this one. C'mon, get in here, one more selfie!” Ang offered, wrapping his arm tightly around Tate so she couldn't get away.
Mother fucker.
Another round of pictures was taken. The elevator had long since stopped at a floor, where the boys had originally planned on getting off. But they kept laughing and taking pictures, holding the doors open.
“You guys wanna party with us!?” one of the guys asked, gesturing down the hallway.
“Oh, no way, we've gotta practice for a shoot tomorrow,” Ang explained with a heavy sigh, wrapping his arm around her hips. She punched him in the chest.
“No we -,”
“Oh man! Like a porn shoot!?” their new friends practically shouted, beside themselves with excitement.
“What other kind? Have a good night, guys,” Ang winked at them, lowering his head towards Tate.
“Get it on, man! Can't wait to see this movie!”
“Ang,” Tate warned, “don't you do it. I will kick you in the -,”
His lips entirely covered her own, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. Tate hadn't kissed Ang in a long time, she'd forgotten how much tongue he liked. The boys in the hall hooted and hollered, shouting words of encouragement to Ang. She snorted, pushing against his shoulders. He just moved them across the elevator, pushing her up against the far wall. This earned another round of hollering, and then the elevator doors slid shut.
But Ang didn't let up. It took a real shove to get him off of her.
“What the fuck was that!? Award for anal!?” she demanded, wiggling against his hold.
“Hey, you started it, making them take all those pictures. And it wasn't too far from the truth, you love anal,” he pointed out.
“'Love' is a stretch. What are you doing? Get off of me,” Tate grumbled, yanking at his arm. When he still didn't let go, she glared up at him. He was staring down at her, a very serious look on his face. An almost sad look. She stopped moving.
“Tate,” Ang sighed her name, moving one arm so he could trace a finger down the side of her cheek.
Oh god. I'm not drunk enough for this. Please don't let him say something weird.
“What's wrong?” she asked, her voice soft.
“I just ..., miss you. You know?” he said with a laugh, twisting some of her hair around his finger.
“I miss you, too, Ang, but that doesn't mean you get to make out with me in an elevator,” Tate tried to joke, grabbing his free hand and linking their fingers.
“That's not what this is,” he said quietly, his eyes wandering over her face. “I just know that it's going to be a long time before we see each other again. A long time before we have a day to just be us, together. Maybe never.”
Ridiculously, Tate felt like crying.
“Why are you saying that? We still have the rest of this trip, and I can come visit you, and we can -,”
He kissed her again, and this time Tate allowed it. It was different. It was soft, and it was sad. It was like he was saying goodbye, the only way he really knew how. She held onto his hand even tighter, pressing it to her chest.
“You were always my fave, Tater tot,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Ang, what is going on?” Tate whispered, staring up at him.
He didn't answer her. Just then, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, startling her. They were on their floor. Even more startling was Jameson, standing in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. One of his eyebrows cocked up as he took in the scene, Ang holding Tate, pressing her up against a wall.
“Interesting,” Jameson murmured. Ang took a deep breath, then smiled. Turned to face the door.
“Hey, Satan, you said do whatever we want,” he teased, then dipped Tate, practically licking the inside of her mouth. She made gagging noises.
“Very funny, Angier.”
Ang finally let her go, but not before slapping her on the ass hard enough to send her stumbling into Jameson. He saluted them and said goodnight, then strolled down the hall towards his room, whistling a little tune. Tate stared after him with her jaw hanging open.
What the hell is going on!?
“What the hell was that?” Jameson's words mimicked her thoughts.
“I swear, I have no idea. One minute, we're riding in the elevator with a bunch of his groupies. Next thing I know, he's kissing me like he's gonna die tomorrow,” Tate tried to explain.
“Ah.”
/>
And that was it. Jameson turned and started walking back towards the room. Tate's mind was blown. Jameson hated it when Ang touched her. Hated it when Ang so much as breathed in her direction. She had just told him that Ang had kissed her, and he didn't care!?
“Is there something I'm missing!?” Tate called out, stumbling after him. Jameson held the door open to their room and let her go inside ahead of him.
“What do you mean?” he asked, taking her purse from her and tossing it onto a counter.
“Ang was being all weird, and you're not mad, and ... and ... I can't get this off,” Tate grumbled, hopping around on one leg as she tried to pull her sandal off. It finally came free and she chucked it over her shoulder.
“You want me to be mad?” Jameson asked, slowly moving to stand in front of her.
“You're always mad, it's one of the things I love most about you,” Tate laughed, and got her other shoe free. She threw that one, as well.
“Hmmm, one of the things. And what do you love the most about me?” he questioned in a slow voice.
“It's a toss up,” Tate answered, yawning while she swept her hair up into a ponytail.
“Between what and what?”
“Your dick and your mouth.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, by mouth, I mean words. How you talk.”
“Not much better.”
She snickered and moved out onto the balcony. The breeze was stronger that high up, lifting and moving her hair around. She sighed and pressed her forearms against the railing, leaned over it. Jameson came out and copied her stance, leaning against the railing as well.
“You know I don't mean that,” Tate said in a soft voice.
“Excuse me?”
“The thing I love most about you is you,” Tate tried to explain, then hiccuped. He laughed and moved behind her, putting his hands on the railing on either side of her.
“That would be much sweeter if you weren't drunk,” he pointed out.
“I'm not drunk. Just ..., tipsy,” she offered. He laughed again, but it was a dark sound, and then she felt his teeth against her shoulder.
“Tipsy enough to let Angier put his tongue in your mouth,” he growled.
“Aha, I knew it, you are angry,” she teased, then yelped when his teeth nipped particularly hard.
“According to you, I'm always angry. Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, moving back from her a little.
“I did,” she answered honestly, shivering as she felt his fingers run through her ponytail.
“Did Angier get anything else inside you?”
“Wouldn't you like to know,” she joked, then gasped as he yanked back hard on her hair.
“You wouldn't appreciate finding me with my tongue down Isadora's throat,” he hissed.
“No, I wouldn't.”
He let go of her hair and turned her around, so she was facing him.
“Did you like it?” he demanded. She barked out a laugh.
“What kind of question is that? It was a kiss, of course I liked it. Kissing is fun,” she replied. He glared at her.
“Stop being a smart ass.”
“I didn't ask him to kiss me, I didn't want him to, I tried to get him to stop. Jesus, when did you become Mr. Insecurity?” Tate questioned.
“Right around when I caught my girlfriend deep throating another man's tongue,” he snapped back.
“Oh, for fuck's sake. You know, I was actually having a good time, so if you're gonna keep acting like a bitch, then I'd rather finish the night somewhere else,” she warned him.
“Watch it,” he countered.
“No. I didn't do anything wrong, and you're throwing a hissy fit!”
“A what?”
“A hissy fit, you know – that thing little girls do when they don't get their way.”
When his hand wrapped around her throat, Tate wondered if maybe she'd pushed him too far.
Or not far enough ...
“Does this feel like something a little girl does?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. She took a deep breath through her nose.
“Feels like something a bitch does,” she replied.
His fingernails dug in as he squeezed and air became difficult to come by.
“How come Angier gets to maul you in an elevator, but I try to have a conversation, and I get back talk and arguments?” Jameson growled. She smiled.
“Because it's so much funner,” she teased, her voice little more than a breath.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Alright.”
Angier may have gotten to maul her in an elevator, but Jameson got to strip her bare on a balcony. Ate her out like he was starving for her. Then bent her over that railing and fucked her so hard, security came to the door to investigate all the screaming and cursing.
Best night ever.
~10~
Sometimes Jameson tried to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Tate. Sure, from the first moment he'd seen her, she'd managed to steal a small piece of his heart. But when he'd been unequivocally in love with Tatum O'Shea, that was harder to peg down.
When he'd hurt her feelings by calling her stupid, back when they'd first started sleeping together, that's when he'd first realized he cared about her. Thought of her as more than just sex. Then at her parent's house, when Robert had hit her. That was the first moment when he thought of her as truly belonging to him, as something no one else was worthy of touching. Only him.
When he was in Berlin and he had seen newspapers proclaiming that she was dating Nick Castille, the first baseman for the Boston Red Sox. That's when he knew he had a problem. He'd been hurt. He'd forgotten what that felt like; Tatum O'Shea had reminded him.
Seeing her in the hospital, that had hurt his soul. Her yelling at him that she wished he didn't exist, that had killed him inside. Her not trusting him, not believing him while they were in Spain, that had hurt his heart.
But the pearls.
She had kept it together for a lot of Spain. Sure, they fought, she yelled at him. But she didn't ask him why. Never really questioned why he'd done what he'd done. Jameson was a selfish, self-centered asshole, he knew this, so he never thought to question her lack of questioning.
But the pearls.
She had a melt down in an alley in Paris. Crying in a way he'd never seen before; not from Tate. No, Tatum O'Shea was too strong for tears, real tears. But there they were, as she sobbed and screamed. Demanded to know how he could do something like that to her, why did he do something like that to her?
How could I have done that to her?
Jameson would later tell Tate that was the moment when he realized she was in love with him.
What he never told her was that was the moment he fully realized that he was in love with her, too.
~11~
“I can't see you,” Tate whined.
“How about now?”
“I see nostrils and chin.”
“At least they're sexy nostrils.”
“No such thing.”
“Okay, how about now?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, there's that beautiful smile.”
Nick Castille laughed, raking his hand through his hair. It was midnight in Tucson, Arizona. Which equaled ten in the morning in Hong Kong. Nick had texted her, asking her to make some time to Skype with him. He wanted to see her, he said. It had been a long time. So he agreed to stay up late if she got up early.
They had kept in touch. She would always have a special place in her heart for Nick. Sure, in a way, he had tried to subtly come between her and Jameson – as Jameson was fond of pointing out. But Nick had also been ridiculously understanding, beyond forgiving, and he'd always allowed her to do her thing, with no questions and no judgement. When she had picked Jameson over him, Nick hadn't even gotten that upset. He had wished them well.
Over the course of the last two years, they had managed to see each other. When he was in Boston for the baseball season, sometimes they
would all go out for lunch. When Sanders had lived at home, she would drag him to baseball games. Jameson wasn't exactly in love with Nick, but he wasn't threatened by him, either. Still, the devil didn't take kindly to men who had tried to steal his succubus, so it would be a long time before Nick was welcome in the Weston house. Most of Tate's interactions with Nick were limited to online.
“So how are you?” he asked, sipping at something in a coffee mug.
“Good, good. It's been fun here,” she assured him.
“That's good. When do you think you'll be coming home?” he continued.
“I don't know, probably soon. Jameson came here to see his lawyer, who was actually in another city. They got together yesterday – Jameson's actually with him right now,” Tate explained. “So I guess as soon as they're done doing whatever it is they're doing, we'll head home.”
“Awesome. Sounds good. How's Ang?”
Tate snorted, resting her chin on her hands. She was laying on her stomach on the floor, in the middle of the suite's living room. She had a laptop opened in front of her, within arms reach.
“Good. Kinda weird, actually. We went out last night, and before I got back to my room, he got all, like, emotional, or something. I thought he was gonna tell me he had cancer,” she recapped.
“Nah, he's probably just glad to be back with his buddy again. You're a hard person to miss,” Nick assured her.
“Pfffft. You don't miss me,” she teased.
“I miss your jokes.”
“My jokes are horrible.”
“Yeah, they make mine look better in comparison.”
“Speaking of better looking, is there any chance I can get a peek?” she asked, smiling big, hoping that would butter him up.
“Tate, it's midnight here,” Nick pointed out, but he had trouble holding back his smile. He had a horrible poker face.
“I know, I know, but you know I love it,” she begged, pouting her lips.
“Yeah, yeah, you only talk to me for one reason anymore,” he grumbled as he leaned out of the camera's view.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 89