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.
~8~
It felt like a lot longer than three days. She'd spent most of the last day with Ang. For the first time since ..., since Jameson had reentered her life, she felt like she was back to the same old friendship she'd always had with Ang, just minus the sex. It was nice. It was amazing. She actually cried a little when he left to go home. He called her a stupid cow and kissed her goodbye.
Sanders pick her up, but instead of driving her straight home, Tate convinced him to stop and have dinner with her. She apologized for making him feel like he had to leave, and explained that she had just wanted some time. Some time to pretend to be the “old her”, so she could figure out exactly who the “new her” was and what that person wanted.
“Did you figure it out?” Sanders asked. She smiled at him.
“I think I did.”
By the time they pulled up in front of the house in Weston, it was after seven o'clock at night. She had guessed that Jameson would be in a foul mood, and Sanders warned that he would be in a foul mood, but she didn't care. She was actually excited to see him. Be in his presence. The couple days a
part had rejuvenated her. Made her really like him again. Sometimes, loving a person was easy, the heart went and did that all on its own. Liking a person, however, was a little more difficult. That involved the brain. And the brain was a fickle bitch.
He wasn't waiting for her at the door, as he had a tendency to do whenever she was tardy. In fact, the whole house was mostly dark. She made a face at Sanders, laughing at him as he carried her bag upstairs. Then she crept down the hallway, to the only light source in the house.
A fire was raging.
“Hello,” Tate called out softly, edging into his library. It was her first time entering the room, since he had dumped her in there, that her skin didn't crawl.
“You came back. Shocker,” Jameson commented. He was sitting in one of the wing back chairs, facing the flames. So close, she worried he'd burn his feet.
So, the same spot as always.
“Ooohhh, there's a tone. Someone is feisty already,” she teased, walking over to the couch and plopping down on it, folding her legs under herself. He didn't move.
“Just surprised. It had occured to me that this was all an elaborate ruse, a way to sneak out of my clutches,” he told her. She laughed.
“You give me too much credit. Wasn't Sandy talking to you? I was a good girl, all week,” she assured him.
“I highly doubt that, and sometimes I think Sanders is working for you, and against me. Though he did inform me of a kiss,” Jameson said.
“Such a tattle tale. Yes, there was a kiss. I hope he also told you that I put a stop to the kiss, and told Nick that I wouldn't be running away with him to his castle in Arizona,” she stressed.
“There was some mention of that. Mostly babbling. I try to ignore him when he gets to the facts.”
“Obviously.”
“Shut up.”
“Nothing happened, Jameson. I'm here,” she pointed out.
Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3) Page 13