"What the fuck is this?" he asked, running his fingers over the welt on her shoulder.
"Jesus, you startled me!" Tate snapped, then looked at where his fingers were touching.
"Did he do this to you?" Ang asked, leaning in close to the bite mark.
"No, I was trying to chew through my own shoulder, so I could escape," Tate laughed. Ang glared at her. He had gone from upset to angry, very quickly.
"Are those teeth? What the fuck, Tate? That looks painful," he snapped. She laughed.
"You're joking, right?"
"And your legs! What the fuck happened!?" he demanded, his hands gripping her thighs. Her towel had ridden up, exposing her bruises. They both stared down at her lap.
"What the fuck do you think happened? Ang, it's not like any of this is new to you. A couple weeks ago, you practically gave me a concussion, when you were practicing one of your 'moves' for your movies," she used air quotes, making a face at him.
"That's a little different, Tate. I've been fucking you for five years. This guy just found you two days ago, and you're letting him tear chunks out of you!?" Ang's voice was getting loud. Tate scowled and climbed off his lap, holding the towel secure around her body.
"That guy found me seven years ago, and not one mark on my body is unwanted, or was unasked for. If you're gonna give me a bunch of shit, then maybe you should go," she growled, stomping over to her door. Ang stayed on her bed, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're totally right. I'm just not ..., I'm not used to seeing that, so quickly, with you. I've probably left bigger and worse marks," he apologized. She nodded.
"No shit."
"Look, I said I'm sorry. I came over here with this great idea to leave marks of my own all over you, and then I find out some guy got there first. Kind of puts a damper on my plans," Ang laughed, and she had trouble containing her own smile. It sounded so ridiculous when said out loud.
We are ridiculous.
"Well, sorry, but you knew where I was last night," she replied. He groaned and fell back onto the bed.
"Arrrrrrg, I just wanted to get laid. Is your roomie here?" he asked, lifting his head and giving her a sideways smile.
"No way, buddy. You are never laying a finger on Rus," Tate laughed, turning and digging some underwear out of her dresser.
"Why not? You said she's hot for me. I think she's hot. Sounds like a party," he said from behind her. She snorted and managed to pull on the underwear while still wearing the towel.
"As far as you're concerned, Rus is the Virgin fuckin' Mary. Off limits," Tate replied. She let the towel drop and put on her bra. She turned around and Ang's eyes raked over her body, but he didn't say anything.
"Rus is a virgin?" he asked. She shook her head, shaking a tiny skirt out of the pile of clothing and sliding it on.
"No, but as far as you're concerned, she might as well be. She's a beautiful, tiny, angel, sent from heaven to be sweet and strawberry blonde. You are not allowed to corrupt that. You are not fucking her," Tate stated, staring him in the eye.
"You ruin all my fun."
"You have like a ton of people on speed dial who would jump on you if you so much as breathed in their direction. Call one of them," she suggested, squeezing herself in to a tiny cropped top that had long sleeves and a scoop neck.
"But I wanted my honey-bunny, and you won't play with me," he said in a whiny voice. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her mirror, spreading out her makeup supplies.
"Stop being ridiculous," she told him. He leapt off the bed.
"I'll go be a normal person, drown my sorrows, find some whore to take home. Wanna crash a show this weekend? I've got a guy who will let us sneak in during the second act," Ang offered, leaning against her doorway.
"Totally. And see if you can find any more gym stuff – I actually kinda liked the Zumba class," she laughed. He nodded.
"I'll keep my eyes peeled. See you later, don't let Mr. Mean take too many bites out of you," he cautioned her. She laughed again.
"He's in Manhattan for the weekend, so I'll be bite free for a couple days," she assured Ang. He thumped on her door and then took off down the hallway.
"Later, kitty-cat," he called out.
"Bye!"
She did her makeup heavy, but left her hair to air dry – sometimes the unpolished look worked really well on her. She finished off her outfit with a pair of wedge boots that went to her knees and then grabbed a large jacket, covering everything up for the bus ride to work.
The bar she worked in was always popular, though Thursday wasn't as rowdy as the actual weekend. The next night was better, the Red Sox had won a home game, and the city went crazy. Tate wore a baseball jersey and Rus even got her to do a line dance on the bar top. They wound up getting wasted at a hotel party afterwards. Though she had a very tantalizing offer to join some guy for a sexual romp in the hotel's lobby bathroom, she declined. Even in a drunken haze, Tate held out. She would try to be a good girl till she heard from Jameson.
Her will power didn't hold out very long. Saturday night, she stood behind the bar, clapping and moving her body to the beat of the song that was playing. She was laughing at something one of the regulars was saying, when someone caught her eye.
Ang was walking through the room, a head taller than most people. It wasn't often that he came to see her at work, and she gave a broad smile in his direction. He was making his way towards the bar, but he wasn't looking at her. He was flirting and having eye-sex with some sexy Korean girl as he moved through the crowd.
Tate didn't think she was a nymphomaniac; she could go for long periods of time without sex, and had done so. But she did like it a lot and had a tendency to use it as a kind of therapy. Angry at someone? Have angry sex. Sad about something? Have fun sex. Just plain old bored? Have exciting sex.
And when she was in the mood, she had a lot of trouble resisting. It was like a switch that she couldn't turn off. She had been thinking about Jameson non-stop, remembering their night and morning together in vivid detail. Fantasizing about what she would do to him when he got home. What he would do to her. Her switch was halfway flipped already, and as Tate watched Ang work his magic on the girls in the bar, the switch completely flipped on.
He was wearing a long jacket, the kind with a stiff, stand up collar that buttoned all the way to the chin – he looked stylish and handsome. His hair was messy, as usual, and his grey eyes were smiling, as usual. He had an impish smile, one that some how managed to look innocent and naughty at the same time, and she knew it drove most women nuts. It was in full effect, and Tate wasn't immune to it – add that to the fact that his body was almost as familiar to her as her own, and it was hard to resist him. She took a deep breath through her nose, letting her eyes wander over his frame.
Sunday night is so far away ...,
When she dragged her eyes back up to his face, he was looking right at her. Smirking. He said something to the girl in front of him and then continued on his journey. He jostled and moved people out of the way, until he was leaning against the bar across from her. She stayed in her spot, still moving a little to the music.
"Well, well, sweetie pea, how're things?" Ang asked in his sexy voice, his eyes traveling up and down her body before going back to staring her in the face.
"Good. Busy," Tate replied.
"You don't look very busy," he pointed out. She shrugged.
"Lull in orders. We still going to the theatre?" she asked. He squinted his eyes at her.
"Hmmm, I don't think so," he replied. She finally moved forward, leaning against the bar in front of him.
"Why not? I thought you wanted to hang out," she said.
"I do. But I think little Tater-tot has something other than dinner and a show in mind," he told her. She laughed.
"Oh, there will definitely be a show later."
They didn't even make it till "later". When Tate went on break twenty minutes later, Ang followed her in to the back of the bar and then dragged her outside. Pressed her up against a wall, raked his hands over her body. He had borrowed his roommate's car, and when it started to rain, he pulled her in to the backseat with him. As his tongue ran across Jameson's fading bite mark, she groaned and dragged her fingernails across his scalp.
I should really feel like a bad person most of the time.
*
"Do you always keep it this hot?"
Tatum was laying on the floor in Jameson's library, a little ways back from the wingback chairs. The fire was raging again and the room was almost stifling. Sweat was causing her hair to stick to her face, her shirt to stick to her skin. Jameson was in his chair, his feet stretched towards the fire. The heat didn't seem to bother him.