"No, Ms. O'Shea."
"Are you ever going to call me Tate, like I asked you to?"
"Probably not, Ms. O'Shea."
She had an idea. She got the impression that Sanders and Jameson virtually never left the house, unless it was to go to Jameson's office. Not right. Jameson hadn't ever asked to go back to her place, or taken her anywhere fancy. Tate loved every second she spent alone with him, but she didn't want to be someone's dirty laundry, either.
"Do you have any newspapers, Sandy?" she asked, climbing to her feet.
"Several. Which would you prefer, New York Times? LA Times?" he listed them off.
"Just Boston papers, any you got. And any weekly periodicals you have," she added, running her hands over her legs to shake off any carpet dust. She was standing in front of Sanders only wearing knee high socks, boy-briefs style underwear, and a tight white tank top. She should probably feel bad, she didn't like to make people feel uncomfortable – but if Sanders was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. If anything, he looked bored.
"Is that it?" he asked.
"Just that. Hurry back, it gets lonely in here," she teased him. He rolled his eyes and headed out of the library. She laughed and then went over to the fireplace, determined to figure out how to turn it down.
*
Jameson strode back in to his library just over two hours later, and was in for a little shock. The fire was much smaller, and the over head lights were turned on – he almost never used them, himself. Tate was sitting cross legged in the middle of his floor, surrounded by newspapers and clippings. She was cutting something out of one of the papers, the tip of her tongue visible at the corner of her mouth.
Almost cute.
"What are you doing?" he asked, striding through the mess of papers.
She looked up at him and broke in to a big smile. He had to steel himself against it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get too comfortable with her, and Jameson tried to make it a habit to never get too comfortable.
"Coupon clipping!" Tate responded in an excited voice.
"Excuse me?"
"When I first met Ang," she started. He had never met the man, but Jameson already kind of hated her best friend. "I was really desperate for money. My jobs sucked, I was a shitty waitress. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ang showed me how far coupons can get you. He goes on Groupon all the time, too. We get in to places free, get all kinds of free food, and free swag. It's pretty awesome."
"'Awesome.' Why are you doing that here, now?" Jameson pressed. She smiled up at him again, only this time it was a devilish smile. That was the smile he liked, the one he wanted to slap off her face.
"Because I'm taking you out on the city, mister. You and Sanders. We're gonna go out, and you're gonna live like a real urban-ite for a day," she informed him. He laughed.
"There is no fucking way I am ever fucking doing that, so get that out of your fucking mind, right fucking now," he suggested. She shook her head.
"Oh, you're going to do it, and afterwards we're going to a dinner party. I had already agreed to go to dinner at a friend's house. You can come with me," she told him. He scowled.
"And if I don't go?" he asked. Tate shrugged.
"Not that big of a deal. We can just officially declare you the king of all pussies. And not in the good way. You don't have to go, I can go as Ang's date," she assured him.
"I guess I'm going to a fucking dinner on the bad side of Boston. You get two hours, no more," he told her. She laughed.
"You hear that Sandy, you're getting out of here!" she called out. Jameson hadn't even realized the other man was in the room – he was in for another shock. Sanders was behind the desk, snipping and cutting away at a newspaper, as well.
"Sounds exhilarating. If no one requires my services anymore, I'm going to get back to work," Sanders said, getting up from his seat. Jameson nodded.
"We're not doing early tomorrow, so sleep in as late as you want," he told him. Sanders nodded, and walked forwards. Tate held up her hand, palm facing backwards.
"Up top, Sandy," she said, her eyes never leaving the paper she was scanning. Sanders high fived her and then continued out of the room. Jameson stared after him.
What just happened?
"I think he likes you," he mumbled. Tate shrugged.
"Most people do. I'm pretty fuckin' awesome," she told him. He burst out laughing and walked over to her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet.
"Yes, but usually, Sanders doesn't like anybody," Jameson laughed, pulling the scissors out of her hand and tugging her away from the sea of newspapers.
"But I wasn't done. What are you doing?" she asked.
"Oh, you're done. Time for good girls to go upstairs and show me how bad they can be," Jameson told her.
"I don't think there's very much that's good about me anymore," she laughed, following him out of the room.
"I think you have no idea what bad really is – you almost have too much good," he replied.
"I don't think -,"
"Stop arguing, or I'll make you crawl up the stairs."
Tate was silent for about two seconds, and then turned in to a prosecuting attorney, arguing all the points on how she couldn't possibly be good. Jameson stopped moving, smiling at her back as she started up the stairs. Then he reached forward and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg out from underneath her. She went to her knees, hands flying out to catch herself.
"Shit!" she cursed. He moved a few steps ahead of her, then squatted down and fisted his hand in her hair.
"Why are you always set on defying me, baby girl?" he asked, his voice low as he pulled her hair, forcing her head up towards his own. She looked up at him, a smile playing on the edge of her lips.
"Because it's always so much fun."
"You are such a mindfuck, Tate. Something is wrong with you, that you want to be treated like this, that you like being a whore," he hissed at her. She chuckled low in her throat.
"Hmmm, but really, what does all that say about you? That you want to treat someone like this? That you want to be with a whore?" she replied.
"I've made peace with my desires."
"Like you said, we're the same animal. You had a bad weekend. Let's go upstairs, and you can take it out on me," she whispered. He tugged harder on her hair and she raised up onto her knees.
"Sounds like that works out more in your favor, than mine," he pointed out. She laughed, reaching out to scratch her nails down his arm.
"Baby, all I do is give you favors. You should feel blessed, to have such an accomodating whore," she purred. He snorted and shoved her forward, forcing her back onto her hands.
"Burdened is more like it. Now fucking crawl."
And she did, all the way to his bedroom.
Maybe I should keep this one ...,
~7~
A week later, Tate rushed around her apartment, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. She grabbed various articles of clothing, shoving them in to an oversized purse. She had stayed at Jameson's for most of the last week – even gone back to his place after her shifts at the bar – and she didn't know how this week was going to go, but she wanted enough clothing to cover all her bases. She snorted at that thought.
Not that I wear much clothing.
It was August in Boston, which meant hot and humid – but Jameson insisted on keeping the house at near boiling temperatures. She pretty much lived in her underwear, tank tops, and socks when she was there. If it bothered Sanders, he didn't show it, so she didn't think twice about doing it.
Tate also liked to think that she and Sanders were developing a friendship of sorts. The kind where only one friend talks, and the other just stares and says the bare minimum. Friendship-ish.
That morning, she had managed to drag them in to downtown Boston to play at being poor with her. She got them free lunch, took them through a Sunday market, forced Sanders to try on ridiculous clothing. Jameson wasn't as easy, he simply refused to do anything.
But he went along with her, and even laughed when she held Sanders' hand and told a clerk that he had just proposed, so could they, please, join in on the champagne brunch the store was throwing for newly-engaged people? Jameson laughed even harder when she really sold the act by planting a big kiss on Sanders' mouth – tongue and everything. The really shocking part was Sanders kissing her back. Cheeky man.
But then Jameson got called in to work; a client was having some sort of financial crisis. Tate let him go, but only after making him promise to pick her up at six o'clock. He had said he would go to her dinner, and she was holding him to it.