Tatum woke up around three in the morning to catch him staring at her, and they started talking. They talked for a long time. It was the first time they had ever spent the night together and not had sex. Before, it would have seemed pointless.
It didn't seem so pointless anymore.
She didn't talk about her family, didn't really acknowledge that weekend at all. Though the next day, she did lock herself away in a guest room for about an hour, on the phone to Ang. When she emerged, she was smiling, but her eyes were puffy and red. Apparently she could discuss things with Ang, but not with Jameson. He tried not to let it bother him. They had gone to some different stage in their relationship, but they weren't quite ready to start sharing their feelings with each other.
It took her a while to get comfortable in her own skin again, but after a couple days, Tate was back to her old self. Running around in her underwear. Clipping coupons. Teasing Sanders. Begging Jameson to do unspeakable things to her. He spent most of his days in Boston, and she would go in to town with him, spend her days doing only god knew what with Ang and Rusty. But on the days she didn't work at the bar, she would always show up outside his office building at six o'clock. She always went home with him.
He wasn't sure exactly what was going on between them. Jameson hadn't been lying in the beginning, he didn't want a girlfriend – a girlfriend usually meant exclusivity, and he liked to have sex with other people. Though sometimes, knowing Tatum was at home and that she not only liked hearing about his one-night stands, but that they actually got her hot, made it even more enticing for him to go out and have sex with random women.
So point for her.
But he also wasn't in the market to get married, and say what she wanted, Tate was a chick, at her core. Sooner or later, she would want some sort of a commitment that he just wouldn't, and couldn't really, give her. Jameson liked his life exactly the way it was; every relationship he'd ever had, had ended on a sour note. If they tried to make their relationship in to something more, it would just end badly, too.
It was just fun and games between them, and it had to stay that way.
She and Sanders had also gotten ridiculously close, ever since the weekend get-away to the O'Shea compound. They would stay up till all hours, just sitting in the kitchen, Tate babbling on and onto him – as far as Jameson could tell, Sanders virtually never said anything back. But it seemed to work for them.
Sometimes, Jameson would come out of work to discover his car sitting alone at the curb, and the two of them would be at a restaurant somewhere. Or in a cafe. Milling around a shop. One time he couldn't find them at all, and it took forty-five minutes and eight phone calls to finally get ahold of Sanders – something that had never happened in the past. Sanders and Tate had gotten distracted by some live show in a park. When they came walking towards him down the street, arm in arm, he had a flash of anger and was shocked to realize something – he was jealous. Jealous of her easy going relationship with Sanders.
Jameson knew it was a ridiculous sentiment, especially since he knew he didn't make it easy for her to talk to him, or just be with him. And really, he knew he was the one she seemed to want to be with – he was the one who got tackled in the conservatory, he was the one who got violated in the pool, he was the one who woke up to blowjobs at two in the morning. Nobody else, she hadn't even talked about sleeping with other men. Hadn't even really mentioned Ang to him.
Winning.
*
"You never have time for me anymore," Ang was whining. Tate rolled her eyes.
"I see you almost every day. If anything, I see you more now than I did before I started sleeping with him," she pointed out. He pouted.
"You never have naked time for me anymore," Ang amended his whine. She laughed.
"Hush. We talked about this."
"But you're the only one who knows what I like, what I want, what I need."
"Teach somebody else."
"Bitch."
She launched a pillow at him and he caught it, laughing. They were hanging out in his room on a Saturday night. She had to go to the bar in a little while, and she had swung by Ang's to use his laptop. She didn't have one of her own and they hadn't hung out, just the two of them, in a while. Two birds with one stone.
"Shut up, there are plenty of people out there wanting to ride the Angier train," she assured him, sitting on the end of his bed and folding her legs up lotus style. He stretched out on the mattress behind her, kneading his toes in to her lower back.
"I am very train like, and you know, Rus has been lookin' mighty fine lately," he commented, and she laughed again.
"You better not look twice, Ang. I'm serious, I don't want you to break her," Tate said.
"I wouldn't break her. Just bend her a little. Fold her in half," he replied. She looked over her shoulder.
"I'm dead serious, Ang. If you fuck her, she'll, like, fall in love with you. And it'll break her heart. I would be pissed," she warned him.
"God, you're so boring anymore. I don't understand. You and Satan aren't boyfriend and girlfriend, but you spend all your time together, practically live together, and you aren't allowed to sleep with anyone else. Ummm ..., I'm pretty sure that's the basic definition of boyfriend-and-girlfriend," Ang pointed out.
Tate already knew this, had already thought about it, a lot. Her relationship with Jameson was a strange one. It didn't have a label, but she kinda liked that – labels were boring. Labels could ruin things, made a person feel like they always had to be living up to it. She and Jameson, they just existed. It was easier. She tried not to think about it too much.
"We're allowed to sleep with other people," she corrected Ang.
"Oh, that's right – just not me," he grumbled, making a face. She laughed.
"Technically, it's just me who isn't allowed to sleep with you, so you could -,"
"Don't make me sick. You said he sleeps with other women all the time, but how many guys have you slept with?" Ang asked.
And that's where the "open relationship" aspect fell apart. Jameson had told her she could sleep with other men, and the independent-slutty-woman inside of her told her she could sleep with other people, but the desire wasn't there. She only wanted him.
And it was just her own thinking, just something inside of her, but Tate had the distinct feeling that though Jameson said it was okay, it was actually not okay. Not at all. Jameson Kane didn't like to share his toys, and Tate figured she was one of his better ones.
"Just because I haven't slept with anyone doesn't mean I can't, or won't. Besides, why go out for hamburger when I've got steak at home?" she offered as an explanation, trying to lighten the mood. Ang snorted.
"Sounds like bullshit. If your relationship didn't disgust me so much, I'd bug you more about it. Let's do something fun!" he proclaimed. She turned her attention back to the computer.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. What is Satan up to, anyway?"
"He's at home, going over some paperwork for some big to-do that's coming up in Europe," she replied.
"Some big to-do? In Europe? Like what? Where?" Ang pressed. She shrugged.
"I don't know, I don't really ask. He has a house in Denmark," she told him.
"Denmark? Odd, I would have figured him for a London man, or Berlin, or something. Why Denmark?" he asked. She shrugged again.
"I don't know. I told you, I don't ask," she replied.
"Jesus, Tate," Ang laughed, sitting upright. "He could be a serial killer, or a human trafficker, or a pedophile hiding from the law, or ...," he kept listing stuff off. She turned to face him, smacking him in the leg.
"Shut up!" she laughed.
"... or a drug smuggler, or a thief of rare art work, or secretly married with a family, or -,"
They both stopped at that idea. Tate stared at Ang. It was a secret fear of hers. Jameson went away a lot. New York for a weekend. L.A. For a week. Back to New York for a day. Miami for a day. Back to New York. The ex girlfriend lived in New York, Tate was pretty sure. Though she wasn't sure at all about the "ex" status.
"He's always been honest with me. He would have told me," Tate said in a soft voice. Ang snorted.
"Apparently you guys have more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' relationship. Some people don't consider a lie by omission really a lie. Look him up," he suggested, nodding at the laptop. She glanced down.
"What do you mean?" she asked. He groaned and took the laptop from her hands.
"What's Satan's last name?" he grumbled. She chewed on her bottom lip.
"This isn't right, Ang. He doesn't pry in to my stuff," she mumbled. He guffawed.
"Are fucking serious? Tate, he blindfolded you and made you spend the weekend with your family from hell. You're right, he doesn't pry – he rips shit open and makes a mess. Full name," he demanded.