“No, I think that's it.”
“Tatum.”
“I didn't sleep with Ang. I'm not going to sleep with Nick – he's going to stay in his own place. He's just visiting, and I know you won't want him at the house, so -,” she started.
“No shit.”
“So, I thought maybe I could take a vacation,” she suggested. Jameson's eyebrows went up and he stopped moving.
“A vacation?” he asked. She nodded, standing in between his chair and his desk.
“Yes. Things are ..., confusing for me, right now. I thought maybe some space would help,” she said in a small voice.
“Ah. This is about the other night. Your talk with Sanders,” he filled in. She shrugged.
“A lot of things. Sometimes it feels like you take me over, and when I remember the bad stuff, it's like I'm drowning. I just want some time. You told me I needed to figure shit out. That's what I want to do,” she stressed.
“And how does darling Nick figure into this?” Jameson asked.
“He doesn't, really, just gave me the idea to get away,” she replied. “I won't sleep with him. I won't even touch him. We're just friends, hanging out.”
“He's not coming into my fucking condo,” Jameson snapped, and Tate smiled. She had won.
“Of course not.”
“How come all your friends are men, huh? What happened to the tiny red head?” he demanded.
“Rusty? She's in school,” she replied.
“Well, introduce her to your baseball player – tell him he needs a new fucking friend. I am not okay with this, Tatum,” he growled, prowling towards her. She held her ground.
“I know, that's why it means a lot that you let me do it,” she replied.
“Just keep that in mind – I'm letting you do this,” he reinforced the notion. She nodded.
“It's just a few days, Jameson,” she pointed out.
“I have worked very hard for every day I've spent with you. I am not accustomed to giving some up,” he replied. She felt warm inside.
“That's very sweet.”
“Shut the fuck up. You better have shit figured out after this, because you will be coming back home, regardless of your boy-toy's feelings or yours,” he snapped. She nodded.
“I'm okay with that.”
“I do not like this, Tatum. I don't want to do this.”
“But you will, for me.”
“For you.”
He was standing in front of her, so close they were almost touching. He stared down the length of his nose at her, and the look of disdain he usually wore was front-and-center. She smiled at him. Reached out and straightened his tie.
“You're such shit at this,” she mumbled, adjusting his tie-pin. He grabbed her hand.
“Sanders is coming with you,” he informed her.
“Really? You wouldn't mind?” she asked, surprised. Sometimes she wondered if Jameson would be able to survive without Sanders.
“You can't be left alone in the world without a babysitter. No getting him drunk,” Jameson growled. She laughed.
“That was all him. I just made the drinks,” she pointed out.
“You are a bad influence,” he said.
“What, on Sandy?”
“On all of us.”
“Duh.”
He yanked her close and kissed her, and she moaned. They hadn't had sex since before the night Sanders got drunk, over two days ago. A long time, in their terms. He shoved her backwards against his desk and she fell onto it. She didn't even have time to find her balance before he was leaning onto her, his tongue invading her mouth. She moaned again, clawing her nails down his back.
“You sure you just slept next to Angier?” he growled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the floor.
“Next to him, on top of him, po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o,” she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“I can smell him on you. God, I wanna hold you under a hot shower till your skin turns red,” he hissed. She shuddered, combing her fingers through his hair.
“Sounds exciting,” she whispered. He grabbed her throat then, pinned her to the desk.
“Stop fucking talking.”
“You're the one getting turned on by smelling Ang,” she pointed out. His fingers squeezed harder.
“I always did love fucking a whore.”
She couldn't stand it. She began clawing at the buttons on his vest, trying to undo them while his hands ran under her shirt, pushed it up over her breasts. She let out a gasp when he sucked on a nipple, through her bra. She moaned, her head hitting the desk. She felt like she was going to explode. He hadn't even hardly touched her, and she was ready to pop.
She knew it was a bad idea, to have sex. Not with her emotions all over the place. She would probably wind up screaming that she loved him, then cry like a girl afterwards. He would love it, fuck her again, and then leave her a broken mess. He would've gotten what he wanted, won the game. She wasn't ready, not yet. But she couldn't stop. She pressed her hips up against his, felt the bulge in his pants, and wanted to feel more. Her fingers wouldn't stop moving. She left his vest and trailed her hands down to his belt, began yanking at it.