Jameson wouldn't let himself think about her body, or he'd have to pull over the car and ease the tension between them, right then and there.
She was fighting against him, and it just turned him on even more. When she had started pulling down her panties, in the middle of that room, with all those people ..., it had taken every bit of restraint he had not to dismiss everyone and fuck her right then. The old Tatum had been fun to play with, cute. This Tatum, he wanted to own. He wanted to break her down, bend her to him. She seemed a worthy adversary, and Jameson loved a good fight.
“Do you always start work this late?” he questioned, pulling up in front of a kind of dive looking bar. She shook her head.
“No, I'm filling in for someone, I normally work weekends. Thanks for the ride,” she said before leaping out of the car. He got out right behind her.
“Oh, I've gotta see this place. I'm fascinated by your life. Good girl goes bad. Is there piss on the floor?” he asked, holding the door to the bar open. She gave him a smile full of sweetness.
“You have such a sexy way with words.”
Then she elbowed him and strode through the door.
She made a beeline to the bar, ducking under the partition and heading in to a back room. Jameson planted himself on a bar stool and ordered a bourbon. Neat. The woman serving him was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a string-bikini top, and wore them well. It made him curious as to what Tate would be wearing, wondered if it would be as slutty.
He wasn't disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, at ten o'clock on the dot, she reappeared. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was wearing a tiny pair of jean cut-offs. He had wanted to see her ass, and now his wish was pretty much granted. When she leaned over the back of the bar to grab something, he could see the bottom swell of her ass cheeks.
On top she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of baseball logo on it, but she had ripped off the bottom half of it. It stopped just beneath her breasts, and when she lifted her arms, he could see a gray, lacy bra. The shirt also show-cased her stomach, with was tone and flat. The girl took care of her body. She had leather boots on her feet, almost combat like, but with the tops folded down. They should have looked at odds with her sexy outfit, but they worked some how.
“Is this how you normally dress for work?” Jameson asked when she made her way towards his end of the bar. She glanced down at herself.
“No. Sometimes I wear less,” she replied, and he laughed.
“Less? So if I come in here on the weekend, you might be serving people in a bikini?” he had to shout to be heard over the music and the rowdy patrons. It had been pretty full when they'd walked in – now it was standing room only.
“Only if it's a game day.”
“Hot. But those shorts, I think they have to go. Sometimes less is more, you know,” he teased. Tate raised an eyebrow.
“You think they're too short?”
“Yes.”
She whirled away from him and took long strides to the other end of the bar. She picked something up and then headed back towards him. It took him a second before he realized it was a blow horn. She smirked at him and then lifted it to her lips.
“Everybody! Hey!” she shouted. There was a roar of cheers and the music was turned down. “This man here thinks my shorts are too short! What do you all think!?” She pulled the blow horn away, lifting her arms up in a questioning gesture.
The place went nuts. The crowd had to be seventy-five percent male, and all of them were hooting and hollering at her. Tate smiled, and winked, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth. It was clear that she knew what she was doing, knew how to work the crowd. She turned around and bent at the waist, shaking her ass a little. The roar grew to a deafening level. She finally stood up and turned back around, waving everyone away. Then she turned to Jameson.
“I didn't say you looked bad,” he pointed out. She shook her head.
“You're ridiculous. If you don't like what I'm wearing, leave,” she suggested before prancing back down the bar to wait on customers.
“Not until you agree to talk with me, Tatum!” Jameson shouted over the din. She glanced at him while she expertly twirled bottles in her hands, throwing liquor in to glasses.
“I still don't know what it is we have to talk about!” she yelled back, twirling two shakers at once. She was very good at her job.
“The way you talk, the way you dress, your makeup, your ass!” he replied. At the word “ass”, some idiot next to him cheered.
“Best I can tell, not one of those things is any of your business!” she laughed, cracking open one of the shakers and letting a blue concoction pour in to a martini glass.
“I'm making them my business. I want to get to know you,” he said.
“But not date me,” she clarified, pouring the second drink.
“Don't be fucking stupid,” Jameson laughed.
Tate made her way back to him and then planted her hands on the bar, spreading her arms wide. She leaned close to him, very close, her breath hot against his lips. Her loose shirt hung forward and he had a perfect view down her cleavage.
“What do you want, Kane?” she asked in a low voice. He dragged his eyes away from her tits and stared her in the eye.
“Call me that name again, and I will punish your mouth,” he warned her. She chuckled.
“Don't make promises you won't keep,” she retorted.
Oh my, I may have met my match. This should be interesting.
“Who says I won't? I have big plans for that mouth,” Jameson said, pinching her chin between his fingers. She rolled her eyes.
“Not gonna happen, Kane. Not any part of me, is going to touch any part of you, so you had better get used to that idea,” she informed him before pulling away.
We'll see about that.
“Alright. But we are going to talk,” he said. She heaved a sigh.
“Fine. Fine. How about we make an appointment? Say, tomorrow? One o'clock? Does that work for you, my lord and master?” she taunted. He took out his phone.
“I'm marking it down. Meet me at my office,” he told her. She snorted.
“Fine, whatever,” she grumbled at him. He glanced up at her.
“You had better show up. If I have to come get you, you won't like it,” Jameson warned her. Tate laughed.
“Talk, talk, talk. In my experience, men who talk as much as you, have very little action to back it up,” she said. He laughed as well.
“You've experienced me in action. And there wasn't very much talking.”
She rolled her eyes and then grabbed his glass, drinking the rest of his bourbon in one shot.
“You put too much emphasis on the past, Kane. It was one time, one time. The great Jameson Kane is hung up on a one night stand? It was nothing, it's long gone. We'll talk about whatever you want tomorrow, and then it's goodbye,” she informed him before walking off. He smirked at her.
Twice. She called me by my last name twice. Now she really owes me.
~5~
Tate sat in a chair in an anteroom outside of Jameson's office. She had thought about blowing him off, but she didn't want him showing up at her apartment again. How had he known where she lived, anyway? And he had said he was scared of it – Mr. Prissy Pants had probably never been in a low-rent building.