“I'll stay in my apartment. Or hey, if I get lonely for you, I'll just go shack up with Sandy, 'mini-you',” she teased. He glared down at her.
“Better not. He tells me everything, you know, and I will be coming back at some point,” he warned. She took a deep breath.
“So. What are the rules?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“Rules. We have rules for everything, if you haven't noticed. Do the same rules apply?” she asked. He nodded.
“Sure. You can fuck your way through Boston,” he said. She snorted.
“One guy. I've slept with one other guy this whole time. You've fucked half the country,” Tate pointed out. Jameson laughed.
“That's why I have to go to another continent. Gotta get more stories for you, gotta keep you turned on,” he told her.
“You do that just fine, all on your own, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He smirked and leaned over her, his hands on her arm rests.
“Tell me you'll miss me,” he demanded. She nodded.
“I will miss you.”
“Tell me you'll think about me, if you fuck anyone else.”
“I always do.”
“Tell me you won't fall in love with anyone else, while I'm gone.”
All her breath flew out of her body.
“Not possible, so not a problem,” she whispered.
He kissed her. Didn't touch her anywhere else, just her mouth. Slowly and sweetly, lips brushing over hers, his tongue sweeping its way past her own. She moaned, brought a hand up to the side of his face. This. More than anything, she wanted to remember him like this; she loved his biting words and his stinging hand, but his kiss. His kiss gave her hope. He kissed her for several long moments and then pulled away.
“Alright, Tatum. Give me a night that'll have me dreaming about you the whole time I'm gone,” he told her.
She smiled and slipped to her knees in front of him.
This, she could do. This, she was very good at.
Love, however, was a completely different story.
~15~
A month wasn't so bad. She could get a lot done in a month.
Tatum broke the bad news to Rus. Explained to her that Ang just wasn't a relationship kind of guy. Tate didn't play it, but she showed Rus a DVD of one of his movies. The cover was enough to make Rus turn a little green. So prim and proper. There were some tears, and a general cursing of men, but she got over it.
Tate wasn't ready to call Ang yet, though. She was still so mad at him. The things he had said to her, the way he had spoken to her. She would wait till after Jameson got home, and then she would talk to Ang. She counted down the days.
One really shocking day was when Nick Castille called her; the baseball player she had screwed in her bar. He had gotten her number from her manager. Totally inappropriate and against the rules, but she was flattered.
Tate was lonely and bored, so she agreed to dinner. They had a good time, but she stared at him when he asked if they could go on a “real” date sometime. Nick was extremely good looking, and several times while they ate, people asked him for his autograph. He was also really nice to her, very respectful. It was a novel experience, and she knew he was a catch. But she politely declined his offer – she was holding out for her lord and savior, Satan. Nick seemed a little sad, but he smiled at her, and said he could settle for being her friend.
And he meant it. He got her box seats to one of his games. They went out to eat often, and even took in a couple shows. They got along surprisingly well, despite being from completely different backgrounds and living completely opposite lives. Tate enjoyed his friendship. But she didn't push it – she never went back to his place, and never brought him back to hers. Jameson had never once slept with the same girl twice during their relationship. It wasn't a rule, really, but Tate didn't want to be the one to test whether or not it should be. She would respect Jameson's wishes and actions. She would wait for him.
She didn't speak with him at all, though. Not once. Early on, he texted her a couple times. Mostly filthy things, to remind her who was boss. A couple to ask after Sanders. A couple to remind her of her promises. One to say he missed her. Tate stared at that one for days on end. But then the texts stopped all together, and she found herself hovering near her phone, constantly checking to see if he had sent anything.
When did I become this girl? I surrendered to him without even realizing it.
But nothing, however, was as shocking as what happened during her third week of waiting.
Tate was puttering around her apartment. Rus was at one of her vet tech classes. Sanders was holed up in his penthouse hotel room, doing some translating work for Jameson. Nick was at an away game. Tate was bored. At first she had been afraid that without Jameson paying for everything, she would starve to death, or worse – have to go back to temping. But of course, he thought of everything, and Sanders had supplied her with a steady flow of money. She felt like she was whoring for both of them, but she didn't mind too much. They were both very important to her, so it was worth it.
She was on her phone, getting ready to dial out for Chinese food, when someone knocked on her door.
“Just a second!” she hollered, sliding in to the living room. She peeked through the peep hole, but couldn't tell who it was; it was someone wearing a big, floppy sun hat. A woman, she assumed. Tate yanked open the door. “I have religion, so I don't -,”
Her sister turned around to face her. Ellie was wearing huge sunglasses that weren't doing a very good job of hiding a black eye. Her arm was in a cast. And even though it hadn't been that long, her stomach looked noticeably bigger. They stared at each other for a while, till Ellie started to tremble.
“I didn't know where else to go,” she whispered.
“Come in, come in,” Tate urged, guiding her sister in to her tiny apartment. Ellie looked around, and then burst out crying.
After Jameson's little O'Shea family reunion, things had apparently gone downhill for Ellie. A broken jaw didn't slow Robert down at all. There had been more fights. More smacks. She thought she could handle it, but then he had pushed Ellie down a flight of stairs. That was where she drew the line. He could do what he wanted to her, but he couldn't hurt the baby. If he could treat an unborn child like that, how would he treat the child when it was standing right in front of him? She didn't want to find out.
“I'm sorry, I know you hate me. I know I ruined your life, but I just didn't know what else to do,” Ellie sobbed. Tate grabbed her hand and dragged her to her bedroom.
“I don't hate you, Ellie. I don't even know you. And you didn't ruin my life. My life is pretty awesome. You saved me,” Tate told her as she laid her sister down.
“I wish someone could have saved me,” Ellie cried. Tate frowned and laid on the bed next to her, got right up behind her and spooned her.
“I wasn't there. I could've called, I could've checked on you guys. I could've saved you,” she whispered.
It took Ellie a while to calm down, but finally her breathing evened out. She fell asleep. Tate crawled out of the bed and called Sanders. Appraised him of the situation. He told her that he was “on it”, though she wasn't sure what that meant. She really wanted to call Ang, but they hadn't made up yet. She hadn't spoken to him at all, so it would be awkward, and worse, she worried it would come off as her using him. She decided to make some tea instead, and carried it in to her room.