“Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?” he asked in a voice that could cut glass.
“A lot.”
“Or this watch?”
“No, how much?”
“A lot more than you're worth,” he replied as he looked down at his wrist.
“Oh, just wait until you get this month's credit card statement. I'll show you how much I'm fucking worth, you stupid – AH!”
He snapped his hand out faster than she could follow, and next thing she knew her foot was yanked out from underneath her. She pitched forward and fell face first into the pool. When she came up, she was hacking and coughing, pawing at her face and wiping at her eyes.
“What were you saying?” Jameson's voice was dangerously close to her ear, then his arms were around her waist, turning her to face him.
“I was saying you're a jerk,” she growled as she shoved her hair out of her eyes.
“Yes, but I'm your jerk, so that must count for something,” he pointed out, holding her close. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her.
“I think it just means I have bad taste,” she replied, and he barked out a laugh.
“Can't be worse than mine – I married a slut who puts out on the first date.”
“Hey, you love sluts who put out on the first date.”
“I love this one,” he replied, leaning back against the edge of the pool.
“And it always meant something to you, every time,” she added, staring up at him.
“Always, baby girl. Always.”
“Jameson,” she said softly.
“Hmmm?” he responded, brushing away hair that was clinging to her forehead.
“Can we have barbecues every weekend?”
He laughed and tugged sharply at her wet hair.
“You're ridiculous. No.”
“Okay, maybe every other -”
“Tate, I've been thinking about something,” he interrupted her. She stopped smiling.
“Oh god, what? It's awful when you think,” she groaned.
“About what you were saying the other day. About children,” he said, almost choking on the last word. She sighed.
“Yes, yes, I know you find the idea of having kids with me disgusting, awful, horrible, and any other nasty adjective. I got the memo,” she told him. He glared at her.
“If you'd shut the fuck up, I'll explain.”
“I just don't see why I have to listen to more insults,” she snapped back.
“Tate, I would love to have children with you,” he stated, shocking her.
“Excuse me!?”
“Someday,” he amended his statement. “Obviously, there's no one else I would want to have them with. If you ever did find out you were pregnant, yeah, I'd be shocked, you'd have to expect that. But I would also deal with it, and I would hope they had my eyes and your amazing smile.”
“Jameson,” she sniffled his name, trying to hold back tears.
“It's not that I would hate it if you got pregnant, Tate. But right now, it's just you and me. I get you all to myself, all the time. I don't have to share you with anybody or anything, and I'm sorry, but I like it like that. I like having access to your body and your heart and your mind any time I want. I know it can't be like this forever, so I would just like to enjoy it for as long as I can. I wanted you to understand that.”
Tate hated crying, and hated it most of all when Jameson made her cry. One tear slipped out, though, and was quickly followed by another.
“God, I hate it when you do that,” she cried.
“Do what? Say nice shit to you? Me, too,” he said, but he used his thumb to gently brush away her tears.
“I hate if when you do something awful, but then later it turns out you're actually wonderful. It's so annoying,” she told him, trying to glare at him and failing miserably.
“Well, you do a lot more things that are a lot more annoying, so I think I've got a little leeway here,” he said. She gasped.
“See!? There you go again, being awful, and just wait, a week from now, you're going to make it seem like you were actually being nice. I can't stand -”
He suddenly dropped down, dunking them under the water. She was so startled, she almost panicked. But then he was kissing her, and it was still magical, and she still felt all those wonderful things she'd felt the first time they'd ever kissed. She smiled with her lips against his, and she was still smiling long after they'd resurfaced.
Perfection.
SANDERS
Author's note: I have said it repeatedly, and I will say it again – I am not writing a full length Sanders novel. Believe me, I wish I could. I have tried, multiple times. He is still the hands-down favorite character of mine. People love him more than any of my other characters, combined. But Sanders is not an easy soul to communicate with, he only gives me tiny bits and pieces. So far, this excerpt of sorts is the only thing I've ever come up with – in over three years – that I've been satisfied with, and I know it'll be controversial. That's the other problem – writing Sanders means possibly writing something you all don't like, and I don't know if I could expose him to that. But maybe someday, when the planets align, Sanders will feel like telling me his story, and whatever it is, I will write it down. I hope he does. But until then, I only have this little piece to offer. I hope you enjoy. These events take place shortly after the end of Reparation.
*
Prologue
Sanders didn't know why it was different that afternoon, but it just was; something had changed. Between walking into the library and walking out of the library, so many things had changed.
He should not be allowed to touch her like that.
He had been working in the sitting room when he heard the thumping. Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Thump. And then her name, spoken in a deep voice. An agitated voice.
“Tatum.”
Pause. Thump.
After a couple more thumps, Sanders got up to investigate. A couple more thumps and her name was said, again, and then he was standing in front of the library door. He pushed on it, causing it to fall open a little.
He could see Jameson, sitting behind his large desk. Behind oak and gold and opulence. A very natural setting for a very powerful man. He was looking down, flipping pages on what Sanders knew was a business contract.
Thump.
Sanders lifted his eyes away from the desk. Let his gaze travel across the fireplace. She was standing in front of a bookshelf, holding a heavy, hardback book in her hand. She flicked her eyes to Jameson, then tossed the book over her shoulder. It hit the ground with a heavy thump, landing next to a pile of other books. Jameson didn't look up, so she sighed and took down another book. Flipped through a couple pages. Threw it over her shoulder. Thump. Jameson finally looked at her.
“Tate,” he snapped. She had pulled down another book and now looked up from it, her eyes wide and full of innocence.
“What?” she asked.
“I'm working,” Jameson said, gesturing to the paperwork in front of him. She nodded.
“I know. That's why I'm bored.”
But she was smiling. Sanders cocked his head to the side, trying to figure the situation out. He didn't want to interrupt before he knew for sure whether or not he was needed.