“You're very good looking,” she informed him, her fingers finally reaching the summit of his knee.
“Thank you,” he replied, not sure how to respond. Her fingertips were now tap dancing on him. Making him edgy. Nervous.
“And I'm not just saying that because we're close. It's fact. Other people have noticed it, and when you're alone in the world, without me next to you, or Jameson looming over you, more people are going to notice.”
“I feel that is very presumptuous of you. Just because you find me attractive does not mean other -”
“It's fact,” she insisted. “Empirically speaking, you are good looking. It's just how things are, and girls will be all over you.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but even if that is true, I highly doubt they will be 'all over' me. And even if they are, I am pretty sure I can defend myself,” he told her. She smiled and her hand went flat over his knee. The water had grown lukewarm during their time in it, but suddenly he felt himself warming up again.
“You're so sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I -”
His voice caught in his throat as she suddenly sat up on her knees, her hand sliding down the top of his thigh. She followed behind, crawling between his legs until she was leaning over him. Boxing him in. He held his breath and looked over her shoulder.
“You don't seem so sure now,” she whispered, her face only inches from his own. He swallowed thickly.
“Tatum. What are you doing?”
“It's okay,” she said, propping herself up with one arm and letting her free hand smooth its way up his chest. He took a shaky breath.
“This is not okay,” he whispered back. Her fingers came to rest against his cheek and her thumb hooked under his jaw, pulling his head around until he was forced to look her in the eye.
“It is,” she insisted. “We wanted to give you a going away present you would remember forever. Something that would help you. Make you more … comfortable.”
“I am very uncomfortable right now,” he assured her. She chuckled low in her throat. That bawdy sound he loved so much. Then she was leaning even closer, her cheek pressed to his and her lips at his ear.
“You won't be for long,” she whispered, her lips catching his earlobe.
What most people – including Tate – never understood about Sanders was that though he presented himself as an uncaring, aloof, detached individual, he was far from it. Inside him was an ocean of emotion that he'd never been properly taught how to navigate. He kept it passive and calm by ignoring it. But sometimes it was like a storm raged through him and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control it, and Sanders hated nothing more than being out of control.
He lurched forward, forcing her back. She didn't say anything as he abruptly stood up and climbed out of the tub before hurrying from the room. He didn't care that he was soaking wet and trailing puddles of water behind him. Didn't even think about it as he sat down in the chair with a loud squelching sound. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the front door.
Nothing. Nothing. Think about nothing. The square root of thirty-two is five-point-six-six. Thomas R. Marshall was the twenty-eighth vice president. Control yourself. Control your environment. Don't do anything rash. The twenty-ninth president was Calvin Coolidge. Four hundred and thirty-two divided by seventeen is twenty-five-point-four. Control yourself.
*
Tate took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. She'd known this wouldn't be easy, but she was ready for the battle. She slowly climbed out of the tub and walked into the bedroom.
Sanders was sitting in the shitty chair at the foot of the bed. His arms were folded sternly across his chest and he was refusing to even look in her direction. She smiled to herself and came to a stop in front of him. When he still didn't acknowledge her, she put her hands on her hips.
“Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the night?” she asked. His mouth was set in a stern line, but he surprised her by responding.
“If that's what it takes to make you realize you are being absurd, then yes.”
“If a woman throws herself at you, the last thing you should do is call her absurd.”
“But it is absurd when that woman is involved with another man. And especially when that man is practically family to me,” he informed her.
“It's not when it's a carefully considered choice made by both that woman and man,” she replied. Even Sanders wasn't able to hide the shock a statement like that induced and he finally looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Sandy,” she sighed, dropping her hands and slowly moving around him. “I worry about you. More than you could possibly know. The idea of … of just anyone being your first time. I can't handle it. You're so different. You deserve perfection. You are perfection. I refuse to send you out to the wolves. I can't let it be awful or awkward or uncomfortable or wrong. The idea of you possibly feeling bad about it, or somebody treating you badly, it kills me. I just … I can't, Sanders. I can't.”
She was behind him when she finished speaking, and she lightly rested her hands on his shoulders. He was completely stiff, his body locked up into one giant charley horse.
It's gonna take a lot of work to loosen him up.
“What, exactly, are you suggesting? You and I have sex, just so you can feel assured that I've lost my virginity to someone deserving?”
“No,” she laughed. “I don't deserve it. I doubt anyone does – you're too good for mere mortals. But you can relax with me, there'll be none of that awkwardness that usually comes along with a first time or when you have sex with someone you don't really know. You can be yourself with me. We can talk to each other. You can ask me anything, do anything. Like I said once before, I've had a lot of practice. I can show you the ropes.”
That hit a note. She felt a shimmy under her hands. A slight tremble rippling through his system.
He remembers. I'm winning.
“This is a bad idea,” he breathed. Tate bent at the waist, running her hands down the front of his body. She kept moving till her chin was on his shoulder.
“Trust me, you'll feel differently in about fifteen minutes,” she whispered back, deftly undoing one of his buttons.
“I don't want to do this.”
“Liar.”
Another button. He was still refusing to move, but he wasn't stopping her.
“Please,” his voice was hoarse.
“I'll stop when you make me stop,” she informed him, now working at the knot in his tie, pulling it loose and slipping the loop free of his collar.
“I don't want him to hate me,” he finally voiced his fear.
“Do you think I would be doing this if that was a possibility?”
“I think that the two of you rarely think through your actions.”
“You think wrong, Sanders. We would never do anything to hurt you. This is a limited time offer. A very special present for a very dear friend who is going so far away. Just accept it. It's like a band aid – just rip it off. Get it over with.”
He was breathing fast, and when she turned to press her lips to his cheek, she saw that he was again staring at the wall.