Reparation (13 page)

“Oh, Angy wangy,” she sighed.

“Tater tot,” he mumbled back.

“That was very bad. You shouldn't have done that. We're bad people,” she whispered to him. He shook his head.

“No we're not. We're not very good, but we're not bad. She's a bitch and we're spiteful. Everyone wins,” he replied.

“I don't know if I agree with you. But it was fun,” she chuckled, combing her hand through his hair.

“Yes, it was. God, we used to have so much fun. Do you ever think about it?” Ang asked. Tate nodded, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“All the time. Every time I saw you with her,” she replied.

“Jealous?”

“Of course. Part of you belongs to me. I never wanted to share that with her.”

“I gotta say, Tate, it feels fucking awesome to hear that,” he groaned. She wiggled against him, trying to pull free. His arms stayed locked around her.

“Good. Cause I think now we are finally, officially, completely, even. For everything. No more being mad at each other? Or weird?” she asked. He nodded.

“No more.”

“Ang?”

“Yeah?”

“Let go of me. Your hard on is digging into my stomach.”

He burst out laughing.

“Now there's something I never thought I'd hear you complain about.”

“Shut up. Makes having a heart to heart kinda awkward.”

“You love it.”

Ang let go of her and groaned, stretching and lifting his arms over his head. Tate dug her cell phone out of her pocket and winced. A missed phone call. She could guess who it was from; he was already mad at her for missing his calls the day before, he would not be happy about her missing them for Ang. She still had only ever called him once, just one time ever. When he had been in Berlin. He hadn't answered. She had resisted doing it again, ever since then. She debated whether or not to take the leap.

“I should head home,” she mumbled, staring at Jameson's contact info.

“No, stay here tonight,” Ang said quickly. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

“I'm not fucking you, Angier,” she stated. He laughed.

“Thank you for that.
No
, you cow, just hang out. I feel like shit. Cheer me up. You owe me,” he told her.

“We just got finished saying we're even, and you're already -,” Tate started to complain when he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Just shut up and hang out with me. Satan can miss you for one night. Please, honey-pot? I could really use some cuddles tonight,” Ang begged, pouting out his lower lip.

Tate groaned. She was a sucker where he was concerned. Geez, sleep with someone a couple dozen – or maybe
hundred?
– times, and suddenly she's over a barrel, emotionally. She glared at him, then an idea struck her. She held out her cell phone.

“You get to call Satan and tell him I'm staying here,” she told Ang. He glanced at the phone and grumbled.

“God, he's gonna be such a dick. Does he own a gun?” Ang asked, taking the phone.

“Several. Be nice. Sometimes it works with him.”

“Does it really?”

“No. Good luck.”

“
Fuuuuck
.”

She dragged him to sit on the couch, then yanked him down to her height so she could listen to the phone call. It rang three times before the line connected.

“You better not be calling to ask for bail money,” Jameson's voice barked. “I don't care if you're in prison – if you ever ignore one of my phone calls again, I swear to fucking god, I'll -,”

“This isn't Tate, so please keep your weird style of flirting to yourself,” Ang snapped. Tate reached up and yanked on a lock of his hair. There was a pause for a long moment.

“
Angier
. Why are you calling me? What did she do?” Jameson demanded. Ang glared down at Tate.

“Do you always assume she's done something wrong when she calls?” Ang demanded in return. Jameson laughed.

“
She never calls
.”

Ang raised his eyebrows at Tate, and she just waved him away.

“So you're saying
your
girlfriend calls
me
more than she calls
you?
” Ang asked, his smile audible. Tate pulled away enough to slap at his arms.

“As lovely as it is to hear from you, what the fuck do you want?” Jameson asked. He sounded bored.

“Look. We don't like each other. But I needed some help with something, so I need you to be understanding. You know,
not
an asshole. Just this once,” Ang stressed.

“I make no promises.”

“I needed to borrow your girlfriend, for like two minutes, to piss Ellie off,” Ang said it quickly. It was the second time he had referred to Tate as Jameson's “
girlfriend
”; she was waiting for Jameson to correct him.

“Oh jesus. I don't want to know.”

“Mostly tongue, not a big deal, I promise. She absolutely refused to fuck me,” Ang said assuredly. Tate slapped him across the back of the head.

“She kissed you?”

“More like I kissed her. Totally rape-y. She was very respectful of you, I promise.”

“You're both insane. I don't know why I bother. Tell her she needs to come home,
now,
” Jameson growled.

“I need her for a little longer,” Ang said. Jameson laughed, but it was evil sounding. Satan was on the phone.

“I don't give a fuck,
Angier
.”

“Hey, she was my friend long before she was ever with you,” Ang reminded him. “Just let me borrow her for the night. It's been a shitty day. I promise, nothing bad will happen. I won't touch your girlfriend '
inappropriately
'.”

“You won't be touching her
at all
. I want her home.”

Tate didn't hear the next part of the conversation. She was shell shocked. Jameson hadn't corrected him. Had actually fed the assumption that she was his proper-girlfriend. It was almost as if he had said the words out loud. She shook her head. Didn't mean anything. Jameson didn't believe in titles.

“... fine. Fine, anything, as long as you never fucking call me again, understood? Tell her to be at my office tomorrow, noon.
Sharp,
” Jameson's voice was hissing when Tate dove back into the conversation. Punishment sounded imminent. She shivered at the thought.

“Of course, of course, whatever,” Ang was grumbling.

“
Angier
, if I find out you so much as looked at her while she was sleeping, I will cut your nuts off. Understood?” Jameson said in a cool voice. Ang laughed.

“You do realize I have seen her naked. Like a million times. I can shut my eyes, and see her naked right now,” Ang pointed out.

“Stop.”

“Too late. Doing it right now. Naked Tatum, all up in my brain,” Ang rubbed it in.

“The idea of strangling you and dumping you in the harbor is suddenly becoming very appealing to me.”

Ang stopped laughed.

“I'm not gonna try anything. She only has eyes for you anyway, she's mental for you. Believe me, once upon a time, I tried to talk her out of it. I've given up. So don't worry,” Ang told him.

“I never do.”

Then the line went dead.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” Tate shrieked, slapping at Ang. He finally sat upright, almost out of reach.

“What!? What!?” he exclaimed, batting her hands away.

“Why do you have to piss him off like that!?” she demanded.

“Uh ..., because it's, like, my purpose in life?” he offered.

“You're such a dick. He wouldn't be half as bad, if you weren't always provoking him,” Tate pointed out. Ang rolled his eyes and handed her cell phone over.

“Just because you're butt-crazy in love with him, doesn't mean the rest of us are – I'll probably still be making fun of him when you're both old and gray,” he laughed. She gasped.

“I am not butt-crazy in love with him!” she yelled, then pushed away from him, getting up off the couch.

“It's okay, Tate,” Ang said, getting up as well.

“I know it is, but I'm not.”

“Stop. It's okay. Like I said to Satan, I'm over it. If there's anything this whole fucked up situation has taught me, it's you can't choose who you like, who you love. It's okay that you love him. I'm not mad,” Ang assured her. She stomped into the bathroom.

“But
I don't
. Till a couple days ago, I was planning on ripping his heart out and eating it for breakfast,” she pointed out, grabbing a rubberband out of his medicine cabinet and using it to put her hair up. She finally turned to face him and he was smirking at her.

“Yeah. Seems to me you'd only be that angry at him if you were in love with him. Why else would you go through all this shit together?” he asked.

The breath flew out of her body and Tate slumped against the sink. Ang asked if she was okay, dipping his knees so he could look her in the face. If she had been shell shocked earlier, she was blasted now.
Obliterated
.

She didn't love Jameson.
Couldn't
love him. Sometimes, she was pretty sure he didn't even like her. How could she be in love with someone like that? Sure, she was growing more accustomed to the idea of just being with him, in whatever capacity she could, just like old times. But love!? No. No, she refused to believe it.

“I can't love him, Ang,” she said softly.

“Huh?” he asked, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“He'll never love me back. I can't ..., that would be it. Game over. He would own me,” she whispered. Ang smiled.

“I think he already does,” he pointed out. She closed her eyes.

“I didn't want to like him. When this all started, remember? I just wanted to play. You told me not to lose my heart. What happened?” she asked.

“He's a lot better at whatever game it was you were playing.”

“Too good. I thought we were only playing for sex,” Tate laughed, looking up at Ang. “I didn't realize we were playing for hearts.”

“Pity he doesn't have one.”

She cried then. She hated crying.

Goddamn Jameson Kane, you make me cry even when you're not around.

They stayed up and ate pizza and ice cream. Talked about boys and girls. A good old fashioned slumber party. Ang admitted that part of what had drawn him to Ellie had been her good girl-richie varnish. But he had liked her. He was so chaotic and crazy and over-sexed. She was so structured and crazy in her own way and repressed. It had worked. Or at least,
he
thought it had worked.

Tate admitted she felt guilty for wanting to be with Jameson. He had treated her like garbage, had hurt her so badly. What if he did it again? It was her constant fear. What was wrong with her, wanting to be with a person like that? Ang pointed out that all of that just came with the territory of being in love. She tried to make him eat a pillow.

She was
not
in love with Jameson Kane. She refused to believe it.

“I always thought I was just a freak in bed. Why is it so much easier for me to listen to one guy talk filth, than to listen to one say something nice?” Tate asked, looking at pictures of Nick on her phone. She hadn't talked to him in about a week. Why couldn't she love him? He was such a better option.

“Guilt,” Ang replied so matter-o-factly, she almost missed it.

“Huh?” she asked, lifting her head off his bed. He was sitting on his floor, playing some race car game on a playstation.

“You feel guilty, about what you did to your sister,” he said. She frowned.

“But I like it, so it's not much of a self-inflicted-penance. I mean, I love the way Jameson talks to me. I
beg
for it.”

“But then you freak out when he says nice stuff. Because you think you don't deserve it.”

“That's not true.”

“Okay.”

“Shut up.”

“
You
shut up.”

She laid her head back down. God, was that true? Tate had never really thought about it. She hated when Jameson said nice things, because she didn't believe him. She always figured he was just talking, patronizing. Saying what he thought she wanted to hear, not how he felt –
that
hurt. She couldn't stand that feeling. Why couldn't she believe him? Did she really think she didn't deserve his affection?

He's so much smarter than you. Classier than you. Worldlier than you. He would never love someone like you,
trash
like you.
You're just a waste of time
. He'll leave you.

It was like Ellie's voice, her father's voice,
everyone in her family's voice
, had been living in her brain, her whole life, and Tate was just now realizing it. A little whisper, always running up and down her spine. Warning her away. Telling her she was only good for one thing, so just ignore everything else. And Tate had – she just ignored everything, and became
very good
at that one thing.

“Who needs therapy, when they have a pornstar bestie?” Tate laughed at the ceiling. Ang snorted.

“I should start charging you.”

She slept in his bed, with him spooning up behind her. Ang had always been an affectionate person, right from the get go with her. It was natural. She woke up to him snoring, halfway laying on top of her. His phone was ringing, and she groped around to find it. She kept her eyes closed against the sunlight that was pouring in his window.

“Angy wangy's phone,” she croaked out.

“
Oh my god you slept together you are such a slut does Jameson know oh my god you're such a whore
.” Ellie's voice, talking so fast, all her words ran together. Tate snorted.

“It's too early for this, call back later,” she groaned, rolling onto her back.

“It's after noon!” Ellie snapped back. Tate opened her eyes.

“Holy shit, we really stayed up late,” she commented.

“I can't believe you! I can't believe you'd do that,
again
, after -,”

“Ellie, shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I didn't sleep with Ang, but if I had, it wouldn't be a bad thing. Me being a slut, isn't a bad thing. Me fucking Jameson, isn't a bad thing. Stop trying to make me feel bad about everything. God, I fear for your child. The insecurities you're going to give it. Just calm the fuck down and get the fuck over yourself. You wanna live a wild life? Have sex with no strings attached? You're not very good at it so far,” Tate pointed out.

Ellie was silent for so long, Tate had to check to see if she was even still on the phone.

“No, I guess I'm not,” she finally breathed. Tate laughed.

“I'm sorry we made out in front of you, I didn't know he was going to do that. He was really upset,” Tate explained.

“It was pretty awful,” Ellie managed a laugh.

“He liked you. Still does. You hurt his feelings. You can't do that, Ellie.
I
don't do that,” Tate said in a soft voice.

“He really liked me?” her sister's voice was quiet.

“Yeah. For the life of me, I can't figure out why, but he did. Something about pregnant nipples. You think
I'm
weird, geesh. Look, I gotta go, but call him in like an hour when he's had coffee and a chance to masturbate, he'll be in a much better mood then,” Tate told her.

“I heard that,” Ang grumbled, his face in a pillow.

“You are so gross,” Ellie's voice shuddered.

“
Byeeee,
” Tate sang, and hung up the phone. She let it drop to the bed as Ang snuggled even closer.

“What did she want?” he asked, his voice hoarse and scratchy with sleep.

“To talk to you,” Tate yawned. “I think she kinda wanted to yell at you, but really, she feels bad.”

“
Good
.”

“It's after noon,” Tate warned him. He made a clucking sound with his tongue.

“Uh oh. Satan said be at his office, noon sharp. Someone's getting a spanking,” he chuckled.

“If I'm lucky, that'll be it,” she replied, pulling away from him. He held onto her.

“C'mon, it's early still. We could cuddle some more, maybe have just a tiny bit of sex, then go for breakfast,” he suggested in a sleepy voice. Tate laughed.

“Just a tiny bit, hmmm?” she joked, pulling at his arm. He pressed his hips to her side, leaving her in no doubt of how serious he actually was; he had never been shy about his body around her. Ang slept in the nude.

“Just the tip,” he offered.

“Jameson would cut off '
just the tip
' if he found out. He might still, as it is. Gotta go,” she told him, then finally broke away. She sat up and scooted off his bed.

“Can't upset the devil, now can we? You're no fun now. You know that, right? I liked you much better when you would fuck anything that had a penis,” he said through a yawn, rolling onto his back.

“I had slightly higher standards than that.”

“Barely.”

“Why are you so okay with Jameson and I, all of a sudden?” Tate asked, wiggling back into her skinny jeans. She had worn one of his t-shirts over her underwear to bed, and she pulled it over her head. “Before Paris, he was still the worst thing ever. Now you're almost cool with him, telling me to be all head-over-heels for him. Very hot and cold, Ang.”

“I have two choices – hate him and lose you, or get over him and keep you. He's not going away, no matter how hard I pray about it. Besides, seems to me, he worked pretty hard in Spain to get back into your good graces,” he replied, watching as she pulled her tight black tank top back on.

“He did some pretty shitty things, too,” she grumbled, putting on her jacket as she remembered getting tossed into the ocean.

“Yeah, but you like the shitty things best of all,” Ang laughed.

Tate rolled her eyes and bent to look in a mirror. Her hair was psychotic looking. She finger combed it all into a ball on top of her head. Her eye makeup was smudged everywhere, giving her that slutty-startled-Panda look, but sometimes Jameson was into that, so she just ran her fingers around the edges, cleaning it up a little. She turned back to Ang and crawled over him on the bed.

“You are a very good friend, dear. Thank you,” she said quickly, kissing him fast.

“
Pleeeease,
just the tip?” he whined when she crawled back off of him. She laughed again.

“
No
. Tell me how things go with Ellie,” she called out as she dashed out of his bedroom.

Tate hopped on the subway and the red line took her all the way downtown, just a couple blocks from the financial district and where Jameson's offices were, on State Street. It took her a little over half an hour, but she was finally standing outside his building at one o'clock. Only an hour late. He was going to be
pissed
. She was excited
and
nervous. She still wasn't sure how she felt, after her all night heart-to-heart with Ang. She felt giddy, and nervous. Excited and confused. A lot like she was going to either throw up, or shit herself.

Not fun.

She took a deep breath and was about to pull the door open, when her cell phone started ringing. She scrambled to yank it out of her pocket, positive it was him. If she missed another phone call, he would probably lose it and go find Ang. Put him in a pair of cement booties and drop him in Boston Harbor. Tate snickered at the thought, but then stopped when she saw her screen. It wasn't Jameson. It was Nick.

“Hey, how are you?” she asked, taking a couple steps down the sidewalk.

“Good! I have something exciting to tell you,” he said, sounding a little breathless. Wherever he was, it was noisy.

“Oookay, what's up?” she asked, moving around the corner of the building.

“Guess where I am?” he asked back. She leaned back against a wall.

“Hmmm, I don't know. Some pre-game exhibition?” she replied.

“Nope.”

“Bangkok?”

“Nope.”

“An airport?” she guessed for real.

“Yes,” he answered. She perked up.

“An airport, huh. New York?”

“Nope.”

“
Boston!?
”

“Yup.”

“What are you doing here!?” she exclaimed. He hadn't mentioned visiting. It was the beginning of February, spring training was going to start in like two weeks.

“They flew the whole team up for some charity dinner thing at the Hilton. I need a date,” his voice was teasing sounding. She almost swallowed her tongue.

“How long are you here for?” she asked, glancing around the corner. She halfway expected Jameson's psychic abilities to call him down to her hiding spot.

“Just a couple days. I was hoping we could catch up. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever,” he groaned. She nodded.

“Yeah, since December. A date, huh,” she mumbled, a plan formulating in her head.

“Yeah. Should be kind of stuffy, but I figured we could go out for drinks later and you could be my wing-man, help me pick up chicks,” he joked. She cocked up an eyebrow. Nick did fine picking up chicks all on his own – he had gotten her pretty easily. She wondered if he had a specific chick in mind. Wondered if it was herself.

“Look, I was just about to go to a ..., meeting, thing. Place. Can I call you back when I'm done? Maybe we can do lunch, or dinner,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. So long as I get to see you. Are you still with ...,” he let his voice trail off.

“Don't worry about him, that's my job,” she laughed.

“Yeah, and worrying about you has somehow become my job,” he laughed back.

“I promise, I will chew through my restraints and come see you tonight. I'll call you,” she assured him.

“You had better,” he stated, but there was a smile in his voice, and she hung up the phone.

She breezed into Jameson's building and smiled saucily at the sexy secretary. The woman gave a broad smile back and Tate figured if Jameson chose to use his birthday gift to have a threesome, that woman wasn't such a bad choice. At least she wasn't Petrushka. Or Sanders.
That
would be awkward.

She listened to his personal secretary squawk long enough to learn that he was alone in his office, then Tate waltzed into the room. Jameson was on his phone, but his stare practically screamed at her. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she was seated in her chair, across from him. She leaned back, sitting casually while he talked about numbers and stocks and bonds and things she knew nothing about. He was wearing another suit with a fitted vest, and he'd gotten his hair trimmed, though he'd been leaving it long on top. He looked very much like a wolf in sheep's expensive designer hand tailored clothing. She squirmed around in her chair.

“You're very sexy when you're working,” she said in a soft breathy voice.

He held up his middle finger.

He talked for a while. It was obvious there were several people on the other end, as he switched tones of voice and languages. Fluidly between German and English, a little more haltingly between French and English, and the Mandarin was choppy at best. Though he still managed to sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about, at all times. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Jameson got off the phone.