Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(11)

“Okay, she has a cold,” he said, standing in front of her legs. He reached down and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her upright.

“Does she pee when she sneezes?”

“What? No. What the fu-ck was all this about?” he demanded. He had taken off the jacket and was holding his car keys in his hand.

“What do you mean?” she asked, standing up and straightening out her shirt.

“This, Tatum. What the fu-ck is going on with you?” he asked. She laughed.

“Ang, since when have we needed a reason to have sex? One time we did it to celebrate Election Day. I wanted to do it because you're here,” she told him. He narrowed his eyes.

“Since when has Jameson not been enough for you?” he countered.

“Hard for him to fulfill needs when he's thousands of miles away,” she replied, and lead him out of the room.

“Is that what this was about? You're lonely?” he asked as they made their way down the stairs. She took quick breaths.

Yes. I'm always lonely. So lonely.

“Ang, it was just fun. I'm a little stoned, you're sexy, it's been a while. It didn't happen, big whoop. Next time I'll just take my top off, maybe then you won't hesitate,” she managed to joke.

“If you whip out your boobs next time, I promise to fu-ck you until you won't be able to look at Satan the same,” he joked. She snorted.

Yeah, good luck with that.

“If Ellie could hear you now,” she sighed, opening the front door.

“Yeah, it wouldn't be pretty. Seriously, you okay out here? You can come stay with me, or her, until they come home,” he offered. She shook her head, almost shaking with the amount of tension running through her body. She just wanted him gone.

“No, I'm good. Besides, someone has to water Sanders' plants. He'd kill me and bury me in there if I let one of them die,” she said. Ang nodded.

“Okay. Take it easy, kitty cat. Call me if you need anything. Anything,” he urged, then leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

“Good night!” she called out after him.

Tate had barely swung the door shut when she fell to her knees. She crawled forward, pressed her back to the door and pulled her knees up. She tried to get her breathing under control while she wrapped her arms around her legs. Holy shit. Holy shit, what had she almost done? Ang had no clue, he thought she was being weird, but all sexy and cheeky. Stupid man. He didn't know.

And Jameson. Jesus, if he even knew how far it had gone right then, he would've been pissed. If she'd actually gone through with it? Slept with Ang? God. He would hate her. Ellie would hate her. And Ang would hate her, as soon as he found out it was all on purpose. Most of the time, it all sounded like a great idea.

But sometimes, when she was alone, and she couldn't stop the crying, it just sounded like she was the worst person she'd ever met.

Well, next to Jameson ...



*



Tate stood in the doorway a couple days later, watching as Sanders unloaded the car. Jameson was sitting in the backseat, talking on his cell phone. She smiled and held out her arms when Sanders finally made his way up to the porch.

“What did you do?” he demanded, and she laughed.

“What? What!? I'm alive, I didn't kill any of your plants, and I cleaned up the meatball explosion in the kitchen,” she defended herself.

“I had this strange feeling while we were gone, and you sounded odd whenever I called,” he said, looking her over.

“No, nothing strange here. Just bored most of the time,” she replied. Jameson finally got out of the car and strode up onto the porch. Sanders gave her one more Look, and then headed inside.

“God, what a fu-cking nightmare. Sanders was ridiculous, he worried about you the whole time,” Jameson grumbled, pushing his way past her. She shut the door after everyone was inside.

“Sweet to know someone worried about me,” she laughed, following him up the stairs. Sanders left Jameson's luggage in front of his room, then headed back downstairs.

“If I wasted my time worrying about you, I would never get anything done,” he responded, pulling his tie off and walking to the edge of the bed. Tate kicked the door shut behind her.

“See. Sweetness. You're just full of it,” she teased. He glanced at her while he slid his jacket off, let it fall onto the bed.

“You're in an awfully good mood,” he said suspiciously, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. Tate shrugged.

“I spent a week alone. It was quiet. Peaceful. Nice. I didn't have to listen to you bitch the whole time,” she taunted him, smiling as she said it. He narrowed his eyes, then walked past her into the closet.

“Starting awfully early, baby girl. At least let me -, what is this? Why is this on the floor?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath and crept to the door into the closet. The blazer Ang had worn was crumpled up on the floor, where he had left it. Tate had never picked it up.

“What?” she asked, feigning ignorance. He picked the blazer up and shook it out.

“Why is this on the floor?” he asked, holding it up. He made a face. “Jesus, is that weed? Were you getting stoned in my jacket?”

“Oh, no. Ang was over, and we -,” she started to explain, as if it were an every day occurrence. Jameson turned towards her, his eyes wide.