Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(15)

“Yet.”

“Yet,” he agreed.

“Well, don't hold back on my account. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable at work,” she managed to joke.

Tate wasn't sure how to really feel about it. She was going to dump Jameson like a bad habit, as soon as the perfect opportunity presented itself. She shouldn't care who he slept with, really. But still ...

“You and I both know you wouldn't like that to happen, so I have restrained myself. For you, I would like to point out. I want brownie points,” he said. She snorted.

“You're still in the red on brownie points. And really, I don't mind,” she assured him.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don't.”

“Tatum.”

“Jameson.”

“Stop it.”

“You stop it.”

“Okay, how about I bring her home. You could cook us dinner, and I could fu-ck her on the table afterwards,” he suggested, his tone biting. The picture he was painting, the idea of him fu-cking someone else in their – correction, his – house, made her want to throw up. But Tate figured being flippant would be more beneficial to her cause. She took a deep breath.

“Alright. But I'm a shit cook, you should probably just skip to the fu-cking,” she warned him. He barked out a laugh.

“Baby girl, why can't you just admit, out loud, that you don't like sharing me,” he said in a soft voice.

“Because it's not true. You're the one who doesn't like to share his toys,” she reminded him. He nodded.

“There's only certain people I don't like to share with, and I'm okay with that fact,” he agreed.

“Maybe I'm not,” she countered.

“You want to sleep with other guys? Go for it. I never said you couldn't,” he told her.

“Really? I seem to recall a sharp pair of scissors telling me other wise.”

Jameson was quiet after that, and after a couple minutes, he pulled the car into a turn around area. They were deep in the country, surrounded by frosty fields. Boston was in the middle of a cold snap, and temperatures had been in the low-twenties. As he turned the engine off, Tate wrapped her sleeves around her fists and turned to look at him.

“I don't care if you sleep with other men. I do care if you fu-ck them and then rub it in my face; try to make me feel like shit about it. It doesn't work – it just pisses me off and makes you look like a stupid whore,” he told her bluntly.

My, my, Satan makes a daytime appearance.

“I have a game,” Tate started, undoing her seatbelt.

“What?” he growled, eyeing her warily as she moved her seat back.

“How about we both tell the truth,” she suggested, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.

“I never lie, so this will be pretty easy for me. You, on the other hand, haven't been acquainted with the truth in quite a while,” he called her out. She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, it would bother me if you had sex with your secretary,” she stated. His eyebrows went up.

“I already know that, though I'm surprised you admitted it out loud,” he replied. She crossed her eyes at him.

“It is one thing for you to sex up some random chick in a far away place. It is another thing for you to find some new fantastic lover that's better than me right here at home. As you once said, I'm not done playing with you yet,” she explained.

“I'm flattered.”

“So. Now you admit something, too,” she urged.

“Like what?” he asked. She took off her scarf, threw it into the backseat.

“Like the idea of me having sex with someone else makes your blood boil,” she filled in for him. Jameson snorted.

“Tatum, I couldn't care -,”

“He almost kissed me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ang. In the bedroom. He almost kissed me. I was kneeling on your bed. He had his arms around me,” she painted a picture. Rage rippled across Jameson's features.

“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded.

“To point out how mad you are right now,” she replied.

“That's because I don't like Angier. A stranger is completely different,” he snapped.

“Oh really? So another man, some stranger, touching me, doesn't bother you,” she clarified, and slowly shrugged off her jacket.

“Not in the least,” he replied. She smiled.

“Another man fu-cking me doesn't bother you. So if I were to go downtown, and rent a hotel room for a weekend, and just sow some wild oats, you would be cool with that?” she clarified, putting her jacket into the backseat.

“Completely.”

“Ooohhh, I know what I'm doing next weekend. I'm going to get a room, and then I'm going to put on the tiniest skirt I own, and then I'm going to go bar hopping. I am going to find some devastatingly sexy guy. fu-ck it, maybe I won't even need him to take me back to the room,” Tate said, shivering as she described it.

“You do love a good alley-fu-ck.”

“Don't I, though? Or a car. Cars are good. If he has a car, I'll just climb into the backseat and let him bend me over the console. Been a long time since I've had good car sex,” she sighed.