Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(30)

“I don't know why you always let her goad you. You are better than her. It is beneath you to act this way with her,” Sanders pointed out. Tate groaned.

“I know,” she agreed, dropping her head. The library door swung open and Jameson strode inside.

“Outstanding, Tatum. You've really topped yourself, fighting with a pregnant woman. Why did I have to explain to her, again, that she and I would never have stayed together?” he asked.

“Because she's a stupid bitch who doesn't think I belong somewhere like here, with someone like you. And she's using Ang,” Tate replied. Jameson nodded.

“Yup, that'll do it,” he whistled through his teeth. Tate licked her lips.

“Did she leave?”

“Yes, I personally escorted her to her car and politely informed her that if she ever insulted you again, she wouldn't be welcome in my house,” he replied.

“She drove off?”

“Yes.”

Tate took off down the hallway, grabbing her coat as she went out the door. Jameson caught up with her on the porch steps, following her down onto the driveway. She had been the last person to use the Jaguar, and the keys were still in her pocket.

“I have to talk to him,” she breathed, when Jameson asked what she was doing.

“Jesus, Tate, you can call him, you know,” he pointed out.

“I know. But I have to talk to him about this in person. After everything that's happened, I don't think he'd appreciate a phone call,” Tate explained, unlocking the Jag and opening the driver's side door. Jameson shut it again.

“This is fu-cking stupid. All this because -,” he started. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him, as forcefully as possible. He looked a little surprised when she pulled away.

“Just stay here and finish the damn whiskey,” she told him, then she hopped into the car.

She didn't know if Ellie had already called him, or even if she'd be at his place, but Tate had a hunch she wouldn't. Ellie wasn't a “feelings” kind of person, it was probably what had drawn her and Jameson together – something in common. When Tate pulled up in front of Ang's apartment building, she didn't see Ellie's car anywhere. She figured it was a good sign. She shivered on his stoop, pressing the buzzer for his apartment until he picked up.

“What the fu-ck!?” his voice crackled over the intercom.

“It's freezing out here, let me in!” she shouted back. There was a buzz, and she yanked the front door open.

His apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator was broken. By the time she got to his door, he was holding it open for her. He was yawning, standing in only a pair of pajama pants, his hair completely standing on end. She glanced at her watch as she walked in the door. Eight o'clock at night.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was filming all last night, some crazy kinky fetish take on Pride and Prejudice, and then I had to waiter some wedding this morning. I was so fu-cking asleep,” he grumbled as she went straight to his room.

“Kinky Pride and Prejudice?”

“'Pride and Pre-Ejaculate'.”

“I don't want to watch that film.”

“What's up, sweetie pea? You usually don't come slum it anymore,” he yawned again, stretching out on his bed. She patted his stomach.

“No sleepy-time Ang. Up, up, up,” she instructed. He pulled himself up so he was resting back against his headboard.

“Is someone on fire somewhere? Oh god, you're not gonna tell me there's some other incident you've been festering over for like the last year,” he groaned. She actually laughed.

“Shut up! No. Has Ellie called you?” Tate asked. He frowned and glanced at his phone.

“No. I haven't heard from her since the day before yesterday, actually. I tried to call her last night, to tell her all about your little melt down, but she never called me back,” he explained. Tate licked her lips nervously.

“Why didn't you tell me? I mean, if your relationship with her is just based on sex, why did you let me feel so guilty for trying to break you up?” she blurted out. His eyebrows shot up.

“What the fu-ck are you talking about? Based on sex? Tate, two weeks ago, we talked about me moving in with her,” he said. Tate winced.

“You and her? Or just you?” she stressed.

“If you came here just to be a bitch, you can go right back home to Satan, I'm sure -,” Ang started, moving to get off the bed.

“She was just at my house. She said she's only using you for sex, and that she would never really 'be with someone' like you,” she rushed out all in one breath. He paused for a long second.

“You're lying. You just thought that your little show last night would -,” he was angry, obviously. Tate held up her hands.

“I'm really not! I promise! We got into a huge fight, I almost beat up a pregnant lady for you. Ask Jameson. Ask Sanders, he had to carry me out of the room. I told her she had to tell you, or that I would,” Tate explained.

She watched as Ang warred with his emotions. He had known Tate longer, but she knew she had been weird lately; trust was shaky between them. He was sleeping with Ellie and calling her his girlfriend, but he knew that she was capable of being almost as shitty as Jameson. It was a tough call to make.