Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(43)

Obviously, Sanders had never had convulsions and been admitted to a psych ward. Obviously, Sanders hadn't spent every day for the past couple months, worrying and waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other hand to strike. Nothing was ever smooth sailing with Jameson. Something was going to happen. She still couldn't say if she honestly wanted to see what it was.

Dinner with Nick was awkward. He laughed and tried to make her feel comfortable, but the kiss laid heavy between them. Words were almost easier to forget than a kiss. He assured her that he was fine, his heart wasn't broken. But before they parted ways, he hugged her tightly and made her promise that if she ever needed anything, anything, that he would be the first person she called.

Tate could've gone home, back to Weston. She had originally planned on going home the next day, because she had wanted to see Nick off at the airport, but that wasn't going to happen anymore. Still. She wasn't ready.

So she invited Ang over to the condo. Sanders protested vehemently, insisting that Ang coming over was almost as bad as Nick coming over. Tate just shushed him and told him to go back to Weston.

“You don't want me here?” he sounded shocked. She laughed and hugged him.

“I always want your around, Sandy. But I know you don't like it here. And Nick is gone, I don't need a babysitter. I'll be home, I'm not going to run away,” she promised him. He frowned.

“I think this is a bad idea,” he insisted.

“Stay, if you want. We're going to do a marathon of Ang's first ten porns. They start getting almost good after the first three. Anal was new to him, he didn't -,”

She had never seen Sanders move quite that fast.

Ang really did come over, though they opted not to watch the porn. She hadn't had sex in almost a week. After being celibate for so long over the winter, her sex drive was back with a vengeance. She didn't want to tempt fate.

Ang and Ellie had made a truce of sorts. She admitted to knowingly leading him on, and had apologized. He apologized for making out with Tatum, just to hurt her. She asked if they could still have sex once and while. He told her that she couldn't afford him.

Laughter all around.

“You know who was good?” Ang breathed, passing a joint to her. She didn't really drink anymore, and hadn't smoked any cigarettes since Jameson had tossed her in the ocean. But Tate saw no problems with marijuana. A fine, smoky haze drifted around the condo.

“Who?” she asked, taking a hit and holding the smoke in her lungs.

“Rusty,” he replied, referring to her old roommate, the one he had slept with to piss Tate off. She started coughing.

“Seriously!?” she exclaimed, patting her chest. He nodded.

“Yeah, surprisingly. That shy, virginal thing kinda does it for me,” he replied. She swatted him in the arm.

“Shut up, you loved it with me.”

“Tater tot, no one will ever be as good as you,” he told her, and she smiled. “But Rus was pretty hot. I think I was like only the fourth dude she'd ever had sex with.”

“One time, I had to listen to her and some dude, all night. Jameson was over. I thought we were gonna die, we were laughing so hard. It sounded boring,” Tate said. He shook his head.

“She's one of those chicks that just needs the right kind of man to turn her out,” he explained. She made a face.

“Such a pig. What about Ellie? Closet freak?” she asked. He picked the joint off the ashtray, put it between his lips.

“Nah. I mean, it was kind of obvious she was exploring her 'wild side' with me – she loved getting it on in public. Cracked me up. You should see peoples faces when you get caught going down on a pregnant chick in the public library,” he commented before inhaling deeply.

“Oh god, I feel sick.”

“What about you and that little sidekick? Sanders seems to have googly eyes for you,” Ang pointed out, blowing a stream of smoke away from her head. She made a face.

“Sandy? No, not like that. I think I'm like a cross between a springer spaniel and an incompetent child, to him. He doesn't look at me like that,” she replied.

“Does he look at anyone that way? Guys?” Ang asked. She smiled.

“Interested?”

“No.”

“No, he's not gay. I've caught him peeking at me when I'm changing, I've seen the way he looks at other women. It's not obvious, you have to know him really well, but you can tell. He's probably banged more women than you or Jameson put together,” she told him and he laughed.

“Very true. It's always the quiet types. So what about you and Satan. Did you tell him that you looooooooove him? Do you make love now?” Ang teased her. She snorted.

“I don't looooooooove him, and the last time we had sex, he bent me in half over a lawn chair and fu-cked me so hard, I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard me screaming – the closest house is two miles away. A postal worker came to check on us, and Jameson just waved. I don't think that's 'making love',” she told him.

“fu-ck, that's hot. Can I watch you two sometime?” Ang asked. She laughed.

“No. But yeah, it's pretty hot.”

“Can you record it for me?”

“I'll think about it.”

Ang passed out not long after that; weed put him to sleep like a baby, half the time. Tate left him on the couch and crawled into her bed. Thought some more about Jameson. After they had come back from Paris, she had used sex as a weapon. As a distraction. As a way to keep him from her heart. Not that she hadn't enjoyed it – of course she had – but she detached herself a little. Separated herself from the act. Sex with Jameson had always been too much, she couldn't let him get to her that way. So she had cut herself off.