“So why are we playing tennis?” she asked, once they were in the car. She and Ang sat in the back, while Jameson rode up front with Sanders.
“I ran into an old friend of mine. She invited us to play, I thought it would be fun,” was his answer.
Ooohhh, this “acquaintance” is female, I get it now.
“Is this 'she' hot?” Tate asked.
“Exceedingly.”
“Barf. Sandy,” she decided to change the subject. “Do you play tennis?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
“Are you going to play with us today?”
“God, no.”
They pulled up to a swanky resort and filed inside. Sanders disappeared into the lounge while Jameson led the rest of them to the tennis courts. Tate was laughing at a story Ang was telling when someone caught her eye.
There was a woman a couple feet away from them. She was ridiculously tall, probably five-foot-ten, or eleven – in flat sneakers. She was wearing a white pleated tennis skirt, so short it was almost pointless, and a skin tight white tank top. Her shiny black hair had been slicked back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a white visor. All the white set off her deep tan to perfection. But that didn't bother Tate.
No, the way the woman draped herself all over Jameson and loudly kissed his cheek, that bothered Tate.
“Angier, Tatum, this is Isadora,” Jameson introduced the woman, all while yanking away from her. Tate smiled.
Good boy.
“Ah, hello, I am so pleased to finally meet you!” the woman gushed in a thick accent. Tate couldn't quite place it, it almost sounded Spanish, but not quite. The woman's voice was also thick and heavy, coming from the back of her throat.
“Oh, thank you, nice to meet you, too. Thank you for inviting us,” Tate said quickly, moving to shake Isadora's hand. The other woman ignored it and leaned down, kissing Tate heavily on the cheek. Tate had the strange feeling that she was being hit on.
“But of course, I had to. I had to meet the woman that tamed our ferocious Kane,” Isadora giggled, leaning into Jameson and pressing a hand to his chest.
What the hell is going on? Is he trying to orchestrate a threesome? I'm not fucking this giraffe.
“Yeah, well, he is so …,” Tate struggled to maintain her smile, “ferocious, I suppose. How do you two know each other?”
“He didn't tell you?” Isadora laughed, an almost musical sound, octaves descending the scale. Tate and Ang glanced at each other. He looked just as confused as Tate felt.
“I didn't realize a conversation was necessary to have tennis,” Jameson snapped, then walked away from them.
“Ah. I see you haven't quite tamed him yet,” Isadora teased, winking at Tate.
I don't appreciate all this winking and giggling and breathing. Not from someone that pretty.
“Did you two used to date?” Tate asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“Yes. It seems like forever ago,” Isadora sighed, looking longingly after Jameson. “He has a vacation home in Rio, that is where I'm from. I am a singer. It was a whirlwind, only a month or so, but Kane leaves a lasting impression, doesn't he?”
“He certainly leaves something, that's for sure,” Tate agreed.
They finally followed after Jameson, to a court that Isadora had booked for all of them. Tate all but shoved Ang into the overly-sexified Brazilian, then cornered Jameson by a bench. He was uncovering his racket and swinging it through the air.
“Alright, let's get it over with so we can play,” he sighed, obviously ready for her indignation.
“You invited me to play tennis with a woman you used to fuck. With a woman who clearly still wants to be fucking you,” Tate laid it all out.
“To be fair, she wants to fuck you, too,” Jameson corrected her.
“Oh, excuse me, that totally changes things. Hold my shorts while I go initiate a sixty-nine.”
“Don't make promises you won't keep.”
“Why didn't you just tell me? I like to be mentally prepared when I have to interact with one of your groupies,” Tate groaned, pulling out her racket as well.
“Hey, I have to interact with Angier all the time. You can suck it up for one hour, baby girl,” Jameson pointed out. She snorted.
“That's one hour too long.”
“I actually did it for him,” Jameson said, his voice quiet and confidential.
“Huh?”
“She's lonely here. Desperate. And I know Angier will fuck anything with a pulse. Seemed win-win,” he explained.
“You're such a sweetheart,” Tate said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He swung the racket against her ass, causing her to yelp.
“Don't piss me off. We'll play, they'll flirt, we'll get drinks, and hopefully we can all end the day having sex,” Jameson told her.
“It almost sounds fun, when you put it that way.”
The Brazilian made sexy eyes at Ang for a while, but it was obvious that Jameson was her ultimate goal. As they all took their sides of the court, Tate glared as the other woman flirted and touched Jameson. Leaned against him. Breathed on him.
“What are we doing here?” Ang asked in a low voice.
“That chicks wants to fuck Jameson. He's trying to pawn her off on you. Be sexy,” Tate advised him.
“Bitch, I was born sexy.”
Tate had to agree. Ang was wearing a pair of old fashioned looking Ray Bans, and his hair was cropped extremely short on the sides, but long and wild on top. There was a touch of James Dean about him; something 1950's. His bad boy smile was firmly in place, and though Isadora was focusing on Jameson, she threw a couple flirty glances Ang's way.