“I'm not upset, I -,”
Suddenly he was shaking her. She dug her nails in to his wrist and he let go of her, but only long enough to pin that arm between her body and his thigh. His hand immediately went back to the base of her neck and he lowered his face till he was directly above her.
“Don't ever fucking lie to me, Tate. Stupid fucking girl. Put your fucking hands on me like that again, and you'll see how mean I can really get,” he warned her, his lips so close they were brushing against her own.
She felt her temperature soar through the roof. Jameson had an uncanny gift that made it impossible for her to be truly mad at him – the angrier she got, the more she just wanted to have sex with him. He was blessed that way; or rather, she was cursed.
“You keep promising to show me. Still waiting,” Tate whispered back. He chuckled, and the anger in his eyes cooled a little. There was a long pause while he stared at her, and then there was a cough from in front of them.
“One block away, sir,” Sanders' voice carried in to the back seat. Jameson glanced at him and then returned his attention to Tate.
“You just want to piss me off, I swear to god. You have no idea, the things I want to do to you,” he told her.
“The windows are tinted. Sandy would probably like the show,” she offered, sliding around underneath him, rubbing her body against his legs. Jameson quirked up an eyebrow.
“I doubt that. We'll go home, and I'll put a happy end to this argument,” he informed her. She narrowed her eyes.
“We can't go home – we're going to dinner,” she reminded him. He shook his head.
“Bad girls get sent to bed without dinner,” he stated. She began to struggle against his weight.
“No. You agreed to go, so you have to go. I told everyone we would be there,” she said.
“Do you really think I give a fuck?” he asked with a laugh.
“That's not fair. You agreed,” Tate stressed.
“Why is this so important? You want me to meet your friends? I don't care about your friends, Tate. If you think I care about your life, you're mistaken. Stupidity annoys me, whether it's you, or some guy down the street, or something on TV, doesn't matter. I think you're stupid, and that annoys me. Don't read in to things. We are going home, and we will finish this discussion there. The only reason I'm not fucking you right now, is because I have too much respect for Sanders,” Jameson spat out at her.
But not for me.
The problem with playing her games, Tate had long ago learned, was the line between fun and bad was too blurry. For instance, Ang had called her just about every dirty name they could both think of, but one time, while just hanging out at his apartment, he made a sarcastic remark about her family hating her because she was a huge whore. She didn't speak to him for two weeks. Took him even longer to get back in her pants.
What was real, and what wasn't real? Calling her a “dumb cunt” was fine, as long as Jameson didn't really think she was one. Knowing and thinking she was a whore was fine, as long as she was treated with respect. Was he playing a game now? If he had said all those same words at another time, a different situation, she would have already been thinking of ways to get him naked in the car. But it didn't feel like he was playing. If he was, it wasn't fun anymore. Her feelings were hurt. She hated that.
“Get off of me.”
Surprisingly, he complied without hesitation. Tate pushed away from him, getting as much distance between the two of them as she could on the seats. Sanders was just pulling in to a parking spot outside of her friend's apartment building. She refused to look at Jameson, just went about straightening her clothing.
“Oh my, I've struck a nerve. I didn't know Tatum O'Shea had those anymore,” he said, his voice quiet. She looked over at him.
“Fuck you, Kane,” she spat out. He laughed.
“Strike one. Let's go inside, get this over with.”
“I'm going inside. You can go fuck yourself.”
“I see. I've hurt you. Interesting,” his voice was quieter still, his eyes wandering over her face. She shook her head.
“No, just enlightened me. If I'm so fucking stupid, so fucking annoying, so not worthy of your fucking respect, maybe you should just find someone else to play with,” she told him.
“Not yet. You may be stupid and annoying, but you're one hell of a lay,” Jameson told her, his smile wide. She rolled her eyes and climbed out of the car.
Tate was mad, though she wasn't sure why. She knew that Jameson didn't care about her – why was she angry that he had said it out loud? Because it made it real. When they were alone together, lazing around his library, he made it easy to forget. He would just talk with her sometimes, laugh with her. Made it seem like he actually liked her, for more than just her abilities in bed.
Stupid girl.
“What are you doing!?” she demanded, when he got out of the car on the other side.
“You were right about one thing. I agreed to go, so I'm going. Can't have you holding it over my head later. Say a lot of things about me, but I'm not a quitter,” Jameson told her as she came around to stand next to him.
“But I don't want you here anymore,” she said. He shrugged.
“Don't really care. What's the apartment number?”
Her vision started turning a little red. Never had she dealt with such a stubborn man. If she wanted to go left, he went right. If she went right with him, he decided to go left. Sometimes it turned her on. Other times, it just made her want to kill him.