“So. Set a timer, Sanders will take them out. Let's go get lunch,” he suggested, licking his finger. She followed the movement with her eyes and he smiled.
“You take him for granted,” she warned him. He barked out a laugh.
“You are always so wrong. C'mon, fat ass, let's go,” he urged, roughly squeezing her butt before walking past her.
“I am not -,” she started to argue when he hooked a finger into her apron and yanked her backwards.
“I wasn't asking, Tate.”
They went to lunch in Weston, which surprised her. He was either at home, or in Boston. She couldn't remember him ever doing anything in Weston, but he drove them straight to a restaurant and walked right in, like he had been going there for years. He had ordered before she even sat down, and she had to wait for the waiter to come back before she could put in her own order.
Being alone with him in public was the worst for her. She couldn't seduce him in a restaurant, during the middle of the day. Well, she could, but it would be a little awkward, while he was stuffing his face and a family of four sat behind them. So she was subjected to his company. And sometimes, Satan was very pleasant company, indeed. It almost made her feel guilty about her plans.
Almost.
Because she loved it so much, he had taken the Jaguar, and then surprised her by cruising around with her for a while afterwards. It was freezing, but the sun was out, so he opened the sun roof. She leaned her seat back, enjoying the breeze.
“Tate,” Jameson started, his voice heavy. She groaned.
“No more talking. I feel like everyone keeps wanting to have 'talks' with me. I am a big girl. I make my own decisions, retarded as they may be, thank you,” she said quickly.
“I wasn't going to have 'a talk'. I was going to ask how much convincing it would take to get some road head,” he replied. She burst out laughing and glanced over at him.
“Jesus, Jameson, are you always fully erect?” she chuckled. He smiled.
“Not quite always.”
“Not quite, huh. What about when you're at work? What could possibly get you excited there?” she questioned.
“Well, we did hire a new secretary. She is particularly edible,” he said. She stopped laughing.
“Oh really. Fuck her yet?” she asked, trying to sound breezy.
“Despite what you may think, I don't just fuck every woman who steps in front of me. I do let some of them get away,” he assured her.
“What about this one?” she kept on.
“No, I haven't fucked her.”
“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 fuck her on the table afterwards,” he suggested, his tone biting. The picture he was painting, the idea of him fucking 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 fucking,” 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 fuck 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.