“I should head home,” she mumbled, staring at Jameson's contact info.
“No, stay here tonight,” Ang said quickly. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
“I'm not fucking you, Angier,” she stated. He laughed.
“Thank you for that. No, you cow, just hang out. I feel like shit. Cheer me up. You owe me,” he told her.
“We just got finished saying we're even, and you're already -,” Tate started to complain when he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Just shut up and hang out with me. Satan can miss you for one night. Please, honey-pot? I could really use some cuddles tonight,” Ang begged, pouting out his lower lip.
Tate groaned. She was a sucker where he was concerned. Geez, sleep with someone a couple dozen – or maybe hundred? – times, and suddenly she's over a barrel, emotionally. She glared at him, then an idea struck her. She held out her cell phone.
“You get to call Satan and tell him I'm staying here,” she told Ang. He glanced at the phone and grumbled.
“God, he's gonna be such a dick. Does he own a gun?” Ang asked, taking the phone.
“Several. Be nice. Sometimes it works with him.”
“Does it really?”
“No. Good luck.”
“Fuuuuck.”
She dragged him to sit on the couch, then yanked him down to her height so she could listen to the phone call. It rang three times before the line connected.
“You better not be calling to ask for bail money,” Jameson's voice barked. “I don't care if you're in prison – if you ever ignore one of my phone calls again, I swear to fucking god, I'll -,”
“This isn't Tate, so please keep your weird style of flirting to yourself,” Ang snapped. Tate reached up and yanked on a lock of his hair. There was a pause for a long moment.
“Angier. Why are you calling me? What did she do?” Jameson demanded. Ang glared down at Tate.
“Do you always assume she's done something wrong when she calls?” Ang demanded in return. Jameson laughed.
“She never calls.”
Ang raised his eyebrows at Tate, and she just waved him away.
“So you're saying your girlfriend calls me more than she calls you?” Ang asked, his smile audible. Tate pulled away enough to slap at his arms.
“As lovely as it is to hear from you, what the fuck do you want?” Jameson asked. He sounded bored.
“Look. We don't like each other. But I needed some help with something, so I need you to be understanding. You know, not an asshole. Just this once,” Ang stressed.
“I make no promises.”
“I needed to borrow your girlfriend, for like two minutes, to piss Ellie off,” Ang said it quickly. It was the second time he had referred to Tate as Jameson's “girlfriend”; she was waiting for Jameson to correct him.
“Oh jesus. I don't want to know.”
“Mostly tongue, not a big deal, I promise. She absolutely refused to fuck me,” Ang said assuredly. Tate slapped him across the back of the head.
“She kissed you?”
“More like I kissed her. Totally rape-y. She was very respectful of you, I promise.”
“You're both insane. I don't know why I bother. Tell her she needs to come home, now,” Jameson growled.
“I need her for a little longer,” Ang said. Jameson laughed, but it was evil sounding. Satan was on the phone.
“I don't give a fuck, Angier.”
“Hey, she was my friend long before she was ever with you,” Ang reminded him. “Just let me borrow her for the night. It's been a shitty day. I promise, nothing bad will happen. I won't touch your girlfriend 'inappropriately'.”
“You won't be touching her at all. I want her home.”
Tate didn't hear the next part of the conversation. She was shell shocked. Jameson hadn't corrected him. Had actually fed the assumption that she was his proper-girlfriend. It was almost as if he had said the words out loud. She shook her head. Didn't mean anything. Jameson didn't believe in titles.
“... fine. Fine, anything, as long as you never fucking call me again, understood? Tell her to be at my office tomorrow, noon. Sharp,” Jameson's voice was hissing when Tate dove back into the conversation. Punishment sounded imminent. She shivered at the thought.
“Of course, of course, whatever,” Ang was grumbling.
“Angier, if I find out you so much as looked at her while she was sleeping, I will cut your nuts off. Understood?” Jameson said in a cool voice. Ang laughed.
“You do realize I have seen her naked. Like a million times. I can shut my eyes, and see her naked right now,” Ang pointed out.
“Stop.”
“Too late. Doing it right now. Naked Tatum, all up in my brain,” Ang rubbed it in.
“The idea of strangling you and dumping you in the harbor is suddenly becoming very appealing to me.”
Ang stopped laughed.
“I'm not gonna try anything. She only has eyes for you anyway, she's mental for you. Believe me, once upon a time, I tried to talk her out of it. I've given up. So don't worry,” Ang told him.
“I never do.”
Then the line went dead.
“What the fuck is your problem!?” Tate shrieked, slapping at Ang. He finally sat upright, almost out of reach.
“What!? What!?” he exclaimed, batting her hands away.
“No, stay here tonight,” Ang said quickly. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
“I'm not fucking you, Angier,” she stated. He laughed.
“Thank you for that. No, you cow, just hang out. I feel like shit. Cheer me up. You owe me,” he told her.
“We just got finished saying we're even, and you're already -,” Tate started to complain when he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Just shut up and hang out with me. Satan can miss you for one night. Please, honey-pot? I could really use some cuddles tonight,” Ang begged, pouting out his lower lip.
Tate groaned. She was a sucker where he was concerned. Geez, sleep with someone a couple dozen – or maybe hundred? – times, and suddenly she's over a barrel, emotionally. She glared at him, then an idea struck her. She held out her cell phone.
“You get to call Satan and tell him I'm staying here,” she told Ang. He glanced at the phone and grumbled.
“God, he's gonna be such a dick. Does he own a gun?” Ang asked, taking the phone.
“Several. Be nice. Sometimes it works with him.”
“Does it really?”
“No. Good luck.”
“Fuuuuck.”
She dragged him to sit on the couch, then yanked him down to her height so she could listen to the phone call. It rang three times before the line connected.
“You better not be calling to ask for bail money,” Jameson's voice barked. “I don't care if you're in prison – if you ever ignore one of my phone calls again, I swear to fucking god, I'll -,”
“This isn't Tate, so please keep your weird style of flirting to yourself,” Ang snapped. Tate reached up and yanked on a lock of his hair. There was a pause for a long moment.
“Angier. Why are you calling me? What did she do?” Jameson demanded. Ang glared down at Tate.
“Do you always assume she's done something wrong when she calls?” Ang demanded in return. Jameson laughed.
“She never calls.”
Ang raised his eyebrows at Tate, and she just waved him away.
“So you're saying your girlfriend calls me more than she calls you?” Ang asked, his smile audible. Tate pulled away enough to slap at his arms.
“As lovely as it is to hear from you, what the fuck do you want?” Jameson asked. He sounded bored.
“Look. We don't like each other. But I needed some help with something, so I need you to be understanding. You know, not an asshole. Just this once,” Ang stressed.
“I make no promises.”
“I needed to borrow your girlfriend, for like two minutes, to piss Ellie off,” Ang said it quickly. It was the second time he had referred to Tate as Jameson's “girlfriend”; she was waiting for Jameson to correct him.
“Oh jesus. I don't want to know.”
“Mostly tongue, not a big deal, I promise. She absolutely refused to fuck me,” Ang said assuredly. Tate slapped him across the back of the head.
“She kissed you?”
“More like I kissed her. Totally rape-y. She was very respectful of you, I promise.”
“You're both insane. I don't know why I bother. Tell her she needs to come home, now,” Jameson growled.
“I need her for a little longer,” Ang said. Jameson laughed, but it was evil sounding. Satan was on the phone.
“I don't give a fuck, Angier.”
“Hey, she was my friend long before she was ever with you,” Ang reminded him. “Just let me borrow her for the night. It's been a shitty day. I promise, nothing bad will happen. I won't touch your girlfriend 'inappropriately'.”
“You won't be touching her at all. I want her home.”
Tate didn't hear the next part of the conversation. She was shell shocked. Jameson hadn't corrected him. Had actually fed the assumption that she was his proper-girlfriend. It was almost as if he had said the words out loud. She shook her head. Didn't mean anything. Jameson didn't believe in titles.
“... fine. Fine, anything, as long as you never fucking call me again, understood? Tell her to be at my office tomorrow, noon. Sharp,” Jameson's voice was hissing when Tate dove back into the conversation. Punishment sounded imminent. She shivered at the thought.
“Of course, of course, whatever,” Ang was grumbling.
“Angier, if I find out you so much as looked at her while she was sleeping, I will cut your nuts off. Understood?” Jameson said in a cool voice. Ang laughed.
“You do realize I have seen her naked. Like a million times. I can shut my eyes, and see her naked right now,” Ang pointed out.
“Stop.”
“Too late. Doing it right now. Naked Tatum, all up in my brain,” Ang rubbed it in.
“The idea of strangling you and dumping you in the harbor is suddenly becoming very appealing to me.”
Ang stopped laughed.
“I'm not gonna try anything. She only has eyes for you anyway, she's mental for you. Believe me, once upon a time, I tried to talk her out of it. I've given up. So don't worry,” Ang told him.
“I never do.”
Then the line went dead.
“What the fuck is your problem!?” Tate shrieked, slapping at Ang. He finally sat upright, almost out of reach.
“What!? What!?” he exclaimed, batting her hands away.
