“Once it gets late, it'll change. Stop worrying,” he instructed her, then their waiter arrived. A scotch, neat, for Jameson. Sparkling water for Tate.
They watched people dance and made idle chit chat. It was strained at first, but eventually it flowed. Jameson had always been easy to talk to, in a way. The only problem now was that they would be chatting along, and Tate would be enjoying herself, and then a memory would smack her upside the head, like a bad acid flashback. Pool. Whiskey. Supermodel. All a lie. BAM. Conversation dampener. It would take her a couple seconds to get back into the stride of talking, and he always looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, which in turn made her more uncomfortable. She was grateful when the waiter finally showed up with their dinner, till she saw what was on the plate.
“You said you were craving it,” was all Jameson said as he cut in to the steak he had ordered for himself.
“You ordered me lobster,” Tate said plainly, staring at what was probably the biggest lobster she had ever seen.
“Yes.”
“You have awfully high hopes,” she pointed out.
“Only the highest.”
“This lobster could be plated in platinum, and you still wouldn't get any pussy,” Tate warned him. An older couple at the table next to them turned around, but Jameson ignored them.
“I could make you wear that lobster as a hat and I'd probably still get pussy by the end of the night,” he countered.
Tate decided to ignore him. She wasn't going to give anything up, but she did love lobster. And this one was delicious. She dipped the pieces in a buttery garlic sauce, savored every bite. Moaned out loud a couple times. Was contemplating lifting the shell to lick it clean when she realized Jameson was staring at her.
“What?” she asked, glancing down at herself to see if she'd dribbled butter down her front.
“You are the sexiest woman I know,” he replied.
She coughed and laughed at the same time.
“I think there is a supermodel who would very much argue that point,” she managed to choke out. Jameson sighed and pushed his plate aside so he could rest his forearms against the table.
“You love to bring her up, but then change the subject. Let's just get this over with so we don't have to keep going in circles. I left home. I went to Berlin. I ran into her at a function, she was there with a mutual acquaintance. I didn't see her again for a week. I saw pictures of you with your new boyfriend. Then old pictures of you with me. More with him. It made me angry. Then people, employees, were pointing them out to me. I got angrier. So I called her up, I took her to dinner, I took her shopping. I asked her if she wanted to come back to the states with me, for a vacation. She asked about you, I told her you would be fine with it – that's the only lie I've ever told about us,” his voice got serious during the last part.
“Good to know,” Tate whispered, looking anywhere but him. She did not want to be having this conversation.
“Before we even left Germany, I told Pet that there was nothing between her and I, that I just wanted to have fun. She agreed. I was so angry at you, Tate. I thought you had lied to me, about him, about how you felt about me, about everything. I felt played. I am not a man people do that to,” Jameson explained.
“Clearly. I never even thought of trying.”
“I didn't realize that, not until it was too late. Look, she was nothing to me, except a huge mistake. Every interaction I've ever had with her is a mistake. I have said this to her. It doesn't make up for what I did to you, but it's the truth. I didn't care about her then. I don't care about her now. You're the one sitting across from me,” he informed her.
It certainly did not make up for it, at least not in Tate's mind. She sat there, still looking away from him, trying not to cry. It was blunt, and it made him sound like the worst kind of asshole, but in Jameson-speak, it was all very sweet. He had been jealous, angry, and upset. He had lashed out. He had been childish, petulant, and mean. He had been hurt. She had unknowingly hurt him.
You can't hurt Satan. This is all part of his game. Note that he said he didn't care about her – but he never said anything about caring for you. Do not lose to him again.
“You know what I think?” Tate began, turning towards him and leaning against the table as well. He quirked up an eyebrow.
“I'm scared to ask.”
“I think you wanted to hurt me. I think you planned it before you even left Boston. I think hurting my body was beginning to bore you – you wanted bigger game. You loved degrading me, now you wanted to do it in front of other people. I think it was fun for you, and I think you enjoyed it,” she called him out. There. Now he knew exactly what she thought about the whole situation.
“Well then. Once again, you would be thinking wrong,” Jameson replied, his tone cool, his eyes hard.
What does it take to get under this man's skin the way he gets under mine!?
“I'm going to dance,” Tate said abruptly.
“Excuse me?” he asked, obviously caught off guard
“Dance. They've turned down the lights, the band is gone,” she explained, scooting back from the table. He looked at her like she was crazy.
“Tate, I think we ne-,” he started, but she held up her hand.
“I don't want to do this with you. Please. Let's just ..., be friends for tonight. Okay? Just friends,” she stressed.
“Tate, in a million years, you and I will never be 'just friends',” Jameson replied in a low voice.
They watched people dance and made idle chit chat. It was strained at first, but eventually it flowed. Jameson had always been easy to talk to, in a way. The only problem now was that they would be chatting along, and Tate would be enjoying herself, and then a memory would smack her upside the head, like a bad acid flashback. Pool. Whiskey. Supermodel. All a lie. BAM. Conversation dampener. It would take her a couple seconds to get back into the stride of talking, and he always looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, which in turn made her more uncomfortable. She was grateful when the waiter finally showed up with their dinner, till she saw what was on the plate.
“You said you were craving it,” was all Jameson said as he cut in to the steak he had ordered for himself.
“You ordered me lobster,” Tate said plainly, staring at what was probably the biggest lobster she had ever seen.
“Yes.”
“You have awfully high hopes,” she pointed out.
“Only the highest.”
“This lobster could be plated in platinum, and you still wouldn't get any pussy,” Tate warned him. An older couple at the table next to them turned around, but Jameson ignored them.
“I could make you wear that lobster as a hat and I'd probably still get pussy by the end of the night,” he countered.
Tate decided to ignore him. She wasn't going to give anything up, but she did love lobster. And this one was delicious. She dipped the pieces in a buttery garlic sauce, savored every bite. Moaned out loud a couple times. Was contemplating lifting the shell to lick it clean when she realized Jameson was staring at her.
“What?” she asked, glancing down at herself to see if she'd dribbled butter down her front.
“You are the sexiest woman I know,” he replied.
She coughed and laughed at the same time.
“I think there is a supermodel who would very much argue that point,” she managed to choke out. Jameson sighed and pushed his plate aside so he could rest his forearms against the table.
“You love to bring her up, but then change the subject. Let's just get this over with so we don't have to keep going in circles. I left home. I went to Berlin. I ran into her at a function, she was there with a mutual acquaintance. I didn't see her again for a week. I saw pictures of you with your new boyfriend. Then old pictures of you with me. More with him. It made me angry. Then people, employees, were pointing them out to me. I got angrier. So I called her up, I took her to dinner, I took her shopping. I asked her if she wanted to come back to the states with me, for a vacation. She asked about you, I told her you would be fine with it – that's the only lie I've ever told about us,” his voice got serious during the last part.
“Good to know,” Tate whispered, looking anywhere but him. She did not want to be having this conversation.
“Before we even left Germany, I told Pet that there was nothing between her and I, that I just wanted to have fun. She agreed. I was so angry at you, Tate. I thought you had lied to me, about him, about how you felt about me, about everything. I felt played. I am not a man people do that to,” Jameson explained.
“Clearly. I never even thought of trying.”
“I didn't realize that, not until it was too late. Look, she was nothing to me, except a huge mistake. Every interaction I've ever had with her is a mistake. I have said this to her. It doesn't make up for what I did to you, but it's the truth. I didn't care about her then. I don't care about her now. You're the one sitting across from me,” he informed her.
It certainly did not make up for it, at least not in Tate's mind. She sat there, still looking away from him, trying not to cry. It was blunt, and it made him sound like the worst kind of asshole, but in Jameson-speak, it was all very sweet. He had been jealous, angry, and upset. He had lashed out. He had been childish, petulant, and mean. He had been hurt. She had unknowingly hurt him.
You can't hurt Satan. This is all part of his game. Note that he said he didn't care about her – but he never said anything about caring for you. Do not lose to him again.
“You know what I think?” Tate began, turning towards him and leaning against the table as well. He quirked up an eyebrow.
“I'm scared to ask.”
“I think you wanted to hurt me. I think you planned it before you even left Boston. I think hurting my body was beginning to bore you – you wanted bigger game. You loved degrading me, now you wanted to do it in front of other people. I think it was fun for you, and I think you enjoyed it,” she called him out. There. Now he knew exactly what she thought about the whole situation.
“Well then. Once again, you would be thinking wrong,” Jameson replied, his tone cool, his eyes hard.
What does it take to get under this man's skin the way he gets under mine!?
“I'm going to dance,” Tate said abruptly.
“Excuse me?” he asked, obviously caught off guard
“Dance. They've turned down the lights, the band is gone,” she explained, scooting back from the table. He looked at her like she was crazy.
“Tate, I think we ne-,” he started, but she held up her hand.
“I don't want to do this with you. Please. Let's just ..., be friends for tonight. Okay? Just friends,” she stressed.
“Tate, in a million years, you and I will never be 'just friends',” Jameson replied in a low voice.
