Jameson finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and her breath caught in her throat. He was a massive asshole, but holy shit, he was good looking. And she now knew what he looked like while having sex. She would never be able to look at him the same way again. She swallowed and looked away.
“Alright. You want to start that conversation? Once I'm gone, it's over, I never have to see her again. But you, you're her sister. Much worse for you,” he pointed out.
Tate struggled with her conscience, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. She was going to cry again. He was so cold. He had always been so cold, how could she have thought he'd be different? Sex didn't change things. But he was right. Telling Ellie would just upset the whole family, and he would escape unscathed. He had said he didn't want to date her, so it wasn't like she would gain anything by telling her sister.
“You're an absolutely horrible person,” she hissed at him, blinking through her tears. He laughed, his voice loud in the large apartment.
“No shit, but you just fucked your sister's boyfriend, so what kind of a person does that make you? Now get your goddamn clothes on, and get out,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through the bedroom door.
They stopped just long enough for Tate to button up the silk shirt while he grabbed her cardigan off the floor. She refused to look at him while she tried to make herself look presentable, finger combing her hair as best she could, praying she looked semi-decent. Or at the very least not like someone who had just had a steamy affair with their sister's boyfriend.
Oh god.
“I'm going to forget tonight ever happened,” she informed him as they strode towards the front door. Jameson laughed again.
“Baby girl, you couldn't forget if you tried,” he told her in a low voice, pressing himself against her from behind. She shivered and had to force herself not to press back in to him.
“You had better break up with her. If you stay with her, you're ..., you're sick,” she informed him, her hand on the door knob. He shrugged, not moving his weight away from her. His body was so warm, like a furnace. She wanted to curl up in him.
“I can live with that. See you around, Tate,” he said. She yanked open the door.
“No, you won't.”
His laughter followed her in to the hallway. It sounded demonic. Like Satan was laughing at her.
“I will if I want to.”
She stomped down the hallway, tears streaming down her face. How could she have let that happen!? She was a goody-two-shoes. Tate never acted wild, never did anything bad, never did anything wrong. Sure, she had always secretly kind of wanted to – but maybe something more along the lines of sneaking her dad's brandy, or staying out past curfew. Not fucking her sister's boyfriend. That was a little beyond wild.
Speak of the devil – her sister was getting off the antiquated freight elevator at the end of the hall. Tate let out a deep breath, wiping at her face. She didn't know if she could handle this moment. Jameson had just ripped her in half. Ellie would mop the floor with her remains.
“Kane didn't tell me you were still here,” Ellie clipped out in a brisk tone, striding down the hall in her expensive ballet flats.
I would never call him Kane, I hate that. He has a first name, I just screamed it about twenty times.
“I was just on my way out, I dropped off your stuff,” Tate said, her voice low and her head ducked, hoping they could just pass each other. No such luck.
“Are you wearing my shirt!?” Ellie suddenly demanded, grabbing Tate by the arm.
“Yeah, uh, I spilled something on myself. Jameson told me to grab something, so I just grabbed something,” Tate mumbled.
“Jesus, Tate, you're such a child. Kane doesn't know anything about clothing, do you have any idea how much this cost? Take it off, right now,” Ellie demanded. Tate gasped.
Can this day get any worse?
“Ellie! I don't have anything else! You want me to drive home naked?” she asked. Ellie rolled her eyes.
“You're so over-dramatic. You have your sweater.”
“It doesn't close! Ellie, c'mon, I can have your shirt sent back tomorrow. I'll even dry clean it,” Tate offered.
“No. You'll ruin it. Take it off, now,” Ellie ordered her.
Something snapped in Tate.
“Fuck you, Eloise. It's a goddamn shirt, and I'm going to wear this goddamn shirt, all the goddamn way home,” she snarled, and then stomped in to the elevator.
She leaned against the wall as the old contraption clanked and rattled its way to the ground floor. She couldn't believe she had spoken like that to Ellie. She had never talked that way, to anyone. Jameson had loosened something in her, shaken her up. She now knew that he was Satan in a male model's body, but he had done something to her, there was no denying it.
She dragged her feet as she made her way outside. She didn't want to think of the repercussions of her actions. It was safe to assume that Ellie was already calling their father. That never ended well for Tate, under the best of circumstances, and these circumstances were complete shit.
Snow was coming down, adding to the layer that was already on the ground. She got to the back of her car, but then couldn't resist looking up. Jameson's apartment had huge floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out over the parking lot and street. Gorgeous on a sunny day.
She had a clear view of the inside of the loft. Ellie looked like she was throwing a temper tantrum, shaking her arms and head at a very still Jameson. He had his arms crossed, and almost looked bored. At first Tate couldn't figure it out – if Ellie was freaking out over the shirt, then she was totally overreacting. Usually, she was sugary-sweet to Jameson. Fake. But she looked like she was screaming. She was holding something in her hand, and it clicked in to place in Tate's mind.