“It is you. It's the way you dress now,” he gestured to the fancy skirt and blouse she was wearing. “It's this party, it's those people, it's the way you act – who the fuck is this person!? You didn't die in that fucking pool, Tate, but you sure fucking act like it. You don't have to become someone else!”
Oh, Ang. I became someone else the moment I walked into Satan's house.
“Look, I'm sorry I'm not that person anymore. I'm sorry that I can't go back. Don't you think I wish I could!? I wish I could just close my eyes and the last four months wouldn't have happened. I wish I could go back in time, back to when I first met you, and I could've told you 'Yes, I'll shoot that porno with you, why, I love facials!', and then you and I could be married-millionaire-porn-stars with a hundred babies, and I would've never met him again! But I can't go back, so get the fuck over it!” Tate screamed at him.
They stared at each other for a second, breathing hard. Then Ang burst out laughing. Tate was right behind him, laughing so hard she fell into him, pressing her face into his chest. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a full body hug. It had been a long time. She laughed till tears were running down her face and she dug her fingers into his back.
“God, I knew it. I knew you secretly loved getting facials,” he snickered in her ear. She snorted and pulled away a little.
“Shut up, that shit's impossible to get out of your hair,” she told him, wiping at her nose.
“Don't I know it.”
She laughed again and looked up at Ang. Really looked at him. Took in his gray eyes and wild hair. She really did wish she could go back, to when things were easy between them. When she wouldn't think twice about curling herself around him and getting lost in his skin, in his touch. But it wasn't that way anymore. Tate hadn't had sex, real sex, since her little accident.
Since Jameson.
“I love you, Ang. Quite possibly more than I love myself,” she laughed, her eyes watering up. He sighed, pushing her hair off of her shoulders and then putting his hands on the back of her neck.
“I know, sweetie pea. I love you, too. And I know I give you a hard time, and I know things can't be the same, I just ..., I don't want you to give up. I can see it in your eyes. He's an awesome dude, I know, but I can practically feel you trying to talk yourself into, like, marrying him, or something. Nick's not the right guy for you. Don't settle,” Ang urged her. She sniffled.
“I'm not settling. I'm just ...,” she mumbled, staring at his chest.
“And you don't need Satan,” he whispered. She shuddered.
“I definitely know that. Look, I'll get out of my funk. I will. And I promise, I won't settle, or anything else. When I decide to jump back into the sea of men, you will be the first boat I choose to ride,” Tate assured him. Ang laughed and stepped away from her.
“Baby, maybe this boat has already sailed,” he teased.
Tate started to laugh, but then something clicked. Her eyes got wide. Ang was moody. He was never around. He always had to leave early. He was constantly checking his phone. Oh god. The unthinkable had happened. She gasped.
“Oh my god. Ang. Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked. His laughter died instantly.
“What? Why would you say that? I just -,” he started, but she knew him too well. Even after all their problems, and everything they'd been through, Tate still knew him. Ang was a worse liar than she was, he got all twitchy and nervous.
“You do! You have a girlfriend! Holy shit! Have you ever had a girlfriend!?” she exclaimed. He glared at her.
“Of course I have, have you looked at me!?” he snapped back. She laughed and clapped her hands.
“What is she like? Does she come to your movie sets? God, did you meet her on set!? This is amazing! Who is it!?” Tate demanded. He rolled his eyes and started to walk backwards down the hall.
“I'm not talking about this right now. Someday, we'll get over our weird shit, and you'll throw yourself at me – naked – in some sad, desperate, attempt to get back in my good graces, and maybe then I'll tell you. But not now,” Ang said, backing into the elevator doors. Without looking, he reached out and hit the down button.
“But I'm dying, Angie-wangy! Please!” she begged. He laughed.
“Beg harder!” he yelled.
“Pleeeeeeease!”
He kept laughing as the elevator doors opened. He saluted her, then disappeared.
And then she was alone. Tate glanced at the door to the suite, but she didn't want to go back to the party. She pressed her back to the wall and slid to the floor. Ang's words sat heavy in her brain. Don't settle. What was she supposed to do? Jameson had wrecked her a little bit. Wrecked her a lot. Ang didn't feel familiar to her anymore, and even if he had, now he had a new playmate. Nick was one of the only people she felt comfortable around anymore. Sure, she didn't feel like herself, but she couldn't win 'em all. Who else was left?
As if to answer all her questions, her phone rang. Tate dug it out of the waist of her skirt and smiled when saw Sanders was calling. When she had practically been living in the same house as him, Sanders had never called her – back then, he wouldn't even use her first name, she was always “Ms. O'Shea” or “ma'am”. Now he called at least once every other day, like clock work. If she felt comfortable when she was around Nick, than she felt like she was home when she was around Sanders.