Reparation (15 page)

It was nice.

So if he needed to let her go,
again
, so she could figure shit out, then he would do it. For her. Only for her.

But good god, was she going to pay when she got home.

Tate met up with Nick later that evening, at a sushi place on a busy street. She got there before him and was able to watch as he approached. He was an exceedingly good looking guy. He smiled at everyone, a sort of sideways smile, his bottom lip pulling to the right. Chocolate brown eyes, soft brown hair. Built body. Kind soul. She smacked herself every day, for not being able to just like him back. But apparently she prefered ice cold blue eyes and fangs for smiles. She liked her toys to have a little bite, and Nick was all cuddle.

“How are you!?” he exclaimed, bustling up to their table. She had barely stood up when he wrapped her in a hug.

“Good! God, it feels like forever!” she laughed, hugging him back. He finally pulled away and held her at arms length.

“You looking amazing,” he breathed, letting his eyes travel down her form.

“I guess you haven't seen me in a while,” she commented, looking down at herself. The shirt she was wearing showed more bra than shirt at the top, and her leggings had a geometric pattern sweeping all across them.

“You look more like you, like the girl I met in the bar,” he replied. She burst out laughing.

“
Oh god
.”

“No, it's nice. You look like you feel comfortable in your own skin again,” he explained, sliding into a chair. She sat down as well.

“Well, I'm still not that girl, just so you know. There will be no free-fucks in the back of bars this week,” she warned him.

“Jesus, your mouth is amazing.”

Huh, Jameson always says the same thing
.

“So what's up? How've you been? How is Arizona?” Tate asked, pulling out a menu.

“Hot. I'm not a big fan. You ever gonna come visit me?” he asked, looking over a menu as well. She winced.

“I don't know. Things are complicated right now, I don't think flying across the country to stay with another man is gonna help anything,” she pointed out. He smiled at her.

“You really like him, don't you?” he asked. She frowned.

“Does that make me a horrible person? I really worry about that, that I shouldn't be allowed to like him, after everything he did,” she said quickly. Nick shrugged.

“No. You can't help it. What makes you a horrible person is not liking me,” he teased. She groaned.

“Don't remind me – I tell myself that
every day,
” she assured him.

“Maybe if you slept with me again, I could help you forget him?” he suggested, in a halfway joking tone.

Yeah, right. There aren't enough men in the world to fuck Jameson Kane out of my memory.

“You know what, if he fucks me over again, I will definitely take you up on that offer,” she joked.

“So that's it, huh. You're going to stay with him? Try to be with him?” he asked. She sighed.

“I don't think I have much of a choice. I can't ..., get away. My brain. He owns it,” she replied.

“But what about your heart?”

“My heart ....,” she paused for a while, staring off into space. “I think he's had that since I was eighteen.”

“Well, shit. I don't stand a chance,” Nick tried to joke, to lighten the mood. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“If I could choose anyone else, trust me, it would be you,” she said softly. He nodded.

“Sure, sure. Whatever. C'mon, help me drown my sorrows in sake.”

Nick drank sake, Tate drank water. It was one thing to get tipsy with Sanders and cry in front of Jameson. She wasn't about to do any of that with Nick, and after his second bottle was done, she distracted him from ordering another.

They walked around for a while after that, catching up. She had always had an easiness with him that kind of surprised her. She had used him for sex. Good sex, but that had been it, a one night stand. Something to piss off Jameson. She had never expected to get a friend out of the deal. She looped her arm through his, leaned against him while they walked.

“You're happy?” he sighed as they made their way towards his building. His condo actually wasn't too far from Jameson's. Scary.

“Sometimes,” she joked.

“I think I could make you happy all the time,” he replied in a soft voice. She let go of his arm.

“Nick, someday, you are going to make some woman
so happy
, she won't know what to do with herself,” she warned him.

“I hope she knows what to do with me.”

“She will.”

“I wanted her to be you.”

She smiled sadly at him, standing outside the front doors.

“I wish I was her,” she replied, straightening out his jacket.

“You still could be,” he whispered. She glanced up at him.

“I don't think I ever could,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His arm snaked around the waist.

“Sometimes, I think you were meant to be,” he challenged. She put her hands against his chest, pushing away.

“Nick. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You were there for me in a way no one else was, after the hospital. I don't think I can ever repay that, but I can't be ..., I just can't,” she breathed.

She didn't want to break his heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone, that's why she was always so upfront and honest. The night they had slept together, she had bluntly told him she didn't plan on ever seeing him again. After the hospital, she had told him she wouldn't sleep with him again. She didn't know how else she could put it.

He stared at her for a while, then smiled. Kissed her on the cheek. Told her he would call her tomorrow, then went inside. She stared after him for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. She had needed closure with the whole Petrushka/Jameson incident. Now, she could get some closure with Nick.

Sanders was waiting at the condo when she got there. She was kind of surprised – she had forgotten that Jameson said he was going to send the other man. She smiled, sitting across from him in the living room. When they'd left, Jameson had everything packed up and prepped for shortage. She and Sanders sat on couches covered in sheets, surrounded by boxes.

“How are you?” he asked. The only light in the room was coming from the kitchen, backlighting him.

“I'm okay. And you?” she asked. He was looking over her shoulder.

“Is this some kind of game?” he asked. She widened her eyes.

“No. Why would you ask me that?” she was surprised. He sounded angry. Well, angry for Sanders.

“Because you surprised me, this all came out of nowhere. I don't particularly like surprises. I don't like staying downtown,” he told her. She snorted.

“No one is making you stay here, Sandy. You're free to go home,” she pointed out. He finally glanced at her.

“I wouldn't feel comfortable with that, I worry about you,” he replied.

“I'm a big girl, sometimes capable of making halfway adult decisions. I'll be fine,” she assured him.

“Are you going to leave Jameson for Mr. Castille?” he asked bluntly.

Ah, Sanders. So scared of losing your happy home. So sweet
.

“No,” she stated.

“Then, may I ask, what is all this about?” he pressed.

“Nick is only in town for the week. I wanted to spend time with him, he's my friend. And I wanted to take some time off, to think. Think about things
you
told me,” she said. Sanders frowned.

“Alcohol is not as much fun as everyone makes it out to be.”

Tate burst out laughing and got up, walked over to him.

“No, no it's not. But at least you didn't cry,” she snickered, pulling him up and into a hug.

“I don't want to see him get hurt,” Sanders said in a soft voice. She sighed.

“And what about me, Sandy? What if I get hurt again? I almost didn't survive the first time,” she pointed out.

“He won't do that again. He promised me. He promised you.
I
promise you,” Sanders promised.

“Okay, then. Just give me some time. I'm not going anywhere,
I promise you,
” she mimicked him. He pulled away from her.

“Sometimes, Tatum, I very much wonder how he puts up with you.”

She started laughing again. Sanders could be very, very funny, when he put his mind to it.

*

The next two days were relatively peaceful. Nick picked them up, and all three of them went out to lunch. Sanders always seemed uncomfortable around Nick, probably because he felt like his loyalties were being pushed to the limit, but Nick never seemed to care. Nick could probably dine with Hitler, and do it with a polite smile. He was just that nice of a guy, he always wanted everyone to feel comfortable around him.

They got all dressed up for the charity event that he had come to town for, and it was actually a lot of fun. Sanders refused to come along, and though she loved him dearly, Tate was a little glad. Sometimes, Sanders made her feel guilty about having a good time. Which was silly – she was allowed to have fun, with or without Jameson. The only thing she didn't like was the photographers. There were a lot of them about, snapping photos with large flashes. She chewed on her lips.

“I don't want my picture taken,” she told Nick for the hundredth time. He put a hand on the small of her back.

“So you've said. I'm trying, but it's probably going to happen. What's the big deal?” he asked.

“Pictures of people on the internet is what started my whole problem,” she grumbled, letting him lead her to their seats.

“They're just pictures, who cares. He'll get over it. It's not like I've got my tongue down your throat in any of them,” Nick laughed.

“Oh jesus.”

He was right, though. Photographers from every newspaper were there, so it was going to happen. Tate just made sure it happened with a lot of different people, and not just Nick. No use pissing off Jameson more than was necessary. She had photos taken with almost every ballplayer on the team, and one with her hugging the team manager.

It was fun to be around the team again. It felt nice to be wanted, nice to be liked, for something other than her skills in bed. She could make the pitcher laugh, talked the alcoholic outfielder out of having a drink, and helped the mother of the umpire to the restroom. She felt pretty good about herself.

That you ever thought you could be a 'bad girl', is hilarious. You're Mother fuckin' Teresa.

There was an auction at the end of the night, put on by Sotheby's. All the proceeds were going to a charity for a specific type of lung cancer. The amount of money being thrown around blew her away a little, which really said something, considering the kind of money Jameson had, and spent, on a day to day basis. Nick bid on, and won, a perfect condition 1958 Karmann Ghia. Only $60,000, that's all. The highest bid made was on a Ferrari, which went to some older gentleman in the crowd. There were also several anonymous buyers, bidding via phone calls. A delicate China tea set went to one, a vintage Cartier necklace to another, and a bronze dog sculpture to the last one – she didn't understand that piece, but apparently it was worth $8,000 to someone.

“You people are insane with your money,” Tate laughed while Nick helped her into her jacket.

“What, you're telling me Mr. Kane doesn't buy lavish things?” he chuckled, walking her out the doors.

“Oh, he does, just not quite so publicly. He'd be more likely to buy everything in one go, then sort out the shit he doesn't want, just to save time,” she joked.

“Jesus, wish I had that kind of money.”

“Don't we all?”

“You don't get to talk, he spends it on
you.
”

They climbed into a cab after that, and she was quiet for a while. She wasn't sure what to make of his statement. Jameson didn't really spend that much money on her, comparatively speaking. But that he spent any at all on her, was amazing in it's own way. She had worried people saw her as a slut for the baseball team. She also worried that people saw her as a whore for Jameson. Not okay.

When they got to her building, Nick surprised her by walking her inside. She had told him at the beginning of the week that Jameson “
wasn't comfortable
” with Nick being in the condo. She had put it politely. He had respected that, didn't even question it, so she was fine with him coming into the lobby. She was a little surprised, however, when he got into the elevator with her.

“I had a really good time,” she assured him, a little nervous.

“Good. I'm glad. Tate, I go home the day after tomorrow, and I just wanted to tell you -,” he started. She winced.

“God, please don't say something that'll make this awkward,” she begged, and he laughed.

“
I wanted to tell you
, that my offer still stands,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“What I told you, when you were in Paris. You like him, or you think you like him, or he might like you, or whatever.
I'm still here,
” he stressed.