“I met you,” he pointed out.

“By practically stalking me,” she reminded him. He snorted.

“Alright, fine. We'll go out to dinner, then dancing. But when I say it's time to leave, it's time to leave,” he stressed. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is perfect, Sandy, I bought -,” she started to get excited.

“No. No Sanders. Just you and I,” Jameson said.

“Why not?” Tate whined.

“Sanders, do you want to go out dancing?” Jameson asked, and Tate had to laugh. Sanders looked ready to throw up.

“No, thank you.”

“There. Be ready by eight,” Jameson told her, and then walked out of the room.

She scrambled off the bed and high tailed it to her own room. That only gave her two hours to get ready, and she wanted to look nice. Wanted to look amazing. Wanted to make him regret ever losing the right to touch her.

Stupid fucker.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, but raked her fingers through the hair, giving it a messy, disheveled look; sexy. A look she hadn't gone for in a long time. She shimmied into a pair of tiny black shorts, then opted for a skin tight, long sleeve shirt. Something demure enough for dinner, but the plunging scoop-neckline also made it sexy enough for a night club.

Doing her makeup was harder. Tate hadn't really worn makeup since the accident. It seemed silly, but there hadn't been much of a reason to, no one worth being sexy for anymore. She didn't have her job, she wasn't going to sleep with anyone, and she had spent most of her time on a couch. What would have been the point of slutty eye makeup? But she laid it on thick now. She just barely talked herself out of false lashes. She wanted to look like a slut, not a two-dollar hooker. She finished off the outfit with a pair of high, thin stilettos. She turned every which way in front of a mirror, examining herself.

Eat your heart out, Satan.

Tate made her way upstairs, really wishing she could have a drink to settle her nerves. She hadn't been terribly nervous the first time she had gone to his house, and back then she had known they would end up in bed together. Now, not knowing how the night would turn out, only having hopes and wishes that she would get away unscathed – it was way worse.

“Do I look good?” she asked Sanders when she got out onto the deck. His eyes wandered over her.

“You look more like yourself,” he replied. She laughed.

“That's not really an answer,” she snickered.

“I know.”

Tate laughed again and dug her finger into his side, causing him to jump and squirm away. His lips pressed into a hard line, obviously annoyed, but she just got closer and did it again.

“One of these days, you're going to push him too far,” Jameson's voice warned from behind her.

“I could never push you too far, could I, Sandy?” Tate laughed, all of her fingers now traveling up and down his sides. He grabbed at her wrists.

“No, you could not,” Sanders assured her.

“If you two are finished flirting, I'd like to leave.”

Tate burst out laughing, and Sanders turned a little green. She was still snickering as she turned around, but her laughter caught in her throat, coming out as more of a snorting sound. Jameson was adjusting a watch on his wrist, not looking at her, which made her glad, because she didn't want to be caught drooling.

It was funny, but sometimes a person could wear really plain clothing, and it still looked expensive and rich. Jameson did this better than anyone she knew. He had changed into a very fitted t-shirt, which clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made her mouth water. He had also tamed his hair, forcing it into a stylish mess that made her fingers ache to touch it. He finished adjusting his watch and put on his coat; a slim-fitted black leather jacket. When they had been together in Boston, if they ever went out, it was usually before or after work, so he just wore his suits. At home, he dressed to relax. Holy hell, she had never seen Jameson dressed to go out.

“You look nice,” Tate blurted out, and he stopped in the middle of putting on his jacket, obviously surprised.

“I know, thank you,” he replied. She snorted.

“You make it very hard to be nice to you,” she told him, and he laughed.

“At least I'm consistent.”

Her phone suddenly rang, and when she glanced at her screen, she couldn't believe the timing. Late Christmas present. Tate smiled slowly, and then looked up to find both Sanders and Jameson staring at her. She turned away a little before lifting the phone to her ear.

“Nick! How are you?” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. She could hear Jameson snort.

If she was using Nick when he wasn't actually present, it didn't really count, she figured.

Maybe I'm really Satan, this whole time.

“Good, good, how are you?” he asked.

“Doing good. Just about to go out and eat,” she replied, crossing her legs at the ankle and fiddling with her ponytail.

“Nice. I was just checking in. It's kind of weird, isn't it? I mean, we've spent so much time together over the past couple months, and then to not see you or talk to you whenever I want ...,” he managed a laugh, but he sounded sad. Tate gave a sad laugh, as well.

“Awww, I miss you, too. Really,” she told him.

There was another snort from behind her.

“Are you sure? I ran into Ang the other day, he seemed really concerned about you. I'm not here to judge you, Tate, I just ..., you know I'm always here, right? If you ever need me. If you need someone to come get you, I'll be there, in a heart beat,” Nick assured her. She laughed.