Degradation
Page 14
“I am not randy, and I don't think so,” she laughed, pushing at him.
“Oh c'mon, sweetie, it'll be quick. You always love it,” he begged, pouting out his bottom lip. She put both hands on his chest.
“I'll take a rain check.”
He let up when a disgruntled looking soccer-mom shoved her way out past them. Tate crossed her eyes at him and then danced off in to the locker room. Gathering her shower stuff together, she headed under the spray.
She had met Angier at a frat party, five years ago. Her rebellious phase had been in full swing. Streaks of color in her hair, way too much eye makeup – she might have even had her eyebrow pierced. It was the first night Tate had ever tried coke, and she had felt like a live wire, running around the building. She wanted to talk to everyone, meet everyone. Ang had cornered her. A lanky six-foot-four topped with light brown hair and striking gray eyes, he was very good looking. She had thought he was going to hit on her, but he had something else in mind.
He had asked her if she would be interested in doing a porno with him.
Tate had thought it was a joke at first, but he had been very serious. She had a great body, he told her. Perfect smile, good teeth. Great for porn. She politely declined. He had shrugged it off, but then invited her to come to a taping, get a “feel” for it, maybe. It was one of the most surreal moments she'd ever had with another person.
They had been best friends ever since.
Tate never got in to porn, but Ang swore by it. He did gay, straight, “selfie” porn – he would do pretty much anything. He explained that although he was straight, for the right price he could be just about anything someone wanted him to be; she knew that feeling, having been desperate for money in those days. Since she wouldn't do porn, he taught her the ways of coupon clipping.
After a drunken night at a wine tasting – free, of course – they slept together for the first time. Ang came the closest, of anyone she had ever been with, to making her feel the way Jameson had made her feel. And best of all, he didn't have any expectations of her. Sex was just sex to Ang. Almost like exercising. Something that had to be done to stay healthy, and it felt super good – bonus! But it didn't really mean anything to him beyond that, which made it easy to be with him. He was also a total freak, so she never felt bad about her own preferences, the way she sometimes did with other men. Ang was like a security blanket. A sexy, naughty, deviant, security blanket.
“What's taking you so long!?” Ang's voice boomed through the locker room while Tate held her head under a hand dryer. A couple ladies shrieked, but Tate just laughed. She righted herself, ran her fingers through her black locks, and then grabbed her stuff, hurrying out to meet him.
“I'm a girl, I take longer to look presentable,” she pointed out.
“What, exactly, looks presentable about you?” he asked, and she elbowed him in the stomach.
“Shut up.”
“So,” he began as they pushed their way outside. “Seriously. Are you going to see him again?”
“No. I mean, why would I? Unless he needs a waiter at his firm, I don't think I'll be hearing from him,” Tate replied, bouncing her gym bag off her knees.
“So. You could call him, you know where he works,” Ang pointed out. She scrunched up her nose.
“Why on earth would I want to call him?”
“Because you still think about him,” Ang replied, and she barked out a laugh.
“I do not. I told you, I didn't even recognize him at first,” she reminded him. Ang shook his head.
“But you compare every guy you're with to him. I've pulled some of my best moves on you – remember the swing!? – and I still don't stack up,” he said. She stopped laughing.
“I do not. You're amazing, you know that.”
“Well, duh, but I can tell. I'm good at these things – have to be, in my line of work. I'm pretty good, I can tell I'm one of your faves, but I'm not him,” he finished. She frowned. She didn't like this subject. She did not compare every guy to Jameson Kane.
Did she?
How could she? She'd only slept with him once. Surely he hadn't left that big of an impression on her.
She had to change the channel.
“If you're so good at sizing sex up, how do I stack up against all the people you've slept with? It's not really fair, I have to compete with both sexes – twice the competition,” Tate joked.
“Bitch, please. If I could find a woman who fucks like you, and would let me actually film it and sell it for money, I would marry her,” Ang said with a straight face. She laughed.
“That's what I like to hear.”
He walked her up to her apartment and stayed for a little while, making flirty comments at Rusty. It wasn't right, Rus had a huge crush on him. Tate had tried to explain to her that Ang didn't really date, wasn't looking for a relationship, but it didn't stop Rus from hoping. Tate was beginning to think she'd have to share some of her and Ang's dirtier stories, in hopes of scaring her roommate off from him. Rus was a sweetheart – sex swings and ball gags probably weren't her thing.
“Oh! I forgot, you left your cell phone here – it rang a whole bunch,” Rus said, after Ang had danced out the door. Tate grabbed the phone off the table, squinting at the screen. It was the temp agency she worked for – a new job? Score. She called them back.
“Hi, Tatum, how are you?” the temp agency manager, Carla, breathed down the phone line.
“Oh c'mon, sweetie, it'll be quick. You always love it,” he begged, pouting out his bottom lip. She put both hands on his chest.
“I'll take a rain check.”
He let up when a disgruntled looking soccer-mom shoved her way out past them. Tate crossed her eyes at him and then danced off in to the locker room. Gathering her shower stuff together, she headed under the spray.
She had met Angier at a frat party, five years ago. Her rebellious phase had been in full swing. Streaks of color in her hair, way too much eye makeup – she might have even had her eyebrow pierced. It was the first night Tate had ever tried coke, and she had felt like a live wire, running around the building. She wanted to talk to everyone, meet everyone. Ang had cornered her. A lanky six-foot-four topped with light brown hair and striking gray eyes, he was very good looking. She had thought he was going to hit on her, but he had something else in mind.
He had asked her if she would be interested in doing a porno with him.
Tate had thought it was a joke at first, but he had been very serious. She had a great body, he told her. Perfect smile, good teeth. Great for porn. She politely declined. He had shrugged it off, but then invited her to come to a taping, get a “feel” for it, maybe. It was one of the most surreal moments she'd ever had with another person.
They had been best friends ever since.
Tate never got in to porn, but Ang swore by it. He did gay, straight, “selfie” porn – he would do pretty much anything. He explained that although he was straight, for the right price he could be just about anything someone wanted him to be; she knew that feeling, having been desperate for money in those days. Since she wouldn't do porn, he taught her the ways of coupon clipping.
After a drunken night at a wine tasting – free, of course – they slept together for the first time. Ang came the closest, of anyone she had ever been with, to making her feel the way Jameson had made her feel. And best of all, he didn't have any expectations of her. Sex was just sex to Ang. Almost like exercising. Something that had to be done to stay healthy, and it felt super good – bonus! But it didn't really mean anything to him beyond that, which made it easy to be with him. He was also a total freak, so she never felt bad about her own preferences, the way she sometimes did with other men. Ang was like a security blanket. A sexy, naughty, deviant, security blanket.
“What's taking you so long!?” Ang's voice boomed through the locker room while Tate held her head under a hand dryer. A couple ladies shrieked, but Tate just laughed. She righted herself, ran her fingers through her black locks, and then grabbed her stuff, hurrying out to meet him.
“I'm a girl, I take longer to look presentable,” she pointed out.
“What, exactly, looks presentable about you?” he asked, and she elbowed him in the stomach.
“Shut up.”
“So,” he began as they pushed their way outside. “Seriously. Are you going to see him again?”
“No. I mean, why would I? Unless he needs a waiter at his firm, I don't think I'll be hearing from him,” Tate replied, bouncing her gym bag off her knees.
“So. You could call him, you know where he works,” Ang pointed out. She scrunched up her nose.
“Why on earth would I want to call him?”
“Because you still think about him,” Ang replied, and she barked out a laugh.
“I do not. I told you, I didn't even recognize him at first,” she reminded him. Ang shook his head.
“But you compare every guy you're with to him. I've pulled some of my best moves on you – remember the swing!? – and I still don't stack up,” he said. She stopped laughing.
“I do not. You're amazing, you know that.”
“Well, duh, but I can tell. I'm good at these things – have to be, in my line of work. I'm pretty good, I can tell I'm one of your faves, but I'm not him,” he finished. She frowned. She didn't like this subject. She did not compare every guy to Jameson Kane.
Did she?
How could she? She'd only slept with him once. Surely he hadn't left that big of an impression on her.
She had to change the channel.
“If you're so good at sizing sex up, how do I stack up against all the people you've slept with? It's not really fair, I have to compete with both sexes – twice the competition,” Tate joked.
“Bitch, please. If I could find a woman who fucks like you, and would let me actually film it and sell it for money, I would marry her,” Ang said with a straight face. She laughed.
“That's what I like to hear.”
He walked her up to her apartment and stayed for a little while, making flirty comments at Rusty. It wasn't right, Rus had a huge crush on him. Tate had tried to explain to her that Ang didn't really date, wasn't looking for a relationship, but it didn't stop Rus from hoping. Tate was beginning to think she'd have to share some of her and Ang's dirtier stories, in hopes of scaring her roommate off from him. Rus was a sweetheart – sex swings and ball gags probably weren't her thing.
“Oh! I forgot, you left your cell phone here – it rang a whole bunch,” Rus said, after Ang had danced out the door. Tate grabbed the phone off the table, squinting at the screen. It was the temp agency she worked for – a new job? Score. She called them back.
“Hi, Tatum, how are you?” the temp agency manager, Carla, breathed down the phone line.
