Reception
Page 21
The tub was only about half full, but she leaned back and turned off the faucet. Then she gingerly lowered herself into the hot water, hissing and breathing fast as she adjusted to the temperature. She bent her legs at the knees, her feet braced on either side of his.
“This feels amazing after that cold water outside. Sit down,” she ordered. He refused to look at her, instead staring at the back wall.
Walls are safe. Walls can never look back at you and judge you or read your mind.
“I told you, I am not bathing with you,” he repeated himself. She laughed and he felt her gently kick him in the ankle.
“Sandy, we're both fully dressed and there's hardly any water in this tub. We're warming up. Sit down.”
He frowned even more, but did as he was told. It was awkward – he was lankier than her, his legs needing more room than hers. But eventually they were situated with Tate sitting upright, her legs on the inside of his with his knees bent and his feet almost under her butt.
“This isn't so bad,” she said in a soft voice, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt.
“No, it isn't,” he agreed. His suit was most likely ruined beyond repair now, but the hot water did feel good. They sat in silence for a moment, just soaking in the warmth, when she suddenly made a gasping noise.
“I forgot! I got us something to celebrate,” she said in an excited voice. She leaned over the edge of the tub and pawed at her purse, dragging it close. He heard the sound of glass clinking.
“Please, I do not want to drink whiskey tonight,” he begged. She snickered and pulled the object free of her bag.
“I figured, so I got you this,” she replied, holding up a bottle of Veuve champagne.
“Now that I'm pretty sure my palate can handle,” he told her, watching while she unwrapped the foil and expertly pulled out the cork. “I can go get glasses so we can ...”
His voice trailed off as she lifted the bottle to her lips and started chugging down the expensive bubbly alcohol. It was several swallows before she finally came up for air and she laughed at his expression.
“Here's to you, Sandy. May your next steps in life be almost as awesome as the ones before,” she toasted him, handing over the bottle.
“Glasses would be easier,” he insisted, but he took a sip straight from the bottle.
They didn't move for a while. Tate chattered on about odds and ends, as she was wont to do, and Sanders fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying her voice. Her expressive face and animated hand gestures. They continued passing the bottle back and forth, sipping and laughing at her stories.
I should really never doubt her. This has been quite an enjoyable last weekend together, ruined suit and all.
“Sandy.”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts and froze him in place for a second. Contented feeling gone. It wasn't her normal voice, the one full of naughty laughter and innocent teasing. No, this was her husky voice. Breathy, with raspy fricatives. He'd heard that voice often, but never directed at him. No, she'd never used that voice on him.
Only one person got to hear it directed at them.
“What?” he asked, instantly on guard. He even looked around, halfway expecting to see Jameson in the doorway. But they were still alone, and when he looked back, she was shifting around. She moved until she was on her knees, sitting back on her heels.
“There's some things I want to talk about,” she said, some of the sexiness gone from her voice, but not entirely. She was still speaking in a low tone, and was making very direct eye contact with him. She had dark eyes, ringed in thick lashes. Even without her signature makeup, which she'd left off for him, they still stood out.
“What things?” he asked. She shrugged and he became aware that she was walking her fingers very slowly up his shin.
“You're very good looking,” she informed him, her fingers finally reaching the summit of his knee.
“Thank you,” he replied, not sure how to respond. Her fingertips were now tap dancing on him. Making him edgy. Nervous.
“And I'm not just saying that because we're close. It's fact. Other people have noticed it, and when you're alone in the world, without me next to you, or Jameson looming over you, more people are going to notice.”
“I feel that is very presumptuous of you. Just because you find me attractive does not mean other -”
“It's fact,” she insisted. “Empirically speaking, you are good looking. It's just how things are, and girls will be all over you.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but even if that is true, I highly doubt they will be 'all over' me. And even if they are, I am pretty sure I can defend myself,” he told her. She smiled and her hand went flat over his knee. The water had grown lukewarm during their time in it, but suddenly he felt himself warming up again.
“You're so sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I -”
His voice caught in his throat as she suddenly sat up on her knees, her hand sliding down the top of his thigh. She followed behind, crawling between his legs until she was leaning over him. Boxing him in. He held his breath and looked over her shoulder.
“You don't seem so sure now,” she whispered, her face only inches from his own. He swallowed thickly.
“Tatum. What are you doing?”
“It's okay,” she said, propping herself up with one arm and letting her free hand smooth its way up his chest. He took a shaky breath.
“This is not okay,” he whispered back. Her fingers came to rest against his cheek and her thumb hooked under his jaw, pulling his head around until he was forced to look her in the eye.
“It is,” she insisted. “We wanted to give you a going away present you would remember forever. Something that would help you. Make you more … comfortable.”
“I am very uncomfortable right now,” he assured her. She chuckled low in her throat. That bawdy sound he loved so much. Then she was leaning even closer, her cheek pressed to his and her lips at his ear.
“You won't be for long,” she whispered, her lips catching his earlobe.
What most people – including Tate – never understood about Sanders was that though he presented himself as an uncaring, aloof, detached individual, he was far from it. Inside him was an ocean of emotion that he'd never been properly taught how to navigate. He kept it passive and calm by ignoring it. But sometimes it was like a storm raged through him and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control it, and Sanders hated nothing more than being out of control.
“This feels amazing after that cold water outside. Sit down,” she ordered. He refused to look at her, instead staring at the back wall.
Walls are safe. Walls can never look back at you and judge you or read your mind.
“I told you, I am not bathing with you,” he repeated himself. She laughed and he felt her gently kick him in the ankle.
“Sandy, we're both fully dressed and there's hardly any water in this tub. We're warming up. Sit down.”
He frowned even more, but did as he was told. It was awkward – he was lankier than her, his legs needing more room than hers. But eventually they were situated with Tate sitting upright, her legs on the inside of his with his knees bent and his feet almost under her butt.
“This isn't so bad,” she said in a soft voice, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt.
“No, it isn't,” he agreed. His suit was most likely ruined beyond repair now, but the hot water did feel good. They sat in silence for a moment, just soaking in the warmth, when she suddenly made a gasping noise.
“I forgot! I got us something to celebrate,” she said in an excited voice. She leaned over the edge of the tub and pawed at her purse, dragging it close. He heard the sound of glass clinking.
“Please, I do not want to drink whiskey tonight,” he begged. She snickered and pulled the object free of her bag.
“I figured, so I got you this,” she replied, holding up a bottle of Veuve champagne.
“Now that I'm pretty sure my palate can handle,” he told her, watching while she unwrapped the foil and expertly pulled out the cork. “I can go get glasses so we can ...”
His voice trailed off as she lifted the bottle to her lips and started chugging down the expensive bubbly alcohol. It was several swallows before she finally came up for air and she laughed at his expression.
“Here's to you, Sandy. May your next steps in life be almost as awesome as the ones before,” she toasted him, handing over the bottle.
“Glasses would be easier,” he insisted, but he took a sip straight from the bottle.
They didn't move for a while. Tate chattered on about odds and ends, as she was wont to do, and Sanders fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying her voice. Her expressive face and animated hand gestures. They continued passing the bottle back and forth, sipping and laughing at her stories.
I should really never doubt her. This has been quite an enjoyable last weekend together, ruined suit and all.
“Sandy.”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts and froze him in place for a second. Contented feeling gone. It wasn't her normal voice, the one full of naughty laughter and innocent teasing. No, this was her husky voice. Breathy, with raspy fricatives. He'd heard that voice often, but never directed at him. No, she'd never used that voice on him.
Only one person got to hear it directed at them.
“What?” he asked, instantly on guard. He even looked around, halfway expecting to see Jameson in the doorway. But they were still alone, and when he looked back, she was shifting around. She moved until she was on her knees, sitting back on her heels.
“There's some things I want to talk about,” she said, some of the sexiness gone from her voice, but not entirely. She was still speaking in a low tone, and was making very direct eye contact with him. She had dark eyes, ringed in thick lashes. Even without her signature makeup, which she'd left off for him, they still stood out.
“What things?” he asked. She shrugged and he became aware that she was walking her fingers very slowly up his shin.
“You're very good looking,” she informed him, her fingers finally reaching the summit of his knee.
“Thank you,” he replied, not sure how to respond. Her fingertips were now tap dancing on him. Making him edgy. Nervous.
“And I'm not just saying that because we're close. It's fact. Other people have noticed it, and when you're alone in the world, without me next to you, or Jameson looming over you, more people are going to notice.”
“I feel that is very presumptuous of you. Just because you find me attractive does not mean other -”
“It's fact,” she insisted. “Empirically speaking, you are good looking. It's just how things are, and girls will be all over you.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but even if that is true, I highly doubt they will be 'all over' me. And even if they are, I am pretty sure I can defend myself,” he told her. She smiled and her hand went flat over his knee. The water had grown lukewarm during their time in it, but suddenly he felt himself warming up again.
“You're so sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I -”
His voice caught in his throat as she suddenly sat up on her knees, her hand sliding down the top of his thigh. She followed behind, crawling between his legs until she was leaning over him. Boxing him in. He held his breath and looked over her shoulder.
“You don't seem so sure now,” she whispered, her face only inches from his own. He swallowed thickly.
“Tatum. What are you doing?”
“It's okay,” she said, propping herself up with one arm and letting her free hand smooth its way up his chest. He took a shaky breath.
“This is not okay,” he whispered back. Her fingers came to rest against his cheek and her thumb hooked under his jaw, pulling his head around until he was forced to look her in the eye.
“It is,” she insisted. “We wanted to give you a going away present you would remember forever. Something that would help you. Make you more … comfortable.”
“I am very uncomfortable right now,” he assured her. She chuckled low in her throat. That bawdy sound he loved so much. Then she was leaning even closer, her cheek pressed to his and her lips at his ear.
“You won't be for long,” she whispered, her lips catching his earlobe.
What most people – including Tate – never understood about Sanders was that though he presented himself as an uncaring, aloof, detached individual, he was far from it. Inside him was an ocean of emotion that he'd never been properly taught how to navigate. He kept it passive and calm by ignoring it. But sometimes it was like a storm raged through him and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control it, and Sanders hated nothing more than being out of control.
