Separation by Stylo Fantome Page A

had never slept with her like that; had never even thought to try.
    Now he felt left out.
    The pair of them didn't emerge until after ten. By then, Jameson had showered and gotten dressed, even went to get a newspaper for himself. They didn't say anything to him, but it was obvious that whatever had transpired between them the night before, it had made up for the slap. Good. If the two of them didn't get along, then there was no hope for him.
    “Hungry?” Jameson asked when Tate wandered up to where he was sitting. She shrugged and sat across from him, picking a piece of toast up off of his plate.
    “How long do I have to be here?” she asked, looking out over the water while she nibbled at the bread.
    “You're not a prisoner. You're free to go whenever you want. Sanders can drive you to the airport right now. I just thought you were tougher than that,” he told her. She snorted.
    “You thought wrong. ”
    “Look,” he sighed, leaning forward and taking off his sunglasses. She kept hers on. “Whether or not you want to admit it, you and I do have unfinished business. I made a big mistake, yes. You made a mistake. It doesn't have to break us.”
    “There wasn't ever an us, ” Tate pointed out. Jameson shrugged.
    “Whatever we were. Friends,” he suggested. She laughed.
    “We were never friends,” she replied.
    “We were something.”
    “We were nothing. ”
    “Why do you need everything to be so clearly defined? Because society says A plus B equals C , then we're nothing? Sometimes X divided by 4.3 equals fuck all , Tate. Bad things happened, but there were moments of good,” Jameson reminded her. He needed her to remember. She snorted again and turned away so she was fully facing the water.
    “I seem to have forgotten those moments. Probably when my oxygen supply was cut off, right after my seizures,” she snapped at him.
    “That's not funny.”
    “No, not even a little bit,” Tate agreed. He took a deep breath. Dug down deep in to his heart to find a shred of kindness. Of honesty.
    “I'm very sorry for ever hurting you,” he said in a soft voice. It was obvious she was struggling not to cry.
    “Someday,” she started, clearing her throat, “you will find someone who is better at these games. Better than you , and you will finally know how it feels.”
    “How will I find this someone else if I'm not looking?” Jameson asked.
    “Maybe you should start looking. You're not getting any younger,” she pointed out.
    “I have the person I want,” he said bluntly. She choked on a gasp of air.
    “You don't have shit,” Tate managed to cough out. He laughed.
    “You're so easy to rile up now. This should be fun,” he said. She shook her head.
    “I don't want to play your games,” she insisted. He leaned against the table, crossed his arms on top of it.
    Finally, we can cut to the chase.
    “How about just one last game. No-holds-barred, winner takes all,” he offered.
    “How about that's a really bad idea,” she replied, but he could tell that she was intrigued.
    “Give me a month,” Jameson started. Her eyebrows raised above her glasses and she turned towards him.
    “A month to what?” she asked.
    “One month to convince you that I'm not the devil,” he stated. Tate burst out laughing.
    “A leopard can't change his spots, Jameson. But go head, explain your little game. I could use some cheering up,” she snickered.
    “One month to convince you that I'm not the devil, that things can be as good between us as they ever were,” he continued.
    “Hmmm. Not very appetizing, I'm not really winning on this deal,” Tate pointed out, still smiling to herself.
    Jameson got up from his chair. Slowly walked around the table. She stiffened up when he got next to her, but she didn't move away when he leaned down close to her head. Pressed a hand to the side of her face to bring her in close to his lips.
    “ One month to make you forget your ballplayer even exists, ” he whispered against her