“Well, sexy it up some more, get her attention. I don't want to spend the rest of the day trying to talk Jameson out of an orgy,” Tate hissed.
“We could end up in an orgy!?”
“Angier, don't make me serve the ball into the back of your head.”
Tate was rusty – tennis had never really been her sport. She could knock the ball back and forth, but she wasn't great. Ang couldn't play for shit, it was comical watching him lope up and down the court. They both laughed a lot, collapsing into giggle fits enough times to earn a snap from Jameson.
Isadora played the game beautifully and elegantly, like Tate knew she would, and of course Jameson was good at it. If there was something Jameson wasn't good at it, he simply didn't do it, so Tate had figured he'd do well at tennis. Together with the Brazilian bombshell, they dominated the game. Tate couldn't quite figure out why they didn't switch, place a bad player with a good player, to at least even the odds.
But it quickly became apparent that Isadora didn't want to even the odds. She cooed in Jameson's ear, wiggled her ass in his face. Tate spent half the game making puking faces at him, which just earned her wolf grins and him feeding into the flirtation.
“I don't think she's interested in my sexy,” Ang informed Tate, looking over his glasses as Isadora bent straight at the waist, keeping her knees locked while she tied her shoelaces. Jameson stood directly behind her, waving his racket at them.
Tate gave him the finger.
“Yeah, we're not here to play tennis. She invited us here so she could become fuck buddies,” Tate grumbled.
“Wouldn't be all bad. She's kinda hot,” Ang pointed out. Tate snorted.
“I didn't come all the way to Hong Kong to have an orgy with Jameson's ex girlfiend.”
“Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”
“Yes. We went to the Met gala last fall, and god, what a nightmare. There was this model, some young blonde thing that Jameson had slept with like a million years ago. Followed him around all night. I don't want to go through that again,” Tate told him.
“What are you going to do about it?” Ang asked.
“Whore you out.”
Before he could argue, Tate jogged up to the net, scooping up the ball as she went.
“Oh, thank you, Tatum,” Isadora gushed in her syrupy accent, running up to the net as well.
“No problem. Say, Ang has never been to Hong Kong before, you should totally show him around after this,” Tate blurted out, not even trying to be subtle.
“Really? I was hoping to catch up with Kane a little more. So little chance to talk during the game. I would be very glad to keep him company while you show Angier the sites,” Isadora offered.
Hmmm, I'm not the only one lacks subtlety.
“See, I kind of had plans with Jameson,” Tate lied. There weren't any set plans, but she figured she didn't need them. He was her boyfriend. If she said he was busy, then he was goddamn busy.
“Yes, of course! The party!” Isadora exclaimed. Tate blinked in surprise.
“What?”
“The party! Kane told me all about it, thank you so much for inviting me!”
“Are we gonna play, or fucking chit chat all day?” Jameson yelled from the back line. Tate stepped to the side.
“Your lovely partner was just telling me all about our party!” Tate shouted back, shielding her eyes with her hand. His own eyes were hidden by the bill of his hat, but the set of his jaw was ominous. He wasn't happy.
“My partner should learn to keep her mouth shut. Let's finish this game,” he called back.
“Oh, I'll finish this game, alright,” Tate grumbled, stomping away.
“Something up?” Ang asked, walking up close to her. Tate leaned into him, pressing her face against his chest and letting out a mock scream.
“What the fuck is going on?” she breathed, turning her head to the side and resting all her weight against him. “First dinner with my parents. Then fucked up tennis. Now a party? Jameson hates parties, he hates any kind of physical activity that isn't sex, and he hates my parents.”
“Maybe he's trying to turn over a new leaf,” Ang suggested, but she could feel him trying not to laugh.
“When you're done dry humping, some of us would like to keep playing!”
Tate glared as Jameson's voice carried across the court. Oh, so he could let some hoochie Brazilian rub her ass all over his crotch, but Tate couldn't hug Ang!? Oh, it was on. It was soooooo on.
“Ang, could you do me a favor?” Tate started, running her hands up and down his sides.
“Hmmm?”
“Just go with anything I do.”
“Huh?”
Tate ignored him and peeled her top off. She wasn't being scandalous, she was wearing a sports bra – there were plenty of women running around the courts wearing the same thing. No, that wasn't enough to get the reaction she wanted. But turning around and pressing her back to Ang's front and doing a toe touch stretch, she was pretty positive that would inspire a response.
“Does he look upset?” Tate asked, not even trying to hide her smile as she pretended to stretch from one leg to the other.
“Murderous. Are we trying to piss him off?” Ang questioned.
“Just having some fun, messing with him. He made me sweat with all his flirting, now it's his turn,” Tate laughed.
“Then let's make it count.”