I watched it land then yanked free of his arm and squared off.
“I cannot believe you just did that,” I snapped.
Tate’s eyes stayed locked to mine. “Believe it, Ace.”
“I was seeing him!” I retorted. “You think maybe I should have been the one to talk to him?”
“No, I f**kin’ don’t.”
“Well I do!” My voice was rising. “You just told him –”
“I f**ked you,” Tate cut me off. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t so pissed, I’d have gone into detail at how you lit up for me, how hungry you get, how slick and tight your pu**y is and how f**kin’ hot you sound when you come. He ain’t ever gonna have that but I know he has a good imagination, I’d be sure to give him enough to see him through.”
I stared at him, mouth agape.
Then I breathed, “You didn’t just say that.”
“I did and I wasn’t lyin’,” Tate returned.
I leaned toward him and snapped, “What’s your problem?”
“I was on the hunt and back home a man moved on what was mine. That’s my problem,” Tate declared.
“I wasn’t yours!” I shot back.
Tate’s eyes narrowed on me and he looked like he was getting even more pissed. “You were, babe, I told you, I got home, you were on the back of my bike.”
There it was, Carrie was right, that back of his bike business obviously meant more than a date.
“I don’t speak biker, Tate!” I snapped. “I had no idea what you were talking about.”
He took a step toward me and whispered, “Bullshit, Ace, after that kiss you knew exactly what I was talkin’ about and Wood knew exactly where I was at which brings us to why the f**k I come home and you two are tight.”
“I didn’t know what you were talking about,” I asserted. “What I did know is that you left, you didn’t tell me you were going and you didn’t call me once while you were gone.”
“Call you?” he asked as if the concept of telephones was foreign to him.
“Yes, Tate,” I replied then went on sarcastically, “ring ring, hello, I’m alive!”
I could tell right away that Tate wasn’t a big fan of sarcasm.
“Tone it down, babe,” he advised softly but dangerously. “You aren’t the injured party in this scenario.”
“I’m afraid I disagree seeing as you took off without a word, stayed gone for a month, again without a word and thought you could come back and I’d be waiting for you even with all that.”
“I remember that night pretty clearly, Lauren, and I remember I told you I had to focus,” Tate reminded me.
“I remember that too but I still don’t know what it means,” I shot back.
“I got shit goin’ down in my life,” he bit out. “I needed to be in my truck, on the trail of a murderer at the same time not seein’ to that shit and hemorrhaging more money seein’ as I was workin’ that on my own time and my own f**kin’ dime like I needed a f**kin’ hole in my head. You,” he jerked a finger in my face, “were a distraction.”
“A distraction?” I whispered, not feeling happy about that word and really not feeling happy about his finger in my face.
“Life is choices, Ace. I went with the choice I wanted, I wouldn’t have been on the road tryin’ to hunt down a killer. I’d have been home explorin’ shit with you. I call you, I lose focus, I forget what’s the right thing to do and do what I wanna do,” he told me and I felt a shiver slide through me and it was contradictory to the not feeling happy feeling I had moments before. “I told you I needed to focus. I told you I got back, you were on my bike. I made myself clear. In the end, it was all a f**kin’ waste of time, I get home after a month of findin’ a lot of nothin’ that cost a lot of cake to find and you’re mouthin’ off to me about what f**kin’ Wood told you.”
“Maybe we should talk about that,” I whispered but I did it hesitantly because he was making sense (though in my defense, I really didn’t speak biker, so he actually didn’t make himself clear but neither of us knew that at the time). I was realizing I might have made a big mistake and I wasn’t eager to discover I’d made more mistakes but I felt perhaps the air should be cleared. That said, it should be noted that I didn’t relish the idea of clearing that air because I had the distinct feeling I’d made more mistakes and it was more than a feeling that Tate was angry.
“Neeta,” he growled and I knew the way he did it Tate wasn’t getting any happy shivers.
“Yes,” I was still whispering.
“Neeta and I are history,” he stated.
“That’s what Bubba said,” I told him quietly.
“Yeah? So why did you listen to Wood and you didn’t listen to Bub?”
“Um…” I bit my lip and took a step back. “I was swimming. I saw you… with her… at the hotel.”
“Yeah?”
“Tate…” I said softly and didn’t carry on.
Tate stared at me and then asked bitingly, “Am I supposed to read your mind?”
“You were kissing her… you went into a hotel room.”
“So?”
“Tate,” I whispered. “That wasn’t two weeks before we…”
“No, you’re right, it wasn’t,” Tate confirmed. “Your point?”
“How can you be history if you were with her not even two months ago?” I asked. “That isn’t exactly history.”
“An hour after I walked into that hotel room, Lauren, we were history.”
“You were… you both were… you seemed…” I stammered.
“We were then an hour later we were not,” Tate clipped.
“How can that be?” I asked, my voice pitching higher.
“The same way it can be that not two months ago you were talkin’ about how you loved that jackass of an ex of yours, how you stepped aside so you wouldn’t prolong your sorrow at losin’ him and yesterday and this mornin’ you could barely stomach lookin’ at him.”
“That isn’t the same,” I whispered.
“Yeah, Wood tell you all about Neeta and me? You an expert now?” Tate asked scornfully.
“He told me about Bethany,” I shared and took another step back as Tate’s expression turned stormy.