They pulled into an underground parking garage for a Hilton hotel. She stretched across the back seat and made herself comfortable. They were all driving in shifts, in order to get back to Boston as quickly as possible. But Sanders refused to go a day without showering. He was renting a hotel room for a day, just so he could spend a couple hours showering and getting cleaned up.

“Sandy?” she called out. He twisted in the front seat.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Think of me, while you're up there,” she winked at him.

“Always.”

She didn't stop laughing till he was halfway across the garage.

Nobody had been happier than Sanders about Tate's change of heart. He had almost cried. That first night, she had fallen asleep halfway on top of Jameson, but she woke up in the middle of the night and snuck to Sanders' room. He needed an apology as well, so she spooned up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Whispered to him, promised him, that she would never leave him again. No matter what the future held for her and Jameson, she and Sanders were forever.

“You're my soulmate,” she whispered, and he had nodded, holding her hands.

“Yes.”

So even though the stop was unnecessary, and added several hours to their trip, she didn't give him too much trouble. Her departure had been hard on him, she could tell. Harder than he had let on, during their phone calls. She had a lot of ground to cover, trust to build. She sighed and propped her feet up against the passenger side door.

“Maybe the real reason you came back was for Sanders,” Jameson snorted from the front seat. Tate laughed.

“Maybe.”

“How long are you going to wear that thing for?” Jameson asked, turning around in the front seat and looking down at her.

“What, this?” she asked, pressing her hand to the necklace he had gotten her. The first time she had tried it on, the cheap clasp had broken. She'd had to tape it closed, and hadn't taken it off since. Made showering interesting.

“Yes. It's ugly,” he told her.

“I love it. I'm going to wear it on my wedding day,” she informed him. He barked out a laugh and turned forward.

“Good thing that's very, very, very far away. I pity the groom, whoever he may be,” he grumbled.

“Shut up!” She pushed herself up enough to slap him across the back of the head.

“Keeping pushing me, baby girl. See what happens,” he growled, rubbing the back of his head while she laid back down.

She moved her leg and pushed the back of his head with her foot.

“Push,” she laughed. He batted at her foot.

“I am not above fucking you in a garage.”

“Promises, promises,” she sang, and pushed him in the head again.

“I'm serious, Tate. I'm still mad at you, for this whole little escapade. I haven't even begun to get back at you for your little fling,” he warned her.

“Ooohhh, 'get back at me', he says. Game?” she asked, and pushed his head again.

“No, no games. Stop it,” he growled. She went to push him again and his hand grabbed her ankle.

“Make me,” she pursed her lips at him, blowing a kiss. He sighed and let go of her leg. Began pulling off his jacket.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a small man,” he told her. She laughed, stretching her legs back out.

“Yes, I have noticed,” she replied. He lifted his hips and undid his pants.

“I have to fold myself into a piece of origami to fuck you in these cars,” he complained, clumsily crawling between the two front seats and falling on top of her.

“Get bigger cars,” she suggested, then choked on her words when his fingers ended up between her legs.

“Are you telling me what to do, Tate?” he asked, roughly yanking her legs around, rearranging her so he was kneeling between them.

“I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Kane,” she breathed

“I like that, you know. Mr. Kane. Makes me feel like you've finally learned your place. Say it again,” he ordered.

“Fuck me, Mr. Kane,” she begged, biting back a laugh.

“And why should I do that? You have been a very, very bad girl,” he told her, pulling her shorts away from her hips.

“Then you should fuck me very, very hard,” she suggested. He leaned foward, pressing his weight against her.

“Hmm, still sounds like you're getting rewarded. I was thinking more along the lines of a punishment,” he whispered.

“Whichever, whatever, just get on with it,” she growled, wiggling her hips around underneath him.

“Commanding me?” he asked, pushing himself up so he hovered over her.

“Begging you,” she whispered. He smiled, then moved his hand across her forehead, brushing hair away.

“I like that, too. Maybe do that some more,” he suggested. She laughed.

“You're only allowed so much begging. You've reached your quota for the week,” she joked, but his hand moved into her hair and pulled sharply.

“I tell you what you're allowed to do, not vice versa. Now fucking beg,” he snapped at her.

“Please, Jameson. Please, I'm begging you. Please, do whatever you want to me. Do anything. Do everything,” she begged in a sexy, breathy voice.

“God, that sounds good. You're so good at that,” he said with a groan.

“Really? I thought I was getting better at it,” she agreed in a serious voice that cut the mood. Jameson laughed and playfully slapped her on the cheek. A mockery. An inside joke. A promise.