“I like my kind of parties, not yours. It's fine, really, go do your deal, make your money. I'll just spend all day with Ang. Alllll day, alllll alone. With Ang. Alone. Ang. And me. Alone,” she teased.

“I swear to all that is holy, if I find out you did anything inappropriate, I'll -,” Jameson started to threaten.

“You know talk like that just gets me hot,” she warned him. Jameson pressed his lips together hard, but didn't say anything else.

They stopped in front of a large building. He made a phone call while Tate poked at Sanders, making him move around. Finally, Jameson kissed her goodbye and left them to their own devices.

“What should we do?” Sanders asked. Tate gave him a wolf grin.

“Anything we want,” she replied in a husky voice. He turned pink and looked away.

“Please don't make me uncomfortable.”

She laughed and hugged him close, leading him back down the street.

“I wouldn't dream of it. Let's get Ang and go get into trouble,” she suggested.

“On second thought, please, feel free to make me uncomfortable.”

Jet lag had knocked Ang out for a solid twelve hours, but he was up and ready to go by the time they got to the hotel. Tate changed into her bathing suit, then they went off in search of a beach. Jameson could work on making money. Tate would work on her tan.

“It's way too fucking hot,” Ang complained, laying down flat on the sand, not even bothering with a towel.

“It's not as bad as I thought it would be,” Tate said, dropping her towel down and spreading it out flat.

“Cause Satan keeps it like a sauna in your house. Where's his little demon, anyway?” Ang asked, sitting up and looking around.

“Can you imagine Sanders in a bathing suit?” Tate laughed, stretching out on her towel. “He'll be back in a couple hours, I'm sure he's off making mischief of his own.”

“Does he even know how to spell mischief? Sanders wouldn't know how to stumble into trouble,” Ang snorted.

“That's what you think.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

They were silent for a while. Tate settled in, soaking up the warmth and humidity. Hong Kong did kinda feel like a giant sauna to her. When they were outside, the heat and heaviness of it all just made her want to curl up and take a nap. Which she pretty much did, right there on the beach. But then something woke her up. She felt something against her leg.

“I didn't realize it left such a scar,” Ang mumbled.

Tate opened her eyes. Ang was still sitting up and was looking down at her legs, frowning. He was running his forefinger up and down a scar that ran parallel along the side of her right knee. It really wasn't that big, maybe three or four inches, and had faded over the year.

“It's not so bad. I think it's kind of cool, makes me look like a bad ass. I tell people I got it in a knife fight,” Tate joked, bending her knee up. She had been in a nasty car accident the previous winter, gotten pretty banged up. The cut had required stitches, which wasn't so bad.

The broken leg, however, had sucked ass.

“I'm glad I wasn't there, I probably would've lost my shit,” Ang commented.

“God, Jameson lost his shit enough for you, me, and twenty other people. I swear. If I ever doubted that man's love, that accident certainly proved it. I didn't know he could get that upset,” Tate said, sitting up and looking at the scar as well. She had been jogging. The driver hadn't been paying attention. Next thing she knew, she had been waking up in a hospital room.

Jameson actually tried to beat up the driver. Only Sanders and two police officers had stopped him. Then he stayed in her room, the entire time she'd been in the hospital. Didn't take one phone call, didn't see one client. Slept on chairs till she got her cast, then slept in the bed with her. Completely wrapped around her, like he was afraid to let her go.

“I can't imagine Satan getting upset over anything,” Ang laughed, wiping sand off of her leg.

“You'd be surprised. It was very sweet. He was very worried about me,” Tate said softly.

“Maybe there's hope for him after all.”

Tate chewed on her lip. She had never told Ang the full story. They had been visiting Sanders when the accident had happened, halfway across the world. It had been a supremely fucked up trip, though luckily most of the drama hadn't involved her – for once. She didn't feel quite ready to share it all with him.

“Jameson asked me something weird last night,” Tate changed the subject and lowered her legs.

“Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“He asked me if I ever miss sleeping with you. Isn't that weird? He's never asked me something like that before,” Tate started.

“He's threatened by me. Good. I like it,” Ang teased. Tate threw a handful of sand at him.

“Shut up.”

“And what did you say?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I told the truth – no. I mean, we had some great times, Angie-wangy, but I love my life now,” she was truthful. Ang nodded.

“Yeah. Life isn't so bad,” he agreed, letting sand run through his fingers.

“So you don't miss it at all?” Tate asked, but she was smiling. Ang snorted.

“Tater tot, do you know what I was doing before I got on the plane? Having a foursome with three of the top winners from AVN last year. I love you, you fuck like a champion, but I'm good,” he assured her. Tate burst out laughing and threw more sand at him.