“Damn straight, and don't you forget it. Now where's the weed?” Ang asked.

They moved into the make-shift office Jameson had created out of a balcony. She opened the windows before pulling up two chairs for them. She produced a joint and they tucked in, Tate spreading a blanket across both of them. They sat in silence for a while.

“It's so peaceful here,” she finally sighed. Ang nodded, taking a deep pull.

“Surprisingly. I thought hell would be a lot scarier,” he managed to squeak out before exhaling the smoke.

“A person can get used to hell,” she replied softly.

“What?” he asked, turning towards her. She shook her head, taking a drag.

“It's not so bad, huh? Nice house, nice grounds,” she commented, passing it back to him.

“Heh, nice grounds. Groooouuunds,” he drew out the word before leaning forward and grinding the butt out against the window sill. “I'm happy if you're happy, kitty cat. Are you happy?”

“Most of the time,” Tate breathed, closing her eyes.

You don't want to do this. Don't be this person.

“What do you mean? Are you really okay?” he asked, and when she opened her eyes, he was looking at her. She wondered why he hadn't thought to ask that question before he had started fucking her sister.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just cold, let's get out of here,” she said, pushing the blanket away and standing up.

After she secured the huge windows, she led him back into the bedroom. She showed him the sideboard where Jameson kept most of his every day things – a lot of cuff links, tie pins, watches, things of that nature. Everything plated in gold and diamond and platinum. While Ang guffawed over all the stuff, Tate made her way over to the bed. Knelt on top of it and crawled towards Jameson's side.

“Holy fuck, Tate, this table holds more money than I'll ever see in my life. I don't know whether to be impressed, or disgusted,” Ang called out from behind her. She pulled a box out of Jameson's night stand and then turned back to Ang.

“Look at this,” she offered, knee walking back towards him. He met her at the edge of the bed and she opened the box. “This is a Jacob and Co. watch.”

“It's awesome,” he said, taking the box into his hands and looking over the timepiece.

“It's worth over $300,000.”

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, and dropped the box. It bounced on the mattress and rolled, the lid snapping shut. She laughed and picked it up, sat it on the pillows.

“I know, right? Who would spend that kind of money on a watch?” she asked.

“Why the fuck would you even let me touch that? That watch is worth more than I am,” he laughed as well, but he looked a little shaky.

“I think it's funny. All this stuff, it's silly,” she said, reaching out and playing with the button on the blazer he was wearing. He was taller than Jameson, but leaner. The blazer was pretty loose on him.

“It's fucking stupid. A watch!? Why? How often does he wear it?” Ang asked. Tate shrugged, unbuttoning the jacket and pushing it open.

“Not often. Once in Spain. You should see the shit he keeps in the safe,” she said, plucking at his shirt. He began absent mindedly batting at her hands while he glanced around the room.

“You're shitting me. Please tell me it's behind a huge portrait of like his dog or something,” he chuckled. She hooked her fingers inside his belt.

“No. It's in the closet,” she replied.

“Tate, what are you doing?” he asked, finally clueing into the fact that she was touching him. She smiled up at him. Ang liked to pretend he liked being poor, turned up his nose at rich people, but really, he was fascinated by it, and even better, distracted by it. It was one of the things that had attracted him to Tate, she knew. It was probably part of what drew him to her sister.

Bitch.

“What? I feel like I haven't touched you in a long time,” she said, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed the side of her face to his chest and he sighed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Are you really okay? You kinda scare me, sometimes,” he mumbled. She ignored the sadness in his voice and worked her hands up his back. He felt so different from Jameson.

“I'm okay, Ang. I'm happy here. Everything is great,” she whispered, massaging her fingers back down his spine. He shivered under her touch.

“You can always come live with me,” he said softly. She laughed low in her throat and pulled away a little, running her hands up and down his sides.

“Do you think your girlfriend would appreciate that?” she asked, watching him from under hooded eyelids. He ran his hands under her hair, lifting it away from her shoulders and piling it all on the back of her head.

“I don't think she'd care, but more importantly, I don't care. You've been my best friend for a million years,” he replied. She smiled, running her teeth over her bottom lip while she pressed herself against him.

“Sometimes a little more than a friend,” her voice was soft. He laughed, scratching his fingers over her scalp.

“Most of the time. God, we used to have fun,” his voice fell into a murmur as his eyes wandered over her face.

Please, don't hate me after this. I have to get my soul back.

“Used to?” she asked, her voice soft as she ran her hands along his body.

“Tater tot, we haven't had fun since Satan came to town,” Ang chuckled, his hands moving to the back of her neck.