∆ Tate ∆
Tate still couldn't believe what was happening. She was in Josh's lap. In Montreal. Where he didn't live.
But sure enough, here he was, his hands gripping her waist as she moved with the music against his lap, where she could feel how badly he wanted her. And god did she want him, too. She was aching for him—desperate to be anywhere with him that wasn't there. But the night was still young, and soon Tate would have regulars coming in and expecting her attention. She couldn't have cared less about their money, but if her boss caught wind that she hadn't been there for her patrons, she might get some of her hours cut.
She couldn't stop the words when they'd come out of her mouth—when she told Josh she only wanted him, but she couldn't stop thinking about what Nick had said: if she didn't try, she would never know what she was missing out on.
"I can't stay with you long," she whispered, inching ever further onto Josh's lap. He moved his hands to her lower back, where his fingers sprawled across her skin and filled her whole body with warmth. "Do you have to go home tonight?" she asked
Josh was quick to shake his head. "I drove the guys but they got a hotel," he assured her.
"Please," she whispered, unable to keep the desperation from her voice, "will you come home with me?"
Josh's eyes, which had been trained on Tate's lips, lifted to meet her gaze. "Of course," he murmured.
Drunk on the scent of his cologne and the way his hands felt on her, Tate leaned away a moment to gather her composure. But then Josh's fingers snaked into the hair on the back of her head, forcing her to look back at him again. "T," he prompted, and she let out a little hum of pleasure when his hips lifted against the junction of her thighs. "Am I allowed to kiss you in this place?"
She bit down on her lip, arching her back to draw closer to him. "Only if you think you're gonna be able to stop," she whispered.
His blue eyes, dark with desire, swept down to where their bodies met in his lap before they slowly drifted back up again. "I don't think I can promise that," he managed.
Tate couldn't help but smile. She liked this side of Josh—almost as much as she liked the sweet, quiet, ever-cautious side of him. It was reassuring to know he had clearly been thinking as much about her as she had about him.
"I promise I'll only give dances to my regulars tonight," she declared. "They're all like a thousand years old. Is that okay?"
Josh's pinky finger slipped ever so slightly under the string of her bottoms—a lime green thong that Tate was pretty sure she would have to change out of after what Josh was doing to her insides right now. He brought his lips gently to her bare shoulder, before he moved to plant a kiss on her collarbone.
"Of course it's okay," he murmured against her. "As long as I'm the only one who gets to take you home." He lifted his chin to meet her eyes again. "Is that okay?"
All Tate could manage was a little nod and an un-sated moan of approval. "There's a restaurant next door open all night," she stammered after a moment. "Wait for me there?"
Josh brushed the hair back from Tate's face and replied, "I'll wait forever if I have to."
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𝙹𝚘𝚜𝚑
Messages
Conversation with Brady Tkachuk
Brady
yo, so was it the club?
Josh
fortunately, it was
Brady
fortunately?
Josh
i'm staying at her place tonight
Brady
no fucking way
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With a gentle chuckle, Josh turned off his phone and placed it flat down on the table. Tate was right about the place next door: it was a quiet diner that nobody would've ever guessed sat right next to a strip club in the middle of the city. There were only a few other patrons who came in the whole night—mostly drunk young adults looking for respite during a night out.
Josh, meanwhile, was stone-cold sober, nursing his fourth cup of black coffee while trying to keep up with the team groupchat. It helped to distract him from what he knew was going on next door.
Admittedly, he didn't want to think about what Tate was doing with other men, but he also trusted her word that she only wanted him tonight. She had a job, and that was that. There was no point getting angry about things. As long as it wasn't her teammates touching her the way he had several hours earlier, he could find a way to get over it.
At least he thought he could—but then the bell at the door rang, and Josh lifted his head to find Tate stepping inside, trailed by an older guy whose shirt was half-unbuttoned. Without even thinking about it, Josh shot out of his seat, already on the offensive.
Tate snapped over her shoulder at the man, "I'm not fucking saying it again—I'm not going home with you, so leave me the fuck alone. My shift ended."
The man, slurring drunk, grumbled, "No, I'm taking you home, and you're gonna feel so good."
By now, the exchange had drawn the attention of the three or four other patrons at the diner, though Josh hardly saw them. When the man by the door stumbled forward and grabbed a hold of Tate's wrist, all he saw was red.
He reached past Tate to rip the man away from her by the hem of his shirt, deflecting a drunken swing to his left. Josh wasn't a fighter, but it wasn't hard to beat a drunk guy who had at least twenty years on him. With all of his weight, Josh threw his forearm against the man's chest, pinning him to the glass door through which he'd just come.
"She said to leave her the fuck alone," Josh muttered, close enough that he could smell the alcohol on the guy's breath. "You put your dirty fucking hands on her again—you lose them."
The man, blubbering like a fool, struggled a moment to escape Josh's hold, but Josh didn't let go. He dug his elbow into the man's chest one more time, and then he felt Tate's soft touch on his free hand.
"Josh," she whispered. "It's okay."
He glanced over his shoulder at her, at which point she offered him a nod of reassurance, and so he released the man from his grip, glaring hard at him until he'd stumbled back out the door and headed towards La Vie's again.
Tate, whose hand was still intertwined with Josh's, released a sigh. "Thank you," she mumbled.
Josh turned to face her, flashing a look at the patrons watching them in the diner booths. When they saw Josh's glare, though, they immediately ducked their heads and returned to their own meals and conversations. He tightened his grip on Tate's hand, pausing to scan her and make sure she was all right.
She was wearing a long peacoat now, atop a black sweater and leggings, and she looked freshly showered. The color in her cheeks remained, even without her makeup, her big brown eyes heavy on Josh. He lifted their intertwined hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. He concluded, "Let's get you home."
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