Completion by Stylo Fantome

a piece of toast.
    “I had stuff to do.”
    “At three in the morning?”
    She took another piece of bacon.
    “There is an entire spread over there,” Jameson pointed out, finally looking away from his paper. “Why do you always take my food?”
    “Cause it tastes better when I steal it from you,” she teased.
    “God, I almost prefer you when you're depressed and crying.”
    “Fucker.”
    “Always.”
    “So where were you?” Tate tried again, polishing off all his bacon.
    “I told you, I had some business. It was states side, hence the early hour,” Jameson answered cryptically. Tate narrowed her eyes and grabbed a fork, began picking at his scrambled eggs.
    “What kind of business?” she asked suspiciously. Something about his answers made her nervous. He was keeping something from her.
    “Bad business,” he answered, then stood up. He picked up his plate and sat it in front of her.
    “Oh god. Just tell me now, am I being sold into slavery?” Tate groaned. He chuckled.
    “No. Just some trash that needed to be taken care of, Liebe. N othing for you to worry about,” he assured her, then kissed her on the head before going into the bedroom.
    Hmmm. Still don't trust him.
    Tate finished breakfast and was fully prepared to rape him in the shower, but she was informed that she needed to get ready. They were meeting an acquaintance of his for doubles tennis. Tennis . Tate actually laughed.
    “Is this a joke?”
    “Nope. Tell Angier he needs to be ready in an hour.”
    “ Angier won't even know which end of the racket to hold.”
    “Good thing he's on your team, then.”
    Tate hadn't played tennis since high school. Ang had never played tennis. When she woke him up and told him what they'd be doing, he looked at her like she was crazy, but she promised that it would be fun. She was going to wear her Serena Williams-esque shorts, so at least his view would be nice during the game.
    “Does Jameson like tennis?” Ang asked as she brought him coffee in bed.
    “I've never even seen him play tennis,” she replied.
    It took some coaxing, but eventually Ang got out of bed and put on some shorts and a t-shirt. Tate ruffled his hair and he piggy-backed her all the way to her suite. Jameson was waiting inside, also in shorts and a t-shirt, a black hat shoved low over his eyes. He glared at them as they galloped around the room, but didn't say anything. Tate got changed into her gear, then they headed out.
    “So why are we playing tennis?” she asked, once they were in the car. She and Ang sat in the back, while Jameson rode up front with Sanders.
    “I ran into an old friend of mine. She invited us to play, I thought it would be fun,” was his answer.
    Ooohhh, this “acquaintance” is female, I get it now.
    “Is this ' she ' hot?” Tate asked.
    “Exceedingly.”
    “ Barf . Sandy,” she decided to change the subject. “Do you play tennis?”
    “Not if I can avoid it.”
    “Are you going to play with us today?”
    “God, no.”
    They pulled up to a swanky resort and filed inside. Sanders disappeared into the lounge while Jameson led the rest of them to the tennis courts. Tate was laughing at a story Ang was telling when someone caught her eye.
    There was a woman a couple feet away from them. She was ridiculously tall, probably five-foot-ten, or eleven – in flat sneakers. She was wearing a white pleated tennis skirt, so short it was almost pointless, and a skin tight white tank top. Her shiny black hair had been slicked back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a white visor. All the white set off her deep tan to perfection. But that didn't bother Tate.
    No, the way the woman draped herself all over Jameson and loudly kissed his cheek, that bothered Tate.
    “Angier, Tatum, this is Isadora,” Jameson introduced the woman, all while yanking away from her. Tate smiled.
    Good boy.
    “Ah, hello, I am so pleased to finally meet you!” the woman gushed in a thick accent. Tate couldn't quite place it, it