Everything I wanted to keep safe was behind me, and that’s where it would stay.
I pressed into their space. “Not sure what you’re looking for, but it ain’t here,” I growled, bearing down on them.
“We want our money back,” Ryland ordered like he had a leg to stand on.
“Get over it,” I sneered. “You took the gamble, and you pay the price like everyone else.” They tried to push into my space, but I kept my feet planted.
“It wasn’t a fair race!” The other, taller and darker, one used his pointer finger in my face like a tattletale at recess.
I snorted.
There were two kinds of stupid. Stupid people that got drunk and humped trees, and stupid people that just humped trees. The first one was Madoc. These guys were the latter.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I laughed. “Your car never stood a chance. Bring the right tires next time. This isn’t street racing.”
“Fuck you!” Ryland barked. He slammed me in the chest, and I lost my breath as I stumbled backwards.
Coming back up on him, I stared him down. “Get off my property.”
Just then, I could make out the rumble of Madoc’s GTO, and I immediately relaxed my shoulders a bit when he came into view, speeding down my street.
I didn’t even think he turned off the car before he was out and running.
Thank God.
I wasn’t afraid of these guys, by any means, but I wasn’t stupid, either. Two against one, and all I had in my hand was my helmet for a weapon.
A vicious slam nearly knocked me off my feet, and an ache rocked my head.
Shit. I’d been hit.
No. Sucker punched, actually.
Cowardly motherfuckers.
They both rushed me, throwing fists in my face, and a million goddamn things were going at once.
Arms flying at me…crowding me…I’m about to fall…
My head was still ringing from the hit, and it took me too fucking long to get straight.
I launched my body forward, shoving my shoulder into one of their stomachs and taking the fight to the ground.
Madoc must’ve gotten the other one, because I didn’t have anyone else coming at me from behind.
My jaw clamped shut and air rushed in and out of my nose as I grabbed the guy—Ryland—by the neck and whipped him onto his back.
Grunts filled the air, and the grass, slippery with dew, made it hard as I tried to climb over him. It was a chilly night, but the sweat glided down my forehead like it was the middle of August.
I threw punch after punch, my knuckles burning with the impact. He brought his hands up, wrapping one of his fists inside the other and hammering down into my stomach.
I lost my breath, and he took the short reprieve to draw a switchblade out of his jeans and sliced me across the bicep.
Goddammit!
I whipped my body back, leaning away.
The hot sting of the cut quickly spread, and my arm turned cold. I realized it was the blood hitting the night air, cooling my skin.
But the rest of me was hot as fuck, my blood pumping so hard. I grappled for my helmet on the ground and slammed him over the top of the forehead with it.
Hard.
His knife fell to the ground, and he covered his bleeding hairline with shaky hands.
Damn coward.
I liked fighting, and I liked trouble, but pulling a fucking knife?
That made me want to damage more than just his window.
Standing up and gripping my arm to stop the blood flow, I carried the helmet over to his piece of shit Honda and smashed his windshield until it was so splintered that it looked like it was crusted in a winter’s worth of frost.
I walked back, tasting the blood in my mouth and hovering over the piece of shit on the ground. “You’re not welcome at the Loop anymore.” I meant for my voice to come off strong, but my breathing was still ragged.
And the damn blood from the cut was dripping off of my fingertips now. I probably needed stitches.
Madoc had already dumped the first guy, bloodied and unconscious, over by the car and was now stepping over to get the other one off my lawn.
“Jared.” I heard him say, almost a whisper.
I turned my eyes to him, but then saw he was concentrated on something else. Following his gaze toward the Brandt’s yard, I stopped breathing.
Fucking. Hell.
Tate was standing there, on the walkway leading up to her porch.
Just standing there and staring at us. A little scared, a little confused, and in her goddamn, fucking underwear!
What the hell?
Madoc was here. Two other guys—although unconscious—were here.
My blood boiled and heat immediately rushed to my pants.
I hardened my jaw and breathed hard.
She wore a tight, black band T-shirt and some of those cotton boy short underwear. Red ones. Fucking red.
She was covered, but just barely.
It didn’t matter, though. You could still make out everything, and she was perfect. My heart was jackhammering so hard and fast at her skimpy attire that I just wanted to peel everything off of her and sink my hands into her body here and now.
Was she trying to kill me?
Get in the fucking house, Tate! Jesus.
Then my eyes fell to the gun in her right hand.
A gun?
No.
I narrowed my eyes, forgetting her legs and her beautiful hair spilling around her.
She wasn’t helping us. She wouldn’t do that.
She was waiting for the cops or something.
Tate didn’t give a shit, and she was just sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
But then I blinked.
If she’d called the cops, I doubted she’d be walking around in her panties, carrying a gun.
Why the hell would she help us?
Maybe she didn’t stalk out here in her underwear to taunt me. Maybe she was just in that much of a hurry.
But before I could even sift through my thoughts, she quirked an annoyed eyebrow and stomped back up her front porch and through the door to her house, giving me a great view of her ass.
Madoc laughed, and I shoved him in the shoulder before stalking off towards my house.
I had a hard-on and a bloody arm, and I wasn’t sure what I needed first: stitches or a cold shower.
Madoc had threatened to call the cops, so Ryland and his friend sped away—broken windshield and all—while I woke up my mother.
I hated waking her—hated stressing her—but I was still technically a minor on her health insurance, so I needed her at the hospital. Madoc went home to nurse his bloody nose, and it took ten stitches and my mother bitching at me for two hours before I was able to make it to bed, too. By the time I woke up three hours later, I was in more knots than before I slept.
Tate with a fucking gun.
What the hell was her game?
Grabbing my phone off its charger, I shook off the voice in my head that told me to slow down.
Need my help today? I texted K.C.
It only took her a second to respond. Help?
Liam, I shot back. Let’s make him jealous.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, waiting for her answer.
I heard Tate’s Bronco start up next door, and I checked the clock to see that it was still early.
The lab.
I’d seen Tate coming out of the chemistry lab in the mornings and some afternoons. She was probably competing in the Science Fair in the spring and needed research done. It would look good on her college applications.
She was probably getting ready to apply to Columbia next year. New York was always where she always wanted to go.
K.C. didn’t text back, so I dropped the phone on the bed and went to the shower.
My arm was wrapped tight, but I still needed to get clean.
After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stopped short at the
bathroom mirror, glimpsing my tattoos. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how my mother had yelled at me the night before.
Fighting! she screamed. Getting arrested! And tattoos without my permission! she’d said as if that was the worst one of all.
I’d only laughed under my breath and laid my head back in the car, trying to sleep as she drove us home from the hospital.
I loved the tats, and I was going to get more. I wanted the scars on my back—the ones my father gave me—covered.
Walking back into my room, I dried my hair and noticed that I had another text.
What’s in it for u? K.C. asked.
Well, I couldn’t tell her the truth.
Fun.
I don’t know, she texted. Tate’s already mad at me.
Tate won’t know, I lied and threw the phone on the bed to go get dressed.
“Do you want to come over tonight?” I rested my forearm on the wall above K.C.’s head and leaned into her, almost touching.
Her breath caught as I trailed my fingers on the sliver of skin peeking out between her shorts and shirt. “What are we going to do?” she played along, looking absolutely turned-on and helpless.
Her idiot ex-boyfriend was in the cafeteria, and we were outside the double doors, hot in each other’s space.
Her back was against the wall, but he could see her, and he could definitely see me.
I just wished Tate could see this, too.
My lips hovered just a hair away from hers as I ran my hand around her back, about to dive in for the kill. “We could play Monopoly,” I suggested, pressing my body into hers. “Or the Wii.”
Her eyes got wide, and her lips tightened, trying to hold back a laugh. While we looked like we were about to get it on, our conversation didn’t deliver.
“I don’t know,” she moaned. “I’m not very good at Wii.”
“It’s not that hard.” My whisper fanned over her lips. “Watch.”
And I pulled her into me, kissing her long and slow.
Her slender frame molded into mine, and she tilted her head to the side as I trailed a line to her ear.
She was easy in my hands. Small, soft, bending when I pulled…she knew what to do.
K.C. definitely wasn’t innocent. I could feel that.
But she was an easy target right now, and I didn’t go for that.
And… I definitely felt like I’d lost my heartbeat somewhere in the middle of making out with her.
Jesus.
My lips and hands went through the motions. Kiss, kiss, bite, squeeze…and nothing fucking happened.
What the hell?
I knew I wasn’t interested in her, but damn! I should feel some kind of jolt. Some kind of reaction. She had tits, after all.
But no. Nothing. I was dead. I was doing my Literature homework. I was playing golf.
I hate golf.
And that’s when I pinched my eyebrows together, still kissing her and realizing that I hadn’t pursued any girls in a couple of weeks.
The second bell rang. K.C. jumped, and I leaned back, still held hostage by the fact that the only time I’d gotten a hard-on lately was around Tate.
Christ.
I backed off K.C. and tipped my chin at her. “Text if you want to come over later. Liam will hear about it.” And Tate will see you, I thought to myself. “You don’t want him thinking you were sitting at home alone all night, do you?”
I knew that would push her.
But before she had a chance to answer, I slapped her on the ass, knowing Liam would see.
K.C. just smiled, her eyes wide with shock before she turned and ran to class.
I let out a sigh, watching her disappear down the hall.
I wasn’t going to class. I had a meeting with the fucking counselor this morning. College-talk time.
No, actually that was last year. Now, since I hadn’t made any plans, it was the make-a-decision-or-make-your-own-bed-and-lay-in-it talk.
“Hey, man.” Madoc came through the cafeteria doors before I’d even moved. “Was that K.C. that ran off? You haven’t tapped that yet?” He fastened the cap on his Gatorade.
I turned, knowing he’d walk with me. “Who’s saying I haven’t?”
“Uh, because you’ve never been seen with a girl after you’ve fucked her. I doubt you even wait until the condom is off before forgetting their names.”
I halted in front of the staircase I needed to take. Was he serious? A judging tone, from him? “And you do?” I asked, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
Madoc had probably scored more tail than I had.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He shrugged it off. “I’m just saying, you never had to work this hard to get a girl into bed.”
Madoc looked at me expectantly through his bruised eyelids.
“I’m in no hurry. I might want to play around with this one for a while.” I couldn’t tell Madoc the truth.
I never told anyone anything.
“Tate’s going to be pissed,” he pointed out, like I hadn’t thought of that.
“The whole point.”
Madoc nodded. “Oh…so that’s the plan.”
Well, what the hell did he think I was doing? Actually dating K.C.?
Enough. “Thanks again for backing me up last night.” I changed the subject and turned to climb the stairs.
But Madoc spoke up again. “This thing?” he started, and I stopped. “With Tate? Why do we do it? I know I’ve asked before, but you don’t tell me shit. I just don’t get it.”
Jesus Christ.
I turned back around to face him, done talking about this.
He’d asked lots of times before, and each time I’d targeted that girl it was for a different reason.
I liked playing games.
I wanted control.
I was protecting her.
I never had an answer that satisfied me, let alone worth repeating. In my head, it always seemed reasonable, but saying it out loud sounded crazy.
But while Madoc was curious, he was also game. Anytime I wanted help spreading a rumor or messing with Tate over the years, he’d always stepped up. At my request and of his own volition.
The party a year ago where he threw her keys into the pool, and she’d broken his nose.
All his idea.
My first party this year when she screamed, “Cops?” Did I tell him to put his hands on her?
I narrowed my eyes on him. “I think you go above and beyond. You mess with her without me telling you, so why do you care?”
He smiled and let out a nervous laugh, brushing me off. “This isn’t about me. I never wanted to make an enemy of that girl. She came outside last night like she was ready to back us up. She’s hot, athletic, tough, and she can handle a gun. What’s not to like?”
Every muscle in my shoulders and arms flexed. I didn’t like that Madoc was veering away from how I wanted people to see her, and I fucking hated that he drooled over her.
I came back down the stairs, my boots pounding on the tile almost as hard as the blood pumping in my veins, and bore down at my best friend.
“Stay away from her.”
He held up his hands and smiled like he was trying to calm me down. “Hey, man, no worries. She broke my nose and kicked me in the balls. I think that ship’s sailed.” He narrowed his eyes and looked confused. “But if you don’t want her, why can’t anyone else have a shot?”
Why, indeed?
The shit I’d pulled on Tate over the years could be chalked up to hate, anger, need for control.
But not letting other guys near her? That wasn’t a game.
That was about me not being okay with anyone else’s mouth or hands on her.
And I needed to let that shit go.
“I’m not standing in her way anymore,” I said calmly. “If she wants to date and screw every guy in school, she can have a ball. I’m done.”
“Well good,” Madoc said, stretching his fat mouth into a wide grin. “Because word
is she went out with Ben Jamison last night.”
The walls closed in. Madoc got smaller and smaller.
Ben and Tate? No, no, no…
My long-sleeved black thermal was suffocating me, and for the first time since last fall I actually felt inclined to rip off the goddamn sleeves again just to breathe.
“That’s fine,” I clipped out, barely unscrewing my jaws to speak. “I couldn’t care less. They can all have her.”
But I never, for a single second, meant it.
Tate and K.C. got into it at lunch again. I could see them eating lunch at the picnic tables outside, and both were talking intensely, Tate looking away, shaking her head, and K.C. looking apologetic.
While I told myself that it would be worth it when it was done, I still felt like shit. K.C. wasn’t telling Tate about using me to get back at her boyfriend. If she did, they probably wouldn’t be fighting. Not that Tate would be okay with it, but she probably wouldn’t be barely eating her lunch and scowling so much.
No, Tate thought K.C. and I were hooking up.
Telling the school she had genital warts or lice had been mean but still funny. Trying to steal her best friend was cruel. It would really hurt her.
Exactly what I wanted, I told myself.
But day after day I caught myself mesmerized by her every move. The methodical way she’d sharpen her precious pencils, the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she’d lean down to grab something from her messenger bag, or watching her body bend as she’d sit down or get up. Every bit of skin, every smile, and every time she licked her lips had a lightning storm shooting downwards from my stomach to my dick, and I almost wished she was back in France.
At least I could hate her and not want to fuck her every second.
Madoc called it hate-fucking. He told me once that he’d never loved anyone, but he’d had sex with someone he really hated once, and it was the best he’d ever had.
Passion, punishment, anger—it sounded like an attractive but dangerous mix.
I let out a breath and straightened my shoulders as I walked into my last class of the day—the class I shared with Tate.
“Leave.”
I heard Tate’s voice as soon as I walked in the door, and I snapped my attention to Nate Dietrich leaning on her desk, crowding her space.