Until You (Fall Away #1.5)(12)
Author: Penelope Douglas

We stood there a moment, neither one of us willing to back off, and the heat rolled off of her every time her chest rose and fell.

And then I saw it.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, her breath caught, and she wouldn’t look at me. Not out of fear but out of embarrassment. She was ashamed of something.

Oh, Jesus.

That flash of want on her face. That’s what it was.

And f**k it, I wanted that moment, too.

Roaming her body with my eyes, I took in the caramel tone of her tanned skin and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like covered with sweat. The curve of her neck as it met her shoulder, the water droplets in the dip of her collar bone, her full tits nearly bursting out of the towel…everything got me hard.

Goddmammit. Get a f**king grip.

I brought my gaze back up to meet hers, and forced myself to see her as the enemy she was.

I’m done giving them my attention.

“You sabotaged my party last week.” I got in her face, but she stood her ground. “And you assaulted my friend. Twice. Are you actually trying to assert some force in this school, Tatum?”

In my head, she was ‘Tate.’ Always. But I couldn’t call her that now. It was a nickname for family and friends, and we were neither.

Her eyes, the perfect blend of fire and ice, sharpened on me. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

“On the contrary.” I leaned my shoulder into the lockers to her side. “I’ve moved on to more interesting pastimes than punking you, believe it or not. It’s been a very peaceful year without your smug, I’m-too-good-for-everyone-else f**king face around these halls.”

And that was true. It had been peaceful. Like death kind of peaceful.

“What—are you, big, bad Jared—feeling threatened?”

What the fuck?

Now, that pissed me off.

I bounded off the lockers and caged her in between my arms.

“Don’t touch me,” she blurted out, and I bit back a grin. She wasn’t looking at me again.

I moved my head like a snake, trying to catch her eyes.

Wet strands of her hair stuck to her face, and I inhaled her slowly like she was a piece of meat, and I was starving. “If I ever lay my hands on you,” I threatened in a low voice, “you’ll want it.”

That f**king scent. It was like some kind of flower and kiwis. “Do you?” I taunted. “Want it, I mean?”

She paused, looking a little surprised, a little confused, and then a whole lot pissed. “I’m bored.” Her tone was uncertain but her eyes were resolved. “Are you going to tell me what you want or what?”

“You know? This new attitude you came back with? It surprised me. You used to be a pretty dull target. All you’d do was run away or cry. Now you’ve got some fight in you. I was prepared to leave you alone this year. But now…” I trailed off.

She smirked. “What will you do? Trip me in class? Spill O.J. on my shirt? Spread rumors about me, so I don’t get any dates? Or maybe you’ll up your game to cyberbullying. Do you really think any of it bugs me anymore? You can’t scare me.”

Baby, I’ve already got you.

At least, I thought I did. She was talking some serious shit. Sure, she’d started branching out before she went to France, but I figured it was all a part of leaving the country. She’d felt she was safe. Hell, she had been safe, I guess. Not much I could do from where I was.

But now she was back.

I braced a hand over her head, against the lockers and leaned in. “Do you think you’re strong enough to take me on?” I asked, part of me hoping she’d rise to the challenge and another part of me hoping she’d stay down.

“It’s on.” And that promise floated in the air like the words “You’ve won the lottery.”

Hell, yes.

“Tatum Brandt!”

We both jumped out of our own little world and looked to the end of the row where Coach Syndowski and about half of the cross-country team stared at us.

Oh, shit.

I almost laughed at the sheer luck.

Tate in her towel. Me hovering close. I couldn’t have planned it better, and I was a little ashamed that I didn’t predict this twist.

This wasn’t going to look good on her so-called “They’re not taking my senior year” game plan.

“Coach!” Tate gasped, grappling at her towel, and making it look like we were guilty of something other than talking.

Smooth, Tate.

But my amusement was short lived when I saw girls snapping pictures with their cell phones. My stomach hollowed out immediately.

No, no, no….goddammit.

Tate was mine, to do with what I wanted. And I did not want pictures of her in a towel texted to the whole goddamn school!

“There are other places for you two to do this.” The coach’s voice sounded like she should be wagging her finger and sending us to bed without dinner. “Mr. Trent?” She scolded me with her eyes. “Leave!”

And I buried my anger about the pictures and walked out just as I’d come in. Like I f**king owned the place.

Chapter 12

Days later, I was experiencing more ups and downs than a damn roller coaster. Tate completely aware of my presence and cringing every time she saw me—going up! Douchebags trying to fist bump me for screwing her like she was some skanky slut that would throw down anywhere—going down.

Motherf**king cell phone, internet, technology and shit!

And worst of all, I actually felt guilty.

I should’ve been thrilled. Especially since she had transferred into one of my classes yesterday, and I could f**k with her anytime now.

But things were different this year, and that photo hadn’t helped. Guys wanted her. Like wanted her so badly that no amount of shit I spewed about her eating boogers, having lice, or even dissecting human cadavers in her home would dispel.

Screw it. There wasn’t much I could do on that front anymore, and why would I want to? Why did I care if she dated or not? I didn’t.

It simply bugged the shit out me to have a nearly nak*d picture of her zooming through cyberspace.

Tate would assume I’d planned the whole thing, and she’d know that I would be thrilled about her humiliation. Let her, then. It worked to my advantage.

But that didn’t mean that I was happy or okay with it.

“Toni, baby. Come with me.” I hooked Toni Vincent, cheer captain, by the elbow and led her outside the double doors of the gym.

“Oh, look who’s talking to me after weeks and weeks.” Her sarcastic tone was playful but annoyed.

She and I had hooked up a couple of times last year, and while she was confident and fun, I wasn’t in it for a relationship. She tried to push that shit.

She was cocky, though, and she knew how to work her tough streak. I admired that about her.

“We’re better when we don’t talk,” I mumbled as I backed her into the wall.

She didn’t want to give me an inch, but I saw the small smile peek out before she lowered her green eyes. When she looked back up, her gaze was steady. “So, what do you want?”

“The Cheer blog,” I stated. “The picture of Tatum and me? Take it down.”

“Why should I?” she sneered. “It’s getting a lot of hits.”

“Because I’m telling you to,” I ordered, not flirting or pretending in the least. “Today.”

And I left her there, knowing she’d do it.

Later that day, I made my way to my final class, Themes in Film in Literature. I’d signed up for any courses I could take from Penley this semester. She was sweet, and I felt worse about my behavior towards her than any other teacher last year. It was the teachers who went the extra mile with me that got my respect, and after my dick behavior with her last fall, I’d decided to seize any opportunity I could to show her I was a good student. Or at least a nice guy.

Her classes, while she tried, were my least favorite, though. I hated literature and writing, and definitely hated expressing myself in public when it didn’t involve some Patrón or a fast car.

But I looked forward to this class most of all now. Tate sat two seats in front of me, and I could drill a hole into the back of her head the entire class.

“I’m trying to get into Columbia, pre-med. What about you?” Tate asked Ben Jamison, who sat next to her, and I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation from behind them.

“I’m applying to a few places,” Ben answered. “I have no head for Math or Science, though. It’ll be Business for me.”

And Business is what exactly? Greek Literature?

“Well, I hope you like some Math. Business goes with Economics, you know?” Tate echoed my thoughts, and I snorted when Ben looked over at her, eyes wide and clearly confused.

I chewed on my pen to keep from laughing at the dumbass.

Tate’s back stiffened, and I knew that she knew I was listening.

“So…” she continued, ignoring me, “you’re on the Homecoming Committee, right?”

“Yeah. You coming?” Ben asked, and I stopped breathing as I waited for her response.

Ben might try to ask her. Maybe he was gauging whether or not she was interested in someone else. I remembered he was interested in her freshman year, but he was put down pretty easily. Once he heard about the Stevie Stoddard rumor, the one I started about Tate losing her virginity to the grimiest kid in school, he didn’t mention her again. He was weak, and he was a follower.

But…girls loved him. Why? I have no idea. He seemed about as boring as a church movie night. He was nice, though. The guy you brought home to Mom.

“We’ll see,” Tate answered. “Have you booked a band, or is there a D.J.?”

“A band would be nice, but they tend to play one genre of music, so it’s hard to please everyone. We’ll have a D.J. I think that’s what everyone decided. He’ll keep the party going with a good mix: pop, country….”

Okay, lesson on Tate and music. If fans do anything less than carve the band’s name into their skin, then the band isn’t worth listening to. Any music that involves more than jumping around and banging your head is about as exciting as Kenny G to her.

Well, to me, too. That’s one area we could see eye to eye.

“Oh…. pop and country? Can’t go wrong there.” She tried to sound sincere, and for a bubblehead like Ben Jamison it probably worked, but I could smell the cover up.

Unable to hold back the snicker, I buried my face in my phone when she turned around to glare at me.

But when I didn’t look at her, she turned back around.

“So, you like pop and country?” she addressed Ben again, and I found myself tapping my pen in irritation.

Where the hell is Penley?

“Mostly country,” I heard Ben answer.

She just nodded at him, hopefully realizing that they didn’t have anything in common.

“You know,” she continued, “I heard we get to watch The Sixth Sense in here this semester. Have you seen it?”

“Oh, yeah. A long time ago, though. I didn’t get it. I’m not a big fan of those thriller-mystery type movies. I like comedies. Maybe she’ll let us watch Borat.”