Until You (Fall Away #1.5)(13)
Author: Penelope Douglas

“Hey, Jamison?” I interrupted, very much done listening to Tate trying to get in this guy’s pants. “If you like Bruce Willis, Unbreakable is a good one. You should give it a shot….you know, if you’re looking to change your mind about thrillers that is.”

There. Now Tate could get back to better things. Like shutting up.

Tate loved Bruce Willis. She liked action movies and thrillers.

And I wanted her to remember that I knew that shit about her.

“Alright, class,” Mrs. Penley finally walked in. “In addition to the packet I am handing out, Trevor is giving you a template of a compass. Please write your name at the top, but leave the areas surrounding North, East, South, and West blank.”

The sound of shuffling papers filled the room, the assembly line of education hard at work. Papers and packets spilled down the rows as each student snatched one up like it was their ticket out of Dodge, and they all had somewhere to go.

“Okay.” Mrs. Penley clapped her hands together. “The packets I gave you are lists of films where important monologues occurred. As we’ve already started discussing monologues and their importance in Film and Literature…”

My mind fogged over, and I heard the noise of Penley’s voice but not the words. My eyes were trained on Tate’s back, and before I knew it, I was lost.

She had grabbed all of her hair and swept it up into a long ponytail, the wavy length cascading down her back like a waterfall, or a ….leash.

I clenched my fists.

Jesus.

I couldn’t see my dick, but I swear it swelled up to twice the size it normally did when I was horny.

Her army green Five Finger Death Punch T-shirt wasn’t too tight, but it draped slimly over her slender back and complimented her sun-kissed skin. I was nearly bleeding to kiss the patch of skin on her shoulder, at the curve of her neck where the collar rubbed.

That would be a good place for a little tattoo, I thought.

The hair, the outfit, it was the perfect blend of good girl and bad girl, of salvation and danger.

There was no point in lying to myself. As much as I hated her, I wanted a taste of her.

Angry sex is pretty good from what I hear.

“Go!” the teacher shouted, and I snapped my head up, blinking away the fantasy I’d gotten caught up in.

Oh, shit. Everyone rose from their seats and started walking around the room, carrying their papers and pens.

Was I supposed to get up? Dread gripped my heart as I glanced down at my jeans and then closed my eyes. Yeah, that’s not happening.

And—fuck!—I couldn’t stop the damn images of Tate—in my car, in the janitor’s closet, in my bed…

There was no way I could stand up right now, so I took some deep breaths and tried thinking about boring shit, like British period pieces and Ferris wheels.

Luckily, Ivy Donner strode up and wrote her name on my paper under ‘East’ and then my name on her paper. Good thing, because I had no idea what we were supposed to be doing, and my blood was coursing like lava. I was pissed.

Tate was a good distraction from my father, but I didn’t need her arousing me so hard and fast that I couldn’t even walk out of the room in a fire drill without embarrassing myself.

Concentrating on keeping a scowl on my face and my breathing even, I let two more girls fill in blanks on my paper as I tried to calm myself down. I guess we were supposed to find partners on a compass and switch names for each of the cardinal directions or something. Whatever.

“Mrs. Penley, I’m missing a North. Is it alright if I make a threesome with two others?” I heard Tate ask from the front of the room.

People snorted, while others laughed. I didn’t do either. I just tried not to look at her or picture her in a threesome, so I could lose this f**king hard-on.

“Hey, Tate,” Nate Dietrich called out, his tone husky. “I’ll do a threesome with you. My compass always points North.”

“Thanks, but I think your right hand will get jealous,” she shot back, and the entire class laughed for her and not at her this time.

“Does anyone need a North?” Mrs. Penley shouted out, interrupting the banter.

I looked down to my paper to see I had that space blank, too. But I said nothing. The last thing I wanted to do was help her out.

But then I saw Ben, two seats ahead of me on the left, erasing his North, and I shook my head, determined to be an idiot, I guess.

“She can be my North,” I said as calmly as possible.

I had to hand it to Ben. He’d made a dick move, but he wanted Tate, and he was going after her.

Why couldn’t I just let it go?

“Well, Tate. Go ahead then,” Mrs. Penley held out her hand, motioning for Tate to sit down.

She didn’t look at me, only slammed down in her seat and hovered over her paper, clearly plotting my death. I grinned, basking in her hatred and feeling in control again.

Now… I was ready for round two.

Chapter 13

“Oh, look. It’s The Dog…and Madman.”

I jerked my head up off the grass, spying K.C. walking up Tate’s walkway next door. Madman and I had just finished a walk and then collapsed on my front lawn after some man-to-man combat involving his teeth and my gloved hand.

“You know I can’t decide which one of you has the better manners.” She carried plastic bags filled with what looked like food but stopped before she reached Tate’s front steps. “At least he doesn’t shit on people.” She jerked her chin at Madman.

K.C. reminded me of that blonde chick on The Vampire Diaries that runs around acting like every problem in the entire universe has something to do with her.

Yeah, don’t judge. Madoc likes the show, not me.

The point is some people think they have a leading role when, really, they’re just supporting cast.

“K.C.?” I leaned back on my elbows and shot her a lazy and confident grin. “You know what’s worse than seeing how mean I can be?”

She sighed and jutted her hip out like I was wasting her time. “What?”

“Seeing how nice I can be.” My voice floated like silk across the lawn and straight between her legs.

Her sassy expression fell, and she looked a little lost. She was probably trying to figure out if I was flirting, or maybe she was just trying to remember her own f**king name.

I laughed to myself.

Yeah, that shut her up.

I didn’t have much tolerance for…well, most people, but I really hated cattiness. If a girl had to scrunch up her nose and pinch her eyebrows together at the same time just to talk, then she was perfect for the kind of activities that didn’t require any talking.

K.C. bolted up the stairs to Tate’s house and rang the doorbell like a legion of zombies was after her.

My chest shook with the mental image as I crashed back to the ground and closed my eyes.

The afternoon sun was waning, and the peaceful lull between the nine-to-fivers getting home and eating dinner had commenced. I loved this time of day.

The light to the west created a kaleidoscope of oranges and greens behind my eyelids, and I absorbed the delusion of this neighborhood that I existed around but not in.

Madman licked my hand, and I returned the gesture with a scratch behind his ears. Tate opened her front door, muffled voices. Lawn mower sounded down the street. Cars passed by. Kids called into dinner.

And I let myself be a part of it for a few moments.

I loved our street and always would. Every little house had its secrets and that’s what made it so perfect. I could laugh at Mr. Vanderloo across the street, because he snuck out to his garage every night and smoked pot after his family went to sleep. Mrs. Watson, three houses down, liked her husband to dress up as a UPS man and deliver things to her door. And then he’d deliver her to the bedroom.

Even Tate’s dad had a secret.

Over the time we spent together while she was gone, I discovered that he still ate at Mario’s every Thursday night by himself. I remembered Tate saying that the Italian restaurant was where her parents had had their first date. I didn’t know if she knew that he still did that.

My leg vibrated, interrupting my musings, and I reached into my pocket to grab my phone.

Narrowing my eyes in irritation, I touched the screen and answered.

“Yes?” No need to be polite. I knew who it was.

“Hello. I have a collect call for you from an inmate at Stateville Prison. Will you accept?”

No.

“Yes.”

I waited for the operator to switch over, feeling like I had been pulled out of Neverland and was now surrounded by a dozen soldiers trapping me in at gunpoint.

I knew why my father was calling. He’d only called once before, and it was the same f**king reason this time.

“When you come up tomorrow…put money in my account,” he told, not asked.

I took a deep breath. “And why would I do that?”

“You know why,” he growled. “Don’t act like you have a choice.”

I didn’t have the money to give him. I may not have a choice, but I had a problem.

“Then I’ll need to earn it, and I can’t do that until tomorrow night.” It was too late to get in on a race tonight. “I’ll be up on Sunday instead.”

And he hung up.

I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone, wanting it to be his face, his heart, and his power.

The money I gave him—to stop calling Jax—was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it hadn’t been.

He’d give Jax a break, but he always called again.

And I kept paying, just so Jax could have that break.

Don’t act like you have a choice. His words pierced my ears as if I could still feel the pain of that day. They were the same words he said to me before he shoved me down the basement stairs.

Right before I’d found Jax with them.

Sitting up, I looked around my street.

Goddamn him.

Trying to bring back the calm, I focused on the neighborhood view again. The square, green lawns looked jagged around the edges now, the green less vibrant. All of the houses seemed dead, and my breathing started scaring me.

And then I looked up.

Tate’s feet, propped up on the railing outside her French doors, sat angled, and I focused on her. The rest of her was hidden, but I watched her anyway. Knowing she was there. Feeling the energy that always rolled off of her. Call it hate. Call it lust. It wasn’t love, though.

But if was enough, and I needed it.

The breath leaving my body got quieter and quieter. It started pouring in and out like water instead of syrup, and I finally stood up and headed back into the house.

Dialing up Zack Hager, who organized the races at the Loop, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to get the needles out.

“Hey, can I race tomorrow night?”

“Well,” he paused, “I’ve got three races going already. But Jones just backed out, so Diaz needs an opponent.”

“Put me on the roster then.” I’d need the money. After I bought the car with the money from my grandfather’s house, my mother had made good on her promise to tie up the rest of the money in a college account. The only cash I had was what I made from my job, and that wasn’t enough to keep Thomas Trent in his cigarettes and extra snacks.