Until You (Fall Away, #1.5)(102)

He turned his head but not enough to meet my eyes. “Get out,” he ordered.

“What?” I blurted, my eyes widening. “But…but…” I stuttered, catching sight of Tate’s triumphant smile in the rearview mirror.

“But nothing,” Jared barked. “Go get your car. She can race you.”

The zing of adrenaline heated up my arms at the prospect of some real excitement. Tate could definitely race a chick that had no idea what she was doing, but she still had a lot to learn and some balls to grow.

Enter Madoc. I wanted to smile, but I didn’t.

Instead, I just rolled my eyes. “Well, that’ll be boring.”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” she mocked, gripping the steering wheel. “You make a great twelve year old girl when you whine.”

I opened the back door. “Speaking of whining…want to make a bet on who’ll be crying by the end of the day?”

“You will,” she answered.

“Not.”

She grabbed a package of travel tissues and threw them at me. “Here. Just in case.”

“Oh, I see you keep a ready stock.” I smiled. “Because you cry so much, right?”

She jerked around. “Tais-toi! Je vous détes—”

“What?” I interrupted. “What was that? I’m hot, and you love me? Jared, did you know she had feelings—”

“Stop it!” he bellowed, shutting both of us up. “Goddammit, you two.” And he threw his hands up in the air and looked between us.

Tate and I were both silent for a moment, and then she snorted, and I couldn’t help but let out a laugh, too.

“Madoc?” Jared’s teeth were glued together. I could hear it. “Out.”

I grabbed my cell off the seat and did as I was told, only because I knew my friend had had enough.

I’d been trying to bait Tate all day, make jokes, and distract Jared. She was racing a new guy on the scene tonight, Michael Woodburn, and no one knew anything about him. You would think that most guys would have a problem racing a girl, but Zack said this guy took the race with no argument.

It was too convenient, and Jared was uneasy. We didn’t know Woodburn, his car, or his driving, but Tate insisted that she could handle it.

And what Tate wants, Tate gets. Jared was whipped worse than cream.

I walked back down the track to the driveway leading in. My silver GTO sat along the side of the road, and I dug in my jeans for my keys with one hand while I ran the back of my hand across my forehead with the other.

It was early June, and everything was already so miserable. The heat wasn’t bad, but the damn humidity made it worse. My mom had wanted me to go to New Orleans to visit her for the summer, and I gave her a big, fat “Hell-to-the-no.”

Yeah, I love sweating my balls off while her new husband tries to teach me shrimping in the Gulf.

Nope.

I loved my mom, but the idea of having my house to myself all summer, while my dad stayed at his apartment in Chicago, no doubt, was a much better prospect.

My hand tingled with a vibration, and I looked down at my phone.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked my dad as I came up on the side of my car.

“Madoc. Glad you answered. Are you home?” He sounded unusually concerned.

“No, I was about to head there soon, though. Why?”

My dad was hardly ever around. He kept an apartment in Chicago, since his big cases kept him working long hours. I liked him. Didn’t love him though.

My stepmom had been AWOL for a year. Traveling, visiting friends. I hated her.

The only person I loved at home was Addie, our housekeeper. She made sure I ate my vegetables and signed my permission slips for school. She was my family.

“Addie called this morning. Fallon showed up today,” he explained, and my breath caught as I nearly dropped my phone.

What?

She’s here?

I put my palm down on the hood of my car and tried to unclench my teeth.

“So?” I finally bit out. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Addie packed you a bag,” he explained. “I talked to Jared’s mom, and you’re going to stay with them for a few weeks.”

“What?” I yelled into the phone, breathing hard. “Why can’t I stay at my own house?”

Since when did that bitch get the run of things? So she was home. Big deal! Send her on her way then. Why did I have to be sent away?

“You know why,” my dad answered, his threatening tone deep. “Don’t go home.”




RIVAL will be released in the summer of 2014.





You’re poisonous, toxic, bad for my health.

You’re greedy, sly, way too stealth.

You hurt me, use me, mistreat and abuse me.

But your apologetic eyes, As you tell your lies, Draw me back in, And I forgive every sin.

I take you back, Your love is my crack.

I’m clearly a masochist, You’re my personal terrorist.

My tormentor,

My lover,

My bully,

My friend.





To my husband—Honey, you deserve a lot of “cuddle” time for putting up with me during this book. Honestly, it was the massages. Your hands are the reason poetry is written, and I have no idea how I would’ve handled a full time job and writing this book without your tender love and care.