Until You (Fall Away, #1.5)(22)

“Then stick to girls, *,” I joked. “They’re probably softer than the guys you like.”

Strolling down the hallway on the first day of Senior year, I felt a breeze washing over me that no one else felt. Madoc was bragging about his conquests, I got the classes I wanted, and I was almost done with the visitations to the prison.

In the time that Tate had been back, and a week since her escapade at my party, I’d slept peacefully, too. I almost felt happy.

“So,” Madoc spoke up. “Tate’s got a little fan club already. I’m assuming you’ve heard the talk.”

I had. As much as I hated the few things I’d heard other guys saying about her, they weren’t necessarily bad things. No one had mentioned her tits or ass, so I wouldn’t have to pound them into the pavement.

No, they just talked about how beautiful she looked. About how she carried herself now. Confidence she’d gained abroad, I was sure.

And I loved the attention she was getting. After all, the higher she rose, the harder she’d fall.

“Tatum isn’t even in her own fan club,” I mumbled.

We grabbed some food and sat down at our usual table in the cafeteria. Madoc ate like the athlete in The Breakfast Club. He almost needed two trays for the sandwiches, pizza, chips, Gatorades, and brownies he bought, whereas I hated eating big meals during the day. A sandwich or burrito and a couple of drinks were my usual.

The result: Madoc fell asleep during his afternoon classes, and I could make it through work with energy to spare.

“So how are we doing this?” He addressed his question to me as Sam and his friend, Gunnar, parked it at the table and began digging into their food.

Placing the cap back on my bottle of water and wiping the back of my hand across my lips, I peered up at him, not sure what conversation he’d started that I’d missed. “How are we doing what?”

“Tate,” he said as if I should’ve known. “Are we or are we not leaving her alone this year?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I do what I want. I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

“Shhh,” Madoc hissed. “There she is.” He jerked his chin towards the doors ahead, my gaze following.

She walked up to the line and got her tray, and I took inventory of everything. For my battle plan, of course.

Her body moved slowly, almost methodically. There was something about how rigid her back looked.

She wasn’t relaxed.

I hoped it was me. I hoped she felt me in here, watching her.

I liked watching her move, but I tensed up when I realized that every other guy in here was probably appreciating the same view.

It was a good view, and I couldn’t not look.

Her hair used to hang straight, but from the few times I’d seen her in the past week, she seemed to favor a wavier style now. The lights above made the strands sparkle down to their tips. Her long, thin shirt covered her ass on one side but had caught on the waist of her jeans on the other, leaving her behind visible in her tight jeans.

“Well,” Madoc piped up, “come up with better stuff this time. The date sabotaging is childish.”

What?

And then I realized he was continuing a discussion I didn’t remember starting.

“Get yourself paired up on a project with her or something,” he continued. “So much you could do with that kind of time together.”

Time together?

Oh, yeah. We were talking about the “Tate plan of attack.”

“This isn’t foreplay, Madoc.” I was setting Madoc straight just like Tate set K.C. straight. “I’m not looking to hook up with her.”

I watched her walk to a far table and sit down… with her back to me.

My lips turned up.

She didn’t want to risk making eye contact with me, and it was a victory.

Madoc started laughing, almost choking as he tried to swallow his food. “You’re right,” he coughed out, his eyes watering. “Anyone who sees the way you look at her knows you don’t want to hook up with her.” He shook his head. “No, right now you’re looking at her like you want to tie her up and give her a big, fat spanking.”

Stupid ass.

I wasn’t into shit like that, or…I didn’t think I was. Never tried it. Might try it, I guess. You should try everything at least once.

Except crystal meth.

“No?” he challenged, peering over at me when I didn’t answer. “Well, I guess this won’t make you jealous then.”

And he pushed his chair back, scraping the legs on the floor as he rounded the table and walked towards the other side of the lunchroom. Towards Tate.

Son of a bitch.

I was going to cut off his broken dick and feed it to Madman.

My short black sleeves stretched across my biceps, and I realized I’d tensed damn-near every muscle in my body.

I watched, fuming, as Madoc approached Tate and leaned into her ear, speaking. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, of course, but I saw Tate’s back straighten and knew she was uncomfortable.

Good.

But I didn’t feel good. I seemed to get high from pressing her buttons, but I never liked it when others took it upon themselves to follow my example. When Madoc had commented on her chest last year at the party—right before she broke his nose—I’d almost cut his balls off.