Aflame (Fall Away #4) Page 10

  “Jared,” she pleads, “tell me what the hell happened.”

  I close my eyes, feeling like my body is swaying. “I lost Tate,” I whisper, my eyes burning.

  “Who’s Tate?” she questions. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  I let out a bitter laugh, kind of liking the sound of that. I wish our new neighbors ten years ago had had a boy instead of a girl. I wish Tate was a guy I’d gone to school with instead of the girl I liked, bullied, and then fell in love with.

  I wish my world had never revolved around her. Maybe we both would’ve been happier.

  “Drink this,” Pasha orders, handing me a bottle of water.

  I grab it lazily and unscrew the cap, downing the bottle. When I finish, she pushes another one at me.

  I shake my head. “Enough. Just leave me alone.”

  “No,” she pushes. “You have a race tomorrow. A responsibility to me and your team. Drink this and then go get in the shower, while I go rustle up some aspirin and food. We need to get the alcohol out of you.”

  She leaves, and I suck in air, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach that I know aren’t from the liquor. Gulping down the second bottle of water, I rise on shaky legs and tear off my jeans and boxers as I make my way to the bathroom.

  I don’t want a life without Tate. I don’t want anything without her.

  Stepping into the shower, I stumble as I turn on the water. I jerk when the heat hits my body, and even though I should be under a cold spray to sober me up, the hot rush eases my nerves.

  I drop my head forward, letting the cascade run down my neck and back, and I suddenly feel the first drop of peace I’ve felt all night.

  Tate’s been everything to me for so long, and somehow I thought she always would be. I never doubted it.

  In fact, I’d gone to great lengths to stay in her life, be it for good or bad.

  And that’s when I realize it. I had given her too much power over me.

  My first instinct tonight when I saw her with another man was to hit someone, yell at her, confront them both, but something inside held me back.

  I’d always crowded her, pushed her and fought with her, and I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I left in the first place so I could grow up.

  I hear the bathroom door shut, and I pull back the curtain just an inch to see a young woman leaning against it.

  She watches me, and I smooth my hair over the top of my head, trying to place her. She looks vaguely familiar.

  “Who are you?” I ask, thinking she might be a groupie or someone’s assistant, but I hadn’t paid any attention to other women in a long time, so I wasn’t sure.

  Her big brown eyes look shy. “Pasha thought you might need a backrub,” she replies, her voice sounding so innocent.

  I narrow my eyes and watch as she slowly starts to take off her clothes, holding my gaze the whole time, as her meaning becomes clear.

  I still, slowly releasing the air in my lungs.

  Her light brown hair falls over her shoulder, and my heart rate picks up as piece by piece, everything comes off and she stands naked in front of me.

  I whisper under my breath, willing myself to tell her to go.

  Just tell her to go.

  She’s quiet, but I catch the hint of playfulness in her eyes as she cocks her head at me, waiting for an invitation.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently, everything in her look telling me she knows I won’t.

  I let my eyes trail down her body, and I can almost feel how warm she would be if I touched her.

  How nice it would be to have someone in my bed.

  I want her to leave, but I don’t want to be alone.

  Tate’s smiles float through my mind, and I steel my jaw as the girl approaches, her presence making the hair on my arms stand up.

  She looks up at me with a small smile, and I start to grow hard as I think about her open for me on the bed. I can close my eyes and go at her, get lost in the act and let go of my anger and pain and use her like I have so many other women, but . . .

  But I never gain anything from it.

  Tomorrow, I’ll hate myself and the cheap act, because nothing compares to fucking someone you love.

  Needles prick the back of my throat, and I swallow the lump. “Yeah,” I rasp, looking down at her. “I want you to leave.”

  Confusion and a hint of hurt flash through her eyes as she shifts her gaze, probably trying to make sense of why I don’t want her.

  I close the shower curtain and finally hear the door open and close, and a wave of relief hits me. For a moment, Tate fades in my head, and every inch of my body feels the gust of a second wind.

  I’d let my need for Tate make me do so many bad things in the past and make so many wrong decisions, and I hadn’t realized how much I still lacked control over my own happiness.

  She had been everything, and I’d held myself back, acting out and making all the wrong choices, because my head had been so clouded with her—and I’m not doing it anymore.

  I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and go to bed.

  I have a race tomorrow.

  A couple of women came and went over the next year and a half, but it was never because I was angry or wanting revenge. I was trying to move on just like Tate had been. I had wanted to go back and fight for her, but not until I was sure I was going to be good for her. And maybe she wouldn’t want me anyway, since she’d moved on. So I let it be.

  For a year and a half, I warred between what I wanted and what I thought was right. Either take her back and love her forever, or leave her alone, because all I’ve ever caused her was pain.

  But when I came home today and saw her again, that was it. The battle in my head wasn’t there anymore.

  She belonged to me. I was built for her.

  I looked over, across the dance floor, her table full of our friends and their drinks, while Ben had his lazy hand resting low on her thigh, and I steeled my jaw to prevent the smile.

  That touch wasn’t going to do it for her.

  Not for her.

  Tate wasn’t a slow burn. She liked to be fed on.

  Halestorm’s “I Get Off” played over the sound system, and some of our old high school friends sang along on the dance floor. I smiled to myself, remembering how that song always reminded me of her and how we grew up with our windows facing each other. She had a lot of fun taunting me with that window when we were together.

  My phone buzzed in my hand, and I slid my thumb over the screen to see a text from Jax.

  What are you planning to do when she leaves with him tonight?

  I locked eyes with my brother across the dance floor as he flashed me a small, all-knowing grin.

  Asshole.

  My phone buzzed again.

  You have no idea, do you?

  I dumped my phone on my table and shot him my middle finger. He laughed and looked at Madoc, who shared his amusement.

  What was I supposed to do? Drag her to my car by her hair? Yeah, that would win me points.

  But he was right. There was no way I could live with her going home with someone else. As much as I’d learned to control my temper, she was a trigger.

  Whatever fling she’d had a year and a half ago, I’d been around to witness only a few minutes of it. Now it was a different matter. Ben wasn’t a bad guy, and Tate knew him somewhat well. Shit could escalate quickly between them.

  The girl next to me leaned into my arm, and I looked down at her, almost wishing that I could take her home. I was overloaded with energy and adrenaline, and I wanted a girl in my bed tonight.

  I could pretend I was going to take her with me. I could talk myself into it and let her body get mine worked up to where I’d shut off, dive in, and play for a while, but I’d be forcing it. There was only one girl I wan
ted and who knew exactly what I liked.

  “Asshole!”

  I jerked my head to the dance floor to see Pasha shoving a guy away from her.

  Great. Annoyance flooded me like a rain shower, and I stood up, letting the girl’s hand fall off my thigh.

  Pasha had gotten just drunk enough to let a guy dance with her, and now she’d come to her senses, not wanting the attention.

  The guy—late twenties from the looks of him—smiled wide and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him.

  “Stop!” Pasha shoved his hands away again, and I walked over, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

  The dance floor was practically shoulder to shoulder, so their struggling wasn’t going unnoticed. Madoc, Fallon, and everyone else at their table were craning their necks to see what the commotion was about.

  The guy grabbed her arm.

  Shit.

  I pushed through the crowd in just enough time to catch Pasha slapping him across the face.

  “You bitch!” he yelled, holding his face.

  I jumped between them, standing in front of Pasha.

  “Back off,” I gritted out to the guy, bearing down on him as he tried to advance.

  “She hit me!” he snarled.

  I inched into his space, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Better her than me,” I threatened.

  The dude paused, probably weighing his options, before he turned around and walked his ass off the dance floor. I let out a breath, just as aggravated with Pasha as I was with him. She did this a lot. Letting some guy think they had a chance, only to beg off when she realized she didn’t want them after all. She needed to stop trying to be someone she wasn’t.

  I turned around. “Are you okay?” I asked, but she wasn’t looking at me. Chewing her bottom lip, she shook her head.

  “I’m gay, aren’t I?” she murmured, as if just realizing it.

  I nodded, snorting. “I know.”

  Her head shot up, and her eyes narrowed in surprise. She actually thought no one suspected.

  “My father hates me,” she sulked. “Now he’s going to hate me more.”

  I hooked an arm around her neck and led her off the dance floor. “You know the great thing about family?” I mused. “They weren’t your choice, so you’re not responsible. The great thing about friends is that you can choose them.”

  And I slid my foot around the leg of a wooden chair at Madoc’s table and yanked it out, guiding Pasha down into it.

  “Guys, you remember Pasha, right?” I jerked my chin to my friends, the flush of heat on the right side of my face not going unnoticed as I felt Tate’s eyes on me.

  “Hey,” murmurs sounded around the table.

  I stood, holding the back of my assistant’s chair, as Fallon stood up and grabbed a bottle of beer out of their bucket. She plucked off the cap and set it in front of Pasha.

  I gave Fallon a nod of thanks, knowing that my friends were the best thing I could give Pasha right now.

  My eyes drifted to Tate, and even though her gaze was defiantly trained on an empty space across the table, I knew I was the only thing she was aware of.

  Her loose waves were draped over one shoulder, blanketing her breast, and she sat still and quiet, as if she were expecting me to do or say something.

  I dropped my eyes to Ben’s hand rubbing the inside of her thigh, and then noticed that she, too, had her hand on his leg.

  Steeling my jaw, I turned around to make my way back across the dance floor when Madoc called out. “Dude, just sit here,” he prompted. “Come on.”

  I laughed at all the eyes on me. “I don’t think so,” I said, and then added, “Tate’s uncomfortable.”

  Her narrowed eyes instantly pinned me. “We share the same friends, Jared. I can handle it.”

  I cocked my head, amusement warming my skin. “Really?” I challenged. “Your breathing is shallow. Your fists are clenched. You’ll hardly look at me,” I assessed, raking my eyes down her body. “And you didn’t have your hand on him”—I arched a brow at Ben—“until I walked over here.”

  I smirked, reveling in the silence that greeted me. “You’re right,” I taunted. “You’re not uncomfortable. You’re nervous.”

  I knew I was right. I knew that if I felt her cheeks, they’d be warm, and if I put my hand over her heart, it would be racing.

  But as much as I was satisfied that I’d nailed her mood, I couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t bounding out of the chair and hitting me.

  Not that Tate was exceedingly violent, but she’d at least be shouting at me.

  Instead, the corner of her full pink lips curled into a sinister grin as she stood up and held me entranced with her stormy eyes.

  She arched a brow, looking amused. “Nervous?” she repeated. “I’m actually entertained that you think you occupy more than a bare minimum of my memory, Jared. That’s how easily forgettable you were.” She inched closer to me, stalking nearer with her calm, even steps. “And I’m actually quite entertained when I look back and think about how much I deluded myself about you.”

  Her condescending tone made me grit my teeth. A fucking memory?

  I was all of her memories.

  “The only way you can win an argument is by throwing a fist,” she taunted. “Your antisocial behavior bored me out of my mind, and your lack of conversational skills in public was embarrassing, to say the least.”

  What the fuck?

  My hot gaze zeroed in on her, and I slowly lifted my chin as anger swarmed through my chest.

  I closed the distance with a last step and looked down at her, inhaling her soft scent. I bared my teeth, letting my buried temper seep out. “You liked my conversational skills when we were alone well enough,” I pointed out, continuing as I enunciated every word. “In the car, on top of the car, in my shower, in your bed”—I got in her face, growling—“on nearly every floor in nearly every room of your house, you loved my conversational skills then.”

  I registered a snort behind Tate, and her furious wide eyes turned on Juliet.

  Her friend looked up, her face falling at Tate’s glare. Madoc’s and Jax’s eyes were focused on the ground, as they wisely bit back their amusement.

  Ben appeared at Tate’s side, taking her hand and not sparing me a glance. “Let’s go,” he said firmly.

  Tate looked at me with fury warming her face and nodded. “Absolutely.”

  But as she let Ben lead her away, she stopped and leaned in, whispering for only me to hear. “You were good for some things,” she remarked. “Just not for others.”

  My lungs emptied as I watched them leave together, and all the while the stares of everyone at the table burned a hole into the back of my head.

  Fuck me.

  She called to every nerve ending on my body, and I wanted nothing more than to have her underneath me. Despite the fact that she’d just insinuated I was good for only one thing.

  I smiled.

  The next time her claws came out, she would be reminded of every damn thing that I was good for.

  Chapter 7

  Tate

  “You know, it’s okay if having him around unnerves you,” Ben said softly, holding my hand as we walked up the brick path to my house. “You were together for a long time.”

  I offered a tight smile, squeezing his hand. “Jared doesn’t unnerve me,” I maintained. “He aggravates me.”

  We climbed the wide wooden stairs into the soft glow of the porch light, and I flicked my gaze quickly to Jax’s house, noticing that all the lights were still out.

  I’d opted to come home, since I’d guessed Jared would probably be staying at Madoc’s.

  Whenever he got home, that is. He’d had Pasha and a date with him, after all.

  I stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to look down at Ben, who was one step bel
ow. “I’d invite you in,” I started, lightly tugging on the front of his polo, “but it’s really a mess.”

  A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but he offered a quick smile, hiding it well.

  The mess shouldn’t matter, of course. And it didn’t matter. My room was clean, after all.

  The truth was I was too distracted to invite Ben in. He deserved my complete attention, and right now, my body and head were too restless. Too roused. I couldn’t take him home tonight.

  He held my gaze, studying my face with an air of calmness. I knew he knew the real reason behind my excuse, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded, accepting what I couldn’t put into words.

  Ben was a good guy. And a smart one. He told me I was pretty, and he supported my choices. Looking into his blue eyes, I almost wanted to get lost. To find out what it would feel like to have his warm skin against mine. To see if he could make me feel as good as . . .

  I cleared my throat, pushing the idea out of my head.

  I’d be using Ben to make myself feel better—to feel anything—and we both deserved more. So that’s why we needed to wait for a better time.

  He stepped up, lowering his lips to mine for a chaste kiss. He tasted like cinnamon this time, and I slowly breathed in his cologne. Backing down, he smiled gently before turning away to leave.

  But I stopped him.

  I grabbed his upper arm and pulled him back in, dipping my head and diving into his lips as his body jerked in surprise. I teased his tongue with my own and cocked my head to the side, going deeper and enjoying his hitched breath. Ben’s hand circled the back of my neck, and my cheeks warmed with his closeness.

  This was how it was. Enjoyable. Comfortable. He was a good kisser.

  But nothing happened unless I pressed it. When he actually tried to get to second base, he’d asked me if it was okay. I felt bad for feeling disappointed. He was only being polite, after all. But it was like he didn’t know what he wanted and was perfectly happy following my direction. He’d wait for my say-so, and I wasn’t sure if that would ever turn me on.

  It’s not that I wanted to be controlled. I just wanted to be carried away.