“Are you serious?” I leaned down to Madoc’s car window, where he sat in the driver’s seat listening to Pink.
“My music is none of your business.” He ended the conversation right there and continued staring out onto the track ahead.
It was Friday night, a long two days after my kiss with Tate, and we were at the Loop, getting set for Madoc’s race against Liam. His was listening to chick music, and I was trying not to laugh.
Not that Pink wasn’t hot as hell, but personally, I need something louder when I got zoned in.
K.C. rode with me tonight. I glanced over to the side, where I knew she was standing, and I tensed up when I saw her talking to Tate.
My chest swelled with a rush of heat.
“Dude, why are you smiling?” I heard Madoc’s voice.
I blinked and darted my eyes back down to him. He sat there, holding the steering wheel and narrowing his eyes at me.
“Was I smiling?” My face fell back into position.
“Yeah, and it’s weird. The only time you smile is when you’re pulling the wings off of butterflies,” he mumbled but then pinched his eyebrows together and twisted to look over his shoulder out the back window. “Is she here?”
“Who?”
“The butterfly you like to torment,” he teased.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled and headed back to my car.
My game plan with Tate had changed, and I had no clue how to explain myself to him.
So I didn’t.
But my lips curled up as flashes of how my idea of tormenting Tate had changed.
God, I wanted her.
That was it. Plain and simple.
That kiss—our first—was fucking torture, and I wanted more of it.
She had punished me with that kiss. Showing me what she could do to me. What we could do together. And that was just a taste.
K.C. sauntered over to me as I leaned back on the hood of my car. “Hi, ya.”
Tate followed behind with….fucking Ben Jamison. I let out a low sigh and averted my eyes to K.C.
“Hi, yourself.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, but I had no idea why.
K.C. and I were still keeping up the pretense of a relationship, but while she wanted to piss off Liam, I didn’t know what I was getting out of it.
“Hey, man.” Ben nodded at me.
I wanted to make him bleed from his eyes.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked and turned my attention back to the track before he had a chance to answer.
A thick silence filled the air, and my jaw twitched with a pent up smile.
You could feel the tension like a blister ready to pop, and I was enjoying the hell out of it.
I didn’t care if K.C. was comfortable, and I didn’t want Ben or Tate at ease, either.
In no universe would I be okay with her seeing him.
Or anyone, probably.
But K.C. decided to push.
“And Jared, this is Tatum Brandt,” she introduced us sarcastically. “Say ‘hi.’”
Yeah, we’ve met.
I slid my arm down around K.C.’s waist—because I’m a dick—and I let my eyes slide over to Tate slowly as if I couldn’t care less.
The air coming out of my nose heated up, and I couldn’t do anything but tip my chin at her and look away.
She was probably relieved that I could be that civil, but it was all an act. My insides were hot, and I wanted to kiss something and hit everything at the same time.
Ben thinking that he actually had a shot with her pissed me off.
And her outfit really pissed me off.
She was wearing a short, black school-girl skirt with a thin, white shirt—probably a tank top—and a gray jacket over it.
“And we’re ready!” Zack called out from the track, and I looked over to him as everyone started clearing the dirt road where Liam and Madoc would race.
Tate took a few steps towards the track, and I immediately took my arm off of K.C. and reached in my pocket for the fossil necklace. It wasn’t something I carried on me regularly, only on Sundays and for races.
“Ready?” some girl called out from the track.
The crowd cheered wildly as engines revved. Most of them probably had no idea that this was a shit race.
Madoc’s GTO against Liam’s Camaro?
Not even close.
Camaros could get the job done, but Liam was cluelss when it came to modifying his ride. Madoc had this.
“Set?” The girl yelled, but my eyes were glued to Tate who had turned to watch the take-off.
“Go!”
Cheers erupted, and everyone’s bodies blocked my view of the track as I stayed back against my car. It didn’t matter. I knew who was going to win, and there was only one person I wanted to watch right now.
Tate stood with her back to me, and for once, I didn’t have to pry my eyes away. I wasn’t guilty about wanting her anymore, and I was going to look.
She stood on her toes, trying to peer over the other spectators’ heads. The muscles in her legs flexed, and I wanted my hands on her.
The smooth contours of her skin and the memory of how, just two nights ago, those legs were wrapped around me, made me want to get her into the same position on the hood of my car.