He might not need the skill for a few years, but she was just thinking ahead. Chewing on the side of her mouth, she looked angry, but she had too much pride to say why she really wanted him to learn.
“I’ve got an idea,” I spoke up, holding the towel securely around me and peeking around the door frame.
“A race,” I suggested. “She wins, and you have to take lessons until you can waltz like a pro. You win, and you don’t have to.”
He looked away with a bored expression. “I don’t have to right now. What’s really in it for me?”
Tate pinched up her lips, looking about ready to beat the shit out of him.
“All right, dickhead.” She spun around and addressed her boyfriend. “You win, and I’ll do that thing you’ve been wanting me to do.”
His eyes perked up, flashing with mischief, and I’d imagine that’s what Jared Trent looked like on Christmas morning.
“Do you have a deal?” Madoc asked.
Jared strolled up to Tate, pinching her chin between his fingers. “Next Saturday night. I’ll call Zack and set it up.” And he walked to their room, digging his phone out of his pocket on the way.
“What does he want you to do?” I could hear the smile in Madoc’s voice. “Anal? I would’ve thought you two had been there by now.”
Tate’s hair swayed across her back as she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll lose.”
She sounded more confident than sure.
Madoc laughed. “Yeah, okay. The last time Jared lost a race was . . . hmm, never.”
He’s right.
I think I’d just had a really stupid idea, and Tate was in for it now.
CHAPTER 25
MADOC
After another hilarious argument, Jared and Tate finally left town to go back to Chicago and school. He was trying to convince her to leave her car in Shelburne Falls—since they’d be back in five days anyway—and she decided it was best they drive separately and not see each other all week. He had an outburst, and she mumbled something about sexual frustration weakening his normally sharp skills on the track next weekend.
I wasn’t in a hurry to rush my time with Fallon this week, but I couldn’t stop smiling at the idea of going to the Loop again. I’d missed my friends more that I’d admitted to myself.
Fallon decided to stay an extra day or two, so we dressed and jumped in my car. After seeing Jax, Fallon and I were going by Lucas’s house.
“Jax!” I called out, opening the unlocked front door. “You awake?” I heard steady footfalls on the floor above and waited until he began descending the stairs.
He was shirtless as usual around the house and wore black Adidas track pants with no shoes or socks. His hair was pulled back in its normal ponytail, but stray hairs stuck out of it as if he’d just woken up. And he was sporting a bruise on the side of his lip. He looked tired as hell, but in a good mood.
“Hey, man.” I gave him our slap-fist-bump combo. “Put on a shirt, would you?”
It was kind of a joke. Kind of. I was hotter than him. No doubt. But I grabbed Fallon’s hand, reminding her that she could look but not touch.
Jax had begun working out with Jared and me about a year ago, and while he was still young and growing, he could hold his own with both of us. He took care of himself the way other kids his age didn’t. He had a thing about being healthy and while he dabbled in alcohol here and there, he never touched cigarettes or drugs.
In fact he had a huge problem with drugs. A guy offered him weed once, and he flipped out.
Fallon squeezed my hand, smirking at my jealous demand for him to put on a shirt.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky I put on pants, dude. What’s up?”
I motioned to the stairs. “Let’s step into your office.”
He turned, and we followed him upstairs to his lair. Or that’s what I joked it was. Jared’s mom, Katherine—and my soon-to-be-stepmom—had taken Jax out of foster care and brought him home with her so that her son could have his brother with him.
Unfortunately, Jax was the sun, moon, and stars to her, and she spoiled him rotten. Jared got the mom that put herself first and neglected him, and Jax got the mature mom who’d grown up and behaved responsibly. Jared got left alone, and Jax got home-cooked meals and a number one fan at his lacrosse games.
It was fine, though. He damn well deserved a break after the childhood he’d had, and Jared was happy that his family had finally come together.
Jax had been allowed to take Jared’s bedroom when he moved to college and used the spare room as his “office.” You walked in and felt like you were in an FBI surveillance van. It was dark and a little intimidating with switches, screens, and wires snaking up and down the walls. Six huge touch-screen monitors lined the wall, three in each row, and then there was a seventh propped on a tripod that Jax used to control all of them. There were three long tables lined with electronics that I wouldn’t have the first clue about as well as a PC and a laptop.
When I asked him last year why he needed all of this, he’d simply said that he played a lot of video games.
Yeah, this wasn’t gaming. This was severe.
But given Fallon’s and my situation, I was grateful Jax was around. He might be able to issue paperwork that would have me extradited to the Sudan to stand trial for treason against their king—or whatever they had—but he was on my side, so that was a plus.
“Whoa.” Fallon stopped short when we entered the room, and I ran into her back.
Steadying myself, I wrapped my arm around her gray T-shirt-clad waist and waited, letting her take it all in.
Everything was as I remembered, but it was still a lot to absorb. Every screen was active, a couple displaying line after line of code that was meaningless to me, while other screens had Web pages, documents, and IMs displayed. I had to blink several times, because my brain was on overload. How the hell did Jax look at all of this action every day?
“Jax . . .” Fallon started with concern thick in her voice.
Jax circled the room, switching off monitors and not looking at us.
“Ask me no questions, Fallon, and I’ll tell you no lies,” he said as if he’d read her mind.
Her eyes went round at me. “Okay,” she drawled out in a whisper.
“Hey, man. I need a favor.” I walked to one of his long tables where I spied a pen and paper. “Can you search this name? Patricia Caruthers.” I continued writing her other surnames as well as her phone number. “She might also be found under Patricia Pierce and Patricia Fallon. Look for police records, credit card statements, friends in low places, her social calendar . . .”