Page 4 of Fall onto me

I cringe. “I don’t know what me and Foster have planned.”

Kate rolls her eyes playfully, shrugging. “I don’t know what Ryder has planned.”

“And I don’t know what Warren’s doing,” Brett agrees, “but we don’t care, because they’re not invited.”

I throw my head back with a groan. “What are we doing?”

“Going out.” Kate smiles, waving as she descends into her first period math class. Brett does the same as Kate, walking back where we came from to head to Biology.

It’s odd, this unspoken rule that I’m supposed to be safe when Foster isn’t around. I don’t. No matter how many times he tells me TK isn’t after me, only him, it doesn’t take away my worry for his safety.

I sink into myself when I’m alone, watching over my shoulder for no particular reason.

From my father, from TK, from everything.

But how can I relax and have fun when the turret is pointed away from me and directed at Foster?

I walk into first period, secretly hoping that Envy will be there, so I can rip her hair out and bash her face into the desk as the professor drags on about something I’m not going to pay attention to.

She’s not there, of course, and so I distract myself with the mundane activities that come with school.

The day carries on, fueled by these violent daydreams until finally I get to see him again.

* * *

Foster’s shopclass is loud, but the instructor Wes -Foster’s late father’s best friend- is easily the chillest instructor on campus. The class is so far into the school year that when cars roll in, each guy gets their own, and they fix it.

It makes it easier for us to have hidden conversations under the racketing sounds of power tools. I slide into the circular seat with wheels that he leaves out only for me, and when another mechanic tries to use it, he tells them to fuck off. It stays free of grease so I don’t ruin my clothes, and I can just imagine him warding off the other guys who try to take it.

“Hey, beautiful,” he rasps from underneath a car, a growl in his tone as he grunts to break something loose.

“Hi.” I tilt my head to get a better look at him. He’s wearing a black shirt with black pants. His golden skin is streaked in oil, and when he looks at me and grins, there’s a slash of grease swiped across his cheek that clashes with his pearly white teeth. “How was your day?” I ask, trying to act like the way his muscles flex as he torques the wrench isn’t the hottest thing my tired eyes have seen all day.

“It was good.” He turns his attention back above him. “Yours?”

“Good.” I bite my lip. “I missed you.”

Wes walks over, arms crossed. “Has he contacted you yet?” He gets straight to the point, asking the same question he asks every day that we see him. We keep no secrets from Wes, simply because he would figure out Foster was lying. It’s useless trying to hide from him.

“No,” Foster replies with a sigh.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.” Wes nods, tugging on his low ponytail of blond hair sprinkled with salt and pepper. “You know to tell me if he does, right?” The question is directed at Foster, but he’s looking pointedly at me, saying that if TK contacts, I need to tell him.

I nod as Foster mumbles something that sounds like an annoyed yes. Even though he fights it, he’s happy he has Wes in his life to act as a father figure. He’s like that for all of us.

He dips his head to look under the hood. “You need to change these spark plugs.” He rolls up his sleeves, revealing a tattoo of a car, with the word car underneath it. What is up with these car guys?

The second Wes slips away, Foster plants his feet on the concrete to push himself out from underneath the car. He gives me a grin before grabbing my hand and leading me to the back of the shop, the more shadowed area where cars that are too far gone go to die. It’s basically a metal graveyard, extra parts and the shells of cars that couldn’t be brought back to life.

I giggle as he pushes me against an old rusty pick-up truck, “I’ve wanted you all fucking day.” His lips leave mine for a second, only enough time to rip off his shirt.

I drag my fingers across the surface of his chest, down to the marble abs on his stomach.

We’ve been used to the break, being able to tangle ourselves together every morning, afternoon, and night. Without the worry of classes or homework to keep us apart.

“I wanted you too,” I breathe out as he catches the button on my shorts between his inked fingers and tugs them off.

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