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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TATUM

Highland University

Twelve Years Ago

“Party’s here!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. I step out of the car and pop the trunk. The thing is loaded to the brim with boxes of beer, Mad Dog 20/20, Boone’s Farm, and 99 Bananas.

Stupid fruity shit for the girls and beer for us.

The house is packed already—loud music blaring, lights inside flashing every color. A group of guys rush over on command and unload the car, bringing it all inside after me. Dakota has some girl on his lap on the couch, and Aaron is close by, playing video games with a group of nerds. It takes me a minute to find Bradley, but eventually I see he’s already passed out on a chair in the corner. I grab a girl’s arm as I pass. “Sharpie,” I bark.

It takes her too long to realize what I’ve said, but eventually, she nods. “Oh, sure. Just a sec.” When she comes back, she hands me the Sharpie, and I cross the room, drawing a cock on Bradley’s cheek, the tip near his lips. Stupid fucker.

I toss the Sharpie at the girl, not checking to see if she catches it.

“Hey, Tatum. Wanna play?” Aaron calls, holding out his controller.

I ignore him, making my way into the kitchen. God, I wish my friends weren’t such losers. I’ve got to get out of this shithole town.

“Tate, my man! What’s up! You killed it at the game the other night!” some idiot calls as I walk through the kitchen.

I spin on my heels, glaring at him. “What did you call me?”

The kid stops, his eyes shifting to the friends surrounding him. “Um, Tate?”

I grab the front of his shirt, balling it into a fist just under his chin. I would slam his head into the wall if I was in a bad mood, but he’s not worth it. “Do I know you?”

“Hey! Hey! I didn’t mean anything by it, bro.” His hands are up in surrender.

“Do not shorten my name. Nicknames are for lazy punks and little girls, dickwipe. My fucking name is Tatum.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

I shove him backward, releasing his shirt at once. “Don’t ever fucking speak to me. Do you hear me? Don’t even look at me.”

He nods, eyes on the ground at my words, and like lightning, the group scatters. When I turn around, the rest of the room parts for me. People are so easy, man. Just one little conversation, and suddenly, we’re all on the same page.

I walk through the room without a look toward any of them, but they’re all looking at me. They don’t exist, and I’m the entire world.

My dick aches, and I need to get off, so eventually I start scanning the crowd, trying to decide who the lucky lady will be tonight. I’ve had most of these girls already and want fresh blood.

Jogging up the stairs, I listen at the first door, and when I hear the sounds of moaning, I push inside, flipping on the light.

“Hey!” a girl cries, covering herself. The dude underneath her grabs the blanket.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Out!” I shout, jutting a thumb over my shoulder.

It takes a second for them to realize who I am—and more importantly that they don’t want to fuck with me—and when they do, they both jump up off the bed. The guy is out of the room first, and I grab the girl’s arm. “Not you. Get back on the bed.”

“What?” Her eyes widen.

Actually, now that I’ve gotten a good look at her, she’s not that hot anyway. Her nose is too big, and her breath smells like ass. I push her forward. “Forget it. Get out of here.”

She scampers out of the room, throwing her shirt over her head. Not like anyone cared to see those tiny tits anyway. She could’ve walked through the house naked, and no one would’ve batted an eye.

I check the second room, which has some dude choking on his own vomit in bed. Not my problem. Shutting the door, I make my way into the next room, where I stop in my tracks.

The two figures on the bed wrench away from each other in the lamplight, covering themselves with their hands.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” I click my tongue, surveying the scene.

“Get the fuck out of here, Tatum.” Matteo jumps up from bed, throwing a blanket across the woman’s bare body and stalking toward me, completely naked, his finger outstretched toward the door.

I look down at the wimpy, half-hard dick pointed in my direction, then back up with a chuckle. “At ease, soldier. Is little Mafia Matteo getting down and dirty with the teacher? Why didn’t you tell us how you were getting extra credit? I want in.”

“Back off, asshole,” he shouts, pointing toward the door. “Didn’t your parents teach you to mind your own business? Oh, wait. Forgot you don’t have those.”

“You’re one to talk.” I smirk. “Seriously, I want in on this.” I start unbuttoning my pants, stalking toward the bed. Professor Vance is hot, but I never thought she’d be into students.

“Not a chance,” she says with a sneer, pulling the blanket up higher on her chest.

“We’re not just hooking up, asshole,” Matteo says. “It’s not a game. We’re dating.”

My eyes widen, and I cross my arms. “Well, pardon the fuck out of me. Why haven’t you mentioned this? Does the dean know?”

Matteo moves to stand in front of her, pulling shorts on finally. “She’s not my professor. I’m not taking any of her classes on purpose. We went to school together. She was a few years older, a senior when I was a freshman, and we were friends then. We started talking when I found out she was coming to teach here this year. Thought I’d give her the lay of the land.”

I eye her. “You’re certainly giving her the lay of something.”

“Enough. No jokes. None of your shit tonight. I’m not in the mood. I’ve said she’s off-limits, okay? Why don’t you run along and torture some underclassman?”

“Oh, but this is much more fun.”

His jaw tics. “Fun’s over.”

“Come on, Professor V, what do you say?” I wink. “I’ve seen what he’s working with now. I promise I’m a lot more exciting.”

“Out, asshole!” Matteo bellows, shoving me backward and getting truly angry for the first time.

I laugh. Pissing my dickhead friends off is probably my favorite thing to do, especially Moody Mafia Matteo. Maybe I’ll add that “Moody” to his official title. He hates when I call him Mafia Matteo, which I’ve been doing for years, ever since I found out he’s Italian, but tough luck. It’s funny, and you’ve gotta admit when jokes are good, even when they’re at your expense. Or, maybe you don’t, but it won’t stop me from saying it. “Maybe you should lock your doors from now on,” I say, buttoning my pants back up.

“Maybe you should knock on doors that aren’t your own.”

“Calm your tits. I’m going.” I cast a look back at Professor Vance. “As for you, I’ll see you Monday during office hours, hmm? I’m thinking I’ll need a lot of assistance.”

Neither of them say a word to me as I walk out of the room, which pisses me the fuck off. I wasn’t even that pissed at first, more amused than anything, but no one talks to me that way, and no one turns me down. I slam the door shut and punch a hole straight through it, smiling when I hear her scream. Blood pours down my hand from my knuckles, and I grab the first girl I see, pushing her into an empty bedroom and onto the bed. She doesn’t argue as I unbutton my pants—they never do—but it’s not what I want.

She’s not what I want.

And, if there’s one thing everyone knows about Tatum Thompson, it’s that I always get what I want.