Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
LUKE
Ipace the common room, three steps to the window and three steps back. Grant lounges on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, watching me with that smirk I want to punch off his face.
“You’re wearing a hole in the carpet, Romeo.”
“Fuck off.”
“She’s not even late.” He clicks something without looking at the screen. “Five minutes. Are you going to survive?”
I stop at the window. The quad’s empty with just some freshman hauling laundry. My hands won’t stay still. I shove them in my pockets, but they find each other again, knuckles cracking.
I need to see her.
Not want. Need. Like oxygen, like blood.
Three hours have passed since I walked her to her dorm.
I’ve been counting the minutes, staring at my phone, forcing myself not to text.
Addiction. That’s what this is. I should be scared.
I’m not. My infatuation with her keeps growing.
I tell myself I need to keep an eye on her partly because of the Coach Murphy situation, which is somewhat true, but deep down, I know it goes far beyond that.
That this isn’t because of some sense of duty to watch over her and protect her.
“You know you’re being crazy,” Grant says, grinning. “I didn’t have Luke Locke falling for a girl on my bingo card.” He’s just running his mouth. His ass is still new. Yet I can’t deny the truth laced in his words.
“Do I look crazy?” I stop pacing. I don’t need Madeline running from me freaked out. Not that I wouldn’t track her ass. I’m wearing her down.
“You’re pacing like a dog waiting for his owner.”
I flip him off. He laughs.
Then I see them through the glass. Madeline and Georgia cross the quad, heads bent together.
Madeline’s in jeans and a hoodie, hair still wet from a shower, no makeup, not trying at all.
She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My chest tightens, that familiar fist closing around my lungs.
What the fuck is she doing to me? Is this because she’s the first girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day?
Possibly, but it’s more than that. I was into her before she opened her mouth.
I didn’t know I had a type, but now I do. Madeline.
Two guys from the soccer team pass by them. One turns his head, checking her out. I see it from here. See how his eyes drop to her ass and down her long legs; his mouth twitches.
I go still. Something cold and sharp slides into my veins.
Grant follows my gaze. “Easy, killer. They’re just looking.”
“They can look somewhere else.” If I give them two black eyes that swell shut, they won’t see shit.
The door opens. Madeline walks in first, and my whole body locks up and relaxes at the same time.
She’s here and safe. Georgia is talking about something involving firewalls, but I don’t hear it.
I only see Madeline. The way she moves, unaware of herself, unaware that every guy in this building would cut off a finger to touch her.
Madeline spots me. Her cheeks flush slightly. She tries to hide it, turning to say something to Georgia, but I saw. I affect her just as much.
I’m across the room before I know I’ve moved. I reach her, slide my arm around her waist, and pull her to me. She stumbles against me, surprised. I drop onto the couch, dragging her with me. She lands in my lap, stiff, her elbow catching my ribs.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
I don’t answer. I hold her there, my arm locked around her waist, and scan the room. The soccer guys didn’t follow them in. It’s their lucky day. I’ll have a word with them later, but if word spreads about Madeline and me, most will back off, not wanting to get me pissed.
My gaze catches a junior by the vending machine, eyes flicking our way. I stare, and he quickly jerks his attention back around, pretending he doesn’t notice. What the hell? Is everyone checking her out now? Grant’s right: I’m fucking crazy.
“We’re a couple, remember?” I whisper against her ear, low enough that only she hears. “Act like it.”
She tries to wiggle free. I tighten my grip, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her tight and let her know her little ass isn’t going anywhere.
My mouth finds her neck, just beneath her ear.
I kiss her there, soft, and then again lower.
She smells like vanilla and something sharper and clean. I have to fight a growl.
“Luke.” She elbows me, but there’s no force behind it. “Stop.”
I don’t stop. I kiss her collarbone and feel her shiver, her ass flush against my hard cock.
I swear if she moves one more time, I’m going to come on myself.
She fights a smile, turning her face away, but her cheeks are pink now.
She’s enjoying it. She can keep trying to hide it, but I know.
She doesn’t have to tell me; her body and reactions are sending me all the answers.
Patience, I remind myself. Over time she’ll get more and more used to the idea of us.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters.
“And you’re mine.”
The words slip out before I can catch them. Too much. Too honest. She goes still in my lap. For a second, I think I’ve scared her. Then she relaxes slightly, her hand finding my knee and squeezing.
Grant clears his throat. “Are you two done? Some of us are trying to solve a murder.” He says in a low voice. I don’t think he gives two shits about the murder.
I look up. He’s watching us, amused. Georgia places the journal on the table and pulls out her laptop.
“You know how strange this is?” Georgia asks, looking at me and then over to Madeline. I’m sure it is. This isn’t me. Not only do I have a girl, but I’m touchy-feely. Who knew I’d be into PDA? I sure as fuck didn’t.
“Show us what you found,” I say, but I don’t let go of Madeline. I can’t. Not yet. I need to hold on a little longer to get my fill so I can make it through the night.
She shifts in my lap, settling in, right where she belongs.
The friction of her ass against my jeans sends more blood rushing south.
She has to feel it, the rigid, hard line of my cock pressed against her, but she doesn’t pull away.
Just goes still for a second, breath catching, and then shifts again. Testing. Teasing.
I grip her hip harder, fingers digging in, holding her still when she gives another wiggle. “Stop moving.”
“Then stop poking me,” she whispers. She doesn’t sound annoyed, and her cheeks turn even pinker.
“I can’t help it.” I lean in and brush my lips against her ear. “You’re in my lap. What did you expect?”
She doesn’t answer. Just settles deeper. I slide my hand up her thigh, claiming territory. She pretends she doesn’t notice, but her breath comes faster. I want her to feel what she does to me. Want her to know she’s mine, even if she won’t say it yet.
“Okay,” Georgia says, pulling up a chair closer to the table.
“So I found some stuff. Coach Murphy’s social media is mostly locked down, but I got into her old posts from before she went private.
Lots of ice skating content, motivational quotes, normal coach stuff.
But then there’s this gap from last year where she deleted a bunch of stuff.
And there’s one account she interacts with a lot that’s completely private. ”
She turns her laptop so we can see. “I can’t get in. It’s private, and I don’t know how to—”
“May I?” Grant interrupts, already reaching for the computer.
Georgia hesitates, then nods. Grant snags the laptop, fingers flying across the keys. A few commands, a screen flash, and suddenly we’re looking at private messages.
“Holy shit,” Georgia breathes. “How did you—”
“I have skills,” Grant says and gives her a wink. If I thought Madeline could blush, Georgia has her beat.
The messages load. Lana and Coach Murphy, going back months. Lana asking for things—extra rink time, changing grades, and excusing absences. This started toward the end of the last school year.
Murphy says yes to everything, sometimes throwing in hearts, X’s, declarations of love. Lana’s responses are short, transactional, occasionally flirtatious when she wants something.
“She’s using her,” Madeline says quietly. I could have guessed that. Lana is queen bee of the girls of Kingmakers Prep for a reason. She slithered her way to the top. Her specialty is finding out your secrets and then using them to get what she wants.
“Look at this,” Grant says, scrolling up. “Same pattern. Different girl.”
The name hits me: Emily P. She’s now graduated. Same kind of shit from Murphy. Same hearts and X’s and desperate devotion. Emily is a little nicer to her.
“She’s done this before,” Georgia whispers. “It’s not just Lana. It’s a pattern.”
Madeline reaches for the journal and flips it open. Photos fall out—Lana in her uniform, Lana at practice, Lana sleeping in Murphy’s car. Notes in the margins: She looked at me today. She loves me. She just can’t say it yet.
“She was obsessed,” Madeline says, her voice hollow.
I stare at the photos and the neatly scripted handwriting.
I know this feeling. The inability to think about anything else.
That need to possess and keep. It starts off small but quickly becomes uncontrollable.
I feel it every time Madeline walks into a room, every time another guy looks at her too long.
I feel it the most when I can’t have eyes on her.
But I’m not Murphy. I’m not some predator using my position to take what I want. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants and won’t let go. Madeline’s not some student I’m grooming—she’s mine, and I’m hers, and that’s different. That’s real.
I move my hand to spread wide across her stomach, and I don’t feel ashamed about any of it.
“And Lana knew exactly how to play her,” I add.
We sit there, the evidence spread between us.
“Coach Murphy was a predator.” Madeline is the first to finally say it out loud.
“And someone wanted her dead,” Georgia mutters.
“But what I don’t get is why Lana would want her dead. She was still using her. If anything, it seems more likely Coach Murphy would snap and kill Lana. Not the other way around.”
“Maybe it was a past victim,” I suggest.
“It could be a lot of things,” Madeline says with a heavy sigh.
“The plot thickens,” Grant says, tapping his fingers on the table. “Dun dun duuun.” Georgia smiles over at him.
“I should get back,” Georgia says, closing the laptop. “I have a paper due tomorrow.”
Madeline shifts in my lap like she’s going to stand, but I tighten my grip on her hip. “I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to,” she starts.
“I know.” I stand, lifting her with me, keeping her close. “I’m doing it anyway. It’s the boyfriend thing to do.”
Grant stretches, cracking his neck. “Let me know if you need me to hack anything else for you. I’m your man.
” He gives Georgia another wink that has the same effect as it did before.
Georgia only nods but casts her gaze shyly toward the ground.
Grant is going to have his work cut out for him.
But if anyone can get Georgia to slowly come out of her shell, it’s him and his charismatic personality.
He punches my shoulder as he passes. I don’t react, too focused on Madeline and the way her hand finds mine like it’s automatic now.
The walk to the girls’ dorm is quiet. We trail slightly behind Georgia, who is now on the phone with her father’s secretary, I think she said. That is not an abnormal thing to hear around here.
Madeline’s thumb traces circles on my palm, nervous energy.
“Your brother,” she says finally.
“Yeah.”
“What do you think he wants? Are you in trouble? Are you going to tell him anything?” She fires off the questions.
Madeline is worried about what my brother might ask about Murphy.
I’m not. That’s not what he wants to really talk to me about.
No, he’s going to lay in to me about Madeline. About how I shouldn’t be pursuing her.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to be casual to calm her.
She stops at the dorm entrance, turning to face me. The light from inside catches her eyes, making them appear brighter. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Liar.” She rises on her toes, kissing me quickly and softly. “Text me afterward.”
Then she’s gone, pulling Georgia through the door, one backward glance before it closes. Does she realize she kissed me that time?
I stand there alone, the journal and laptop evidence burning in my memory, Madeline’s taste still on my lips. The walk to my brother’s place feels longer than it should, each step heavier, not wanting to deal with this tonight. I want to get back to the dorms. At least then I’m closer to Madeline.
I find my brother in his office. “Sit,” Bennett orders, nodding to one of the chairs in front of his desk. I stand there.
“I’m good right here.”
“I told you to be nice to the girl, not try to fuck her.” I take two steps toward him, and he lifts his hand and smirks. “Just making sure you’re serious about her.” Bennett exhales, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m dead fucking serious.” He nods. I’m not one to say shit I don’t mean.
Neither is he. My brother and I can be a lot different and also a hell of a lot the same.
I’ve seen the way he looks at Paislee. I didn’t truly understand his infatuation with a woman until Madeline stepped into my life. Now I get it.
“All right. But can you stop breaking into offices?”
“I can’t make any promises,” I rib him.
“Why did you two do it? You know something about Murphy?” I tell him a bit about the votes, making it seem like that’s what we found in her office today. “Why would she do that?” he asks, mostly to himself.
“I don’t know. You know Lana; she gets what she wants.”
“You think Lana paid her?” I shrug. No, I don’t think that, but it’s a more logical thought. More realistic. The kids at Kingmakers Prep are richer than the teachers by spades.
“Thanks for letting me know. If she doesn’t show up by tomorrow, we’ll have to announce it.” I nod. “Tell Madeline I appreciate her not saying anything.”
“Will do,” I say. “Anything else? I want to get back to the dorms and crash for the night.”
“If you need dating advice—” he starts to offer.
“Who the fuck have you ever dated?” I say with a laugh.
“Whatever, smartass. Get the fuck out of my office.” I give him a chin nod and head out, pulling my phone out to send a text to Madeline.
Me: No worries, Buttercup. He just wanted to make sure I was serious about you.
Buttercup: Really?
Me: Yeah.
Buttercup: Sorry you had to lie about us fake dating.
First off, I’m not lying, but I know Madeline would hate to lie to her sister, so I understand why she’s saying that.
Me: If that’s what you need to tell yourself.
Buttercup: Whatever.
I smile at my phone and send another text. We keep going back and forth all night. It soothes me that I can keep in touch with her.
Tomorrow I’ll see her. Touch her. For now, this is enough. Almost.