Thin Love (12 page)

Kona’s face had lost all expression and if Keira didn’t know better, she’d swear the huge linebacker had tears in his eyes. She tried not to laugh, but then Kona rubbed his neck and moved his face against his shoulder. She felt almost sorry for him.

“Hey, it’s okay, you know. It’s just a story.”

When he nodded, still not looking at her, she touched his shoulder and Kona covered his face between his large fingers. “I hope to God I never have to hear that ‘Dreamed a Dream’ song again.” That time, Keira did laugh and Kona joined her. “Seriously, that shit is depressing.”

Keira noticed how relaxed he seemed, how being in her space had taken away the bite from his voice, how his wide shoulders weren’t set as rigid as he normally kept them. It made her hope for things she had no business giving any thought to. “Well, it was set after the French Revolution. Not exactly a love fest.”

“I guess not.” Kona’s face had gone slack, stern and Keira noticed his forehead was lined with tension. When he rubbed his fingers into his temples, she was reminded of her father’s migraines and how they crippled him.

“Headache?”

“Yeah. My eyes aren’t great and squinting to see the TV didn’t help.” Kona looked at her, shrugging his shoulder, dismissing his pain. “You got an aspirin?”

“No, sorry. I’m not big on pills.”

“Aspirin isn’t a pill. Not
that
kind anyway.”

Keira had heard it before. Her mother practically lived off pills, but she didn’t like depending on something unnatural to make her feel better. It was something her father always preached against, though considering his hobbies that made him a huge hypocrite, but just then, an idea came to her. Despite her fear that she would be sending Kona the wrong message, she couldn’t help herself. He pulled his eyes nearly closed and took to rubbing his temples again.

“Would you like me to help you?” Keira didn’t trust the flirty smirk on his face. She’d been around Kona enough by then to understand when he was having lewd, typical boy thoughts, but she dismissed the expression with a quick eye roll. “Not like that, jackass. Come here,” she said, motioning for Kona to lay his head in her lap. He hesitated, but only for a moment and then quickly obeyed her.

“Damn, Keira, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask.”

“Be quiet and close your eyes.”

Keira looked down at Kona, trying not to focus on the precise features of his face. His frown was steady, severe, the pain clearly visible. It was eerily similar to the hard scowl her father used to make. She couldn’t stomach that expression either and so she rubbed Kona’s temples with her soft, firm fingertips. How often had she watched her mother do the same thing for her father? Hundreds of times perhaps, when the woman still loved him, when she still cared about the constant pain that filled her father’s body.

“That’s good.” Kona’s voice was low, light and after only a few quick strokes, the tension began to fade from his forehead. His skin was smooth and Keira liked how the dark, barely distinguishable freckles peppered across his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. Another rub, this one deeper, and Keira looked away from his face, tried not to count all those delicious brown spots.

“What did you think of
Les Mis
?” she asked. He responded with a grunt that Keira thought was noncommittal at best, but she then clarified. “Aside from it being depressing.”

“It was okay. Sad as hell, but a good story. Messed up, for sure.” Kona’s large shoulders felt heavy against Keira’s lap but she didn’t mind the weight. He was solid and his body gave off a delicious heat that Keira tried not to enjoy. She was always cold- natured, perpetually had a chill, but Kona poured warmth into her skin, comforted her more than she’d like to admit.

“Messed up?”

“Yeah. I mean, come on, Valjean can’t be bothered to handle his own shit so he lets his guy do it and that poor
Fantine
 lady gets fired?” Kona looked up at her, heading shaking as though he was disgusted. “It’s all his fault. All the shit she went through, it was his fault.”

“
That’s why he took care of Cosette. He knew he’d messed up. That’s what I meant by betrayal. Valjean’s betrayal was like Lancelot’s.” When Keira’s fingers stopped moving against Kona’s temples, he tapped her hand to get her to continue. “He did this terrible thing and wanted to make up for it. It’s a story all about betrayal; a lover’s betrayal, society’s, how even the greatest, consuming loves can be harmful.”

Kona was silent, listening to Keira’s theory and she wondered if he was trying to work out the comparisons. She wondered if he was thinking of anything at all other than how close they were now, how intimately she was touching him. She let her mind drift, let herself enjoy the feel of his heavy weight and the easy way she was touching him. She wasn’t nervous. Not just then. She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t, but sitting there with Kona Hale stretched out on her lap, trusting her to take away his pain, trusting her to lead him to a resolution for their project, gave Keira an unaccustomed sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in a while. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She knew who Kona was. She knew she didn’t really fit into his world. Keira wasn’t sure she ever would.

“Your theory reminds me of
Beloved
,” he said, surprising Keira.

“You’ve read
Beloved
?”

Dark eyes open, Kona frowned at her. “You surprised?”

“Yeah, sorry, but I am. You know Morrison, but not Campbell?”

Kona shrugged and Keira liked him surprising her. She liked seeing there was more to him than the image he wanted everyone to see. “We had to read it senior year. Our English teacher was excited about the movie coming out.” When Kona opened his mouth, as though he’d say something to erase any approval she felt in that moment, Keira deepened her touch, shutting up anything he might have said.

“I can see the similarities. There’s definitely betrayal in
Beloved
and the whole consuming love thing.”

“You think it’s bad to let love consume you?”

It was a loaded question and Keira knew she’d have to be careful with her answer. Kona knew more about her than she wanted. He’d pried, he’d wondered and for some reason Keira could not name, she’d allowed him in just a bit. She knew his prying was likely motivated by whatever interest he had in her. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust him or herself when he was around her.

“You remember Paul D telling Sethe her love was too thick? He couldn’t handle how much she loved him.
Fantine’s love was thick. Maybe too thick
. Maybe that’s why she had to die.”

“She was doing whatever she had to for her kid, Keira. No good parent would do any less.”

“I guess.”

Somewhere in their brief discussion, Keira noticed her fingers had moved from his temples to his thick hair. It happened absently, without her thinking about it, without his complaints. It took several moments before Keira realized they were staring at each other. There wasn’t anything significant in that moment, no weighted energy passing between them. There was only comfort and casualness and the curious thoughts they kept to themselves.

“Maybe Arthur’s love was too thick,” Kona said. “Or maybe Guinevere’s was. She was into them both—Arthur and Lancelot. Maybe she loved them both too much.”

“No, I don’t believe Guinevere loved either of them. With Arthur, it was power. With Lancelot it was lust. Both are thin love.”

“And thin love is bad?”

“That’s what Sethe tells Paul D, remember?”

Kona nodded, eyes shifted away from her face as he seemed held up by his own thoughts. “’Thin love ain’t love at all.’”

“Exactly.”

Kona’s gaze moved back to Keira, but he didn’t speak. The look he gave her expanded in the quiet of her room, stirred by his eyes growing darker, by the slow, constant rake of her fingers through his hair. He lifted his hand, stopping her fingers and held onto her wrist, eyes unblinking. Then something happened in that brief pause. The look they shared sharpened and the pull between them rose.

Kona sat up, slow, cautious and Keira watched him, watched unable to react, to respond, until Kona leaned toward her, until she could smell the drugging scent of his skin and feel the soft outline of his mouth. It was the pause of everything, a kindling of heat that Keira did not know how to contain—Kona’s soft lips against hers, his airy breath moving behind the hint of tongue—at once Keira felt drugged, controlled and manic.

Keira’s mouth worked against her will, a reaction, a gut feel of movement that she did not control and Kona seemed to love it, pulled her closer, guided her hands around his waist, up to that massive chest and Keira did not stop him.

She loved the sound of his throat vibrating, those low, delicious growls he made when her tongue touched his, when her mouth moved faster, harder. Before she realized what was happening, Kona leaned over her, had her caged against the pillows. Behind her closed eyes, Keira allowed only the sensations of touch and taste to filter into her mind and she knew, unconsciously, absolutely, that she wanted Kona Hale. She wanted his hands on her back, lowering; his mouth, tongue, down her neck nibbling. All that sensation, the fiery spark of their bodies connecting consumed her, made her feel drunk, wanted, beautiful. Cherished.

The sensation was overwhelming, consuming and Keira found she could not breathe, could not keep hold of her senses—the protective instinct to run from the sudden terror she felt.

She scrambled to her feet, stepping several paces away from Kona. “What are you doing?”

“Keira, if you don’t know—I mean, I get it, I do. You’re not used to attention, from guys. I get that.”

That’s what he thinks? That’s why he wants me?

She saw the hint of it in his eyes, that hungry scrutiny that told her it was the challenge to take her that had him wanting a taste of her. She felt like she had been doused with a bucket of ice water. She understood now. She got Kona’s interest in her and despite how disgusted it made her feel, Keira laughed.

“You think I’m a virgin, Kona?” When he only managed to look away from her, jaw clenching, Keira’s laughter grew, bubbled so that the sound was obnoxious and loud. “I might get nervous around guys, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been with anyone. And why are you changing the subject? You kissed me.” Keira chose to ignore the part where she had responded eagerly to his kiss. With Keira’s admission and her accusation, the large vein on Kona’s neck that stuck out when his temper flared was pumping against his dark skin like a drumbeat. “I told you this wasn’t a date.”

“I know that.”

“Then why did you kiss me?”

With one large hand rubbing the back of his neck, Kona made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Shit, Keira, there was a moment. Don’t pretend like you didn’t feel it. You
did
kiss me back. And don’t act like you didn’t feel it that night you were mugged.” He walked toward her and Keira found the room had grown smaller, that somehow she’d forgotten how large Kona was, how much space he took up. “There’s something going on between us and it’s got nothing to do with Legends or old musicals.” Kona stood in front of her and Keira wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with her back against the door and him looming over her, staring down at her like he was hungry, like he was hungry only for her.

She felt her pulse skidding against her neck, could feel that warmth that always radiated from Kona’s huge frame as he leaned toward her, as those enormous hand lay flat against the door, right next to her cheek.

“I never said there wasn’t something here.” She pushed back when he moved, eating up the small space between them. She fought the pull that threaded them together. It took strength. It took restraint she didn’t know she had, but Keira pushed against his chest to keep him off of her. “I also never said I was interested in finding out what that something is.”

“Bullshit.” Kona’s voice was thick and Keira didn’t like how smug he sounded. That sweet, contemplative boy from a few minutes ago was gone. Now only the entitled jackass remained and the attitude quickly reminded Keira why she’d been hesitant to be alone with him.

“No, it’s not bullshit.” Keira could feel her anger sharpen like a prick of needles against her stomach. It wasn’t the first time Kona had irritated her temper; just being near him seemed to invoke some sort of raw nerve that made her anger sharp and pulled swiftly to the surface. She hated his smirk and the stupid way his expression told her he thought she was being ridiculous.
Condescending,
her mother would call that look and that niggling voice echoed in her head, laid fuel on the simmering spark of her temper. “Why do you do that shit?” She pushed against his chest and he seemed caught, shocked by how high her voice had risen. “You’ve got this attitude like you know what I’m thinking. Like you think I’m seconds away from ripping your clothes off.” Keira pushed him again, but Kona didn’t budge and, to annoy her more, he smiled at her. She still managed to spit out, “I’m not. Trust me, I am
so
not.”

“You know, when you get pissed, you turn into a wildcat.”

“I have a temper, asshole.” Another push and Kona grabbed her wrist and held her hand against his chest.

“Why am I an asshole?”

Keira jerked back, trying to take a breath so that when she spoke again, her voice would be calm, even. “I’m not interested in you like that, Kona. The girls you’re with, I’m nothing like them. I don’t do hookups.”

The smile left his face and Keira could see his disappointment. She knew this was him; the casual attitude toward sex, the quick release, the heat, the passion, that was all he wanted. He wanted to touch, to taste. Kona didn’t want to feel and for Keira, that was all that mattered.

She had felt very little for so long. Her father’s death, her mother’s cruelty, it had left her vacant and open. She wanted that void to be filled, not just tapped off and quickly emptied again. She wanted the finish line, not the chase.

In that exasperated sigh and the quick eye roll, Keira knew Kona would never give her what she needed. “Well what the hell do you do?” Back again was the straight set of his shoulders, the defensive stance of a boy ready to fight.