Thin Love (9 page)

He wouldn’t push her. The night had been stupid with drama and from the brief time they’d spent together Kona figured out that Keira’s temper was swift. He just didn’t have the energy to argue with and he was damn tired of apologizing.

He gave her a nod, a silent understanding he hoped would let her know he wouldn’t pry.

Keira waved her hand around the room, a flippant gesture. “Where do you want to do this?”

One step toward the bed, as Keira moved in the same direction, and their shoulders touched. She wobbled a little unsteady on her feet and Kona held her elbow, his fingers moving down to her wrist. That same weird sensation he’d felt outside returned when she pulled his fingers from her arm. He didn’t know what the hell it was or if it meant anything at all, but he noticed how Keira held her breath at the touch, how her bottom lip dropped so that her mouth formed the smallest circle. Yeah, she felt it too, but his brief experience with her, had Kona guessing she would play it off, act as if the electricity she felt came from carpet static at her feet.

She blinked, moved her eyes away from him and Kona repressed the urge to call her out, tell her she was ignoring whatever was heating the air in her room. Instead, he chose to flirt.

He made sure his voice was deep, commanding before he took a step, got too close, breathed too hard against the top of her head. “Get on your bed.”

“What?” she said, eyes round, a little frightened.

Kona moved the right side of his mouth up, bit back the small flirty comment that itched the tip of his tongue. Keira was jumpy, a little anxious and he liked it. “How else am I supposed to check out your back?”

The small attempts he’d made tonight at getting her to relax were gone. The Keira standing in front of him, taking a step, two steps back as he walked toward her, reminded him of the girl he met in class earlier in the week. She tugged her hair off her neck and kept her eyes on her shoes. She was clearly nervous, obvious in her discomfort and Kona knew why. At least, he thought he did. Despite her attitude, the occasional sailor language, Keira was a good girl, the kind that didn’t often have boys in her room, maybe the sort that rarely spoke to guys in general. That told him one thing—she was inexperienced.

Ignoring that thought, Kona sighed, made sure he stepped back so that the burning red color on her cheeks would fade. “I’ll be a gentleman. Promise.” Kona motioned toward the bed, tried not to laugh as Keira eyed him, settled on the mattress with her back straight.

He wanted to laugh, to make a joke about how nervous she was, how stupid it was to think he’d try to take advantage of her. Then the blush on Keira’s face grew, shifted down her neck, to her arms and Kona caught a glimpse of her fingers, of her lips, shaking as though she’d caught a chill.

I make her nervous,
he realized and the thought had him feeling contradictory emotions—pride, knowing that she wasn’t as resistant to him as she liked to pretend she was, and shame, remorse, that him just being here was making an already shitty night worse.

Back tight like a horse needle, Keira stilled, stopped moving completely as Kona slipped behind her, bringing his knee next to her hip. The proximity wasn’t necessary, but Kona wanted to test this thing, that weird electric something that had moved between them outside. He wouldn’t push her, hell no, that wasn’t his style, but he had caught a couple of glances from her in the library that made him think she wasn’t as disgusted by him as he thought. Really, he should have felt like a bastard. Less than a foot separated them on Keira’s firm, too tidy, too white bed. His breath moved down her back, rustling the brown hair that covered her cardigan. He could feel something there, something strange, something he couldn’t decide if he liked. And Kona knew he should give her distance, shouldn’t use Keira like a guinea pig.

But her hair glowed against the faint overhead light and the sweet jasmine scent had his fingers itching, aching to touch her. In one hand, Kona took her hair in his hand, moving it over her shoulder. It was softer than he expected, thick wisps of silk that felt good, indulgent against his fingers, but he didn’t linger on how sweet she smelled, how much he liked the feel of her hair running through his fingers.

“I, ah, have to lift your shirt up,” he said. He waited a second for her to fuss, to move away from him, but then Keira looked over her shoulder, eyes still narrowed and tight before she nodded once.

Fingers barely grazing her skin, Kona helped her take the cardigan off, then lifted the shirt, revealing the pale, soft flesh, the faint looping birthmark on her lower back, the delicate white bra. His mouth watered and Kona closed his eyes, tried not to lean over her, tried to keep his mouth from that tempting back.

Keira’s skin was smooth, enticing, and Kona smiled at the contrast between the muscle there and the dark skin of his rough hands. Light and dark. Night and day, and he didn’t mind how different she was from him.

She had a strong back, curved with long muscle that made her spine concave, defined. Fine, barely there baby hairs rose when he pushed the shirt up, set it on her shoulders.

He squeezed his fingers once, a touch Kona hoped she took as reassuring and he thought she moaned, thought maybe she’d liked his hot breath against her exposed back, but he wouldn’t see how far she’d let him touch her, how much of her she’d show him. He didn’t think that pushing her, that touching her more than was necessary just to see how she reacted to more of his hands, to his fingers against her damp skin, would soften that on-guard attitude Keira had. But it was hard for him to restrain himself. She was beautiful. He hadn’t seen that before the night when she had raged at him in the cafeteria, but seeing her back, how unguarded she was to him now, confirmed Kona’s suspicions that Keira Riley was a subtle beauty, more woman than girl.

A pent up, surprising sensation took hold of him then; it was the quick need to see her safe, to protect her. He’d caught a hint of it out on the street when that asshole stood over her, ready to pounce. In that moment, Kona hadn’t thought beyond racing toward them. He’d never experienced anything like it before, didn’t know why he felt so compelled to keep her away from everyone, anything that would threaten her.

The bruises had already formed. They were faint, imprints of the screws sticking out from the drain, but there was no blood, nothing more than brush burns really. Tentatively, Kona ran his thumb along the raw scratches and Keira winced, shuddered.

“Sorry. You okay?”

Her nod was quick, likely forced and Kona didn’t think the goose bumps on her arms, shooting down her back was from any pain she’d felt. Right then, in the quiet, still dorm room Kona decided that her beautiful, strong back was one of his favorites things about Keira and if she ever gave him a shot, it would be one of the first places he kissed her.

Her back had not relaxed. It had, in fact, grown stiffer, straighter as he touched her and Kona smiled to himself, kept his humor in check at how uncomfortable she seemed, how she was so convinced that he simply wasn’t to be trusted.

“You know,” he said, keeping his palm flat, still next to the largest bruise, “I’m not such an asshole.” Kona could only see the sharp arch of her eyebrow when she looked over her shoulder. “And I wouldn’t use a situation like this to take advantage of a girl.”

“I never said…”

“I don’t have to, Keira.”

He hoped she caught his meaning. He hoped she knew that he wasn’t like her. They were so different, and part of him wanted her knowing the truth. He wanted her, he’d be a liar to deny that to himself. Keira was all soft and supple, but with edges he didn’t think she’d let him breech. He didn’t want anything more than to taste her, touch more, but that would be it for him. He had no time for anything more than a hookup and he figured that Keira wasn’t a hook up kind of girl. Her nervousness, the anxious way she held herself as he touched her, told Kona that she didn’t know what to do with herself, how to handle the sensations of his hands on her, of her being vulnerable to him.

He knew she was probably a virgin and for a brief second, Kona thought what a delicious temptation that was and if he was the bastard she thought he was, he’d take her right here, show her how to move that fit body, teach her what feels best, what takes the ache away. He was an asshole, sure, definitely a bit of a slut, but Kona wasn’t a bastard.

Keira didn’t comment on his admission, she didn’t do much more but stretch her neck to look him in the eyes and Kona couldn’t smile, didn’t have a single smartass comment to make. He could only stare back at her, return that intense gaze, watch those full, parted lips, how they glistened from the light above them.

He wasn’t a bastard, wouldn’t try to get her to give in to him, but he
was
a twenty-year old boy sitting too close to a beautiful girl. Kona let his hand rest on her neck, let his thumb rub along the soft, soft skin there before he moved back the hair from her forehead.

“You’re good,” he told her, voice low, raspy.

“I’m what?”

He smiled, eyes flicking down to her back. “Just a couple of bruises and some small brush burns.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He lowered her shirt, unable to stop himself from dragging the tips of his fingers along her skin. He reached up, brushed back that soft hair from her shoulder. Kona couldn’t make his hand leave her hair. He wanted to see what she would do, if she’d lean against him, move her head toward his and steal a kiss. There was a small, lingering moment when they only stared at each other, two sets of eyes moving over each other’s faces and Kona couldn’t help himself, loved the pretty blush that that worked over her pale cheeks when he was arrogant and flirting.

“You want me…” Keira’s eyebrows rose, but Kona stopped her protest before she could make it “you want me to do anything else?” He liked how expressive her face was, how slow she blinked, when his fingertips brushed against her back.

She shook her head, worried the inside of her mouth as though she was thinking of other things Kona could do to help her out. He didn’t think those thoughts included changing a light bulb or stopping the slow drip he heard from the bathroom sink. Keira hadn’t moved, hadn’t slapped his hand away from her neck and he realized, with that open, eager expression on her face that Keira had no clue the power she could have. That expressive face and sumptuous body made him, would make any man, stuttering idiots if she chose to use her attributes to her advantage. Given a bit more confidence, Keira could rule the fucking world.

The tension in the room had grown too thick, too intense and so Kona dropped his hand, knew that he needed to put distance between them before he did something Keira wasn’t ready for.

“I should go.” He let her leave the bed first, didn’t say anything about how fast she got to her feet. When he picked up his bag and leaned against the door, Keira took to biting the inside of her cheek again and Kona tried not to smile. “You sure I can’t do anything else?”

Keira’s hair moved against her shoulder when she shook her head. “No, I’m good.” Kona had to jump back as she took hold of the door handle, dismissing him. “Thank you, though.”

The awkwardness was back, but Kona didn’t think the time was right for another stupid joke. “I’ll see you in class.” Keira nodded, staring down at the floor and Kona breathed a little easier, a little clearer when he walked into the hallway. Then, she called him back, stopped him with a throaty whisper of his name. “Yeah?” he said, turning to face her.

He knew she was debating what she wanted to say. She shuffled her feet in a nervous step before she opened her mouth again. “Um… good luck tomorrow.”

When Kona smiled, the gesture was sincere because he knew she didn’t care how he played, how well they performed. Keira wanted to say something, he could tell, but he let his assumption die on his tongue and only offered her a wink before he left down the hall.

Keira liked the feel of the keys under her fingertips and the low, steady hum of motherboards working in the sterile lab. Here, in the library’s small computer room, Keira could think, had access to those large databases that would open up the past. There were articles and papers older than her country; collected microfiche data all nestled together and accessible with the click of her fingers on the keyboard.

Professor Miller sat in the corner of the room reading, occasionally frowning at the probable typos in the student newspaper. Everyone worked in silence, looking through the library’s databases or sending ages old articles to the printer. It was peaceful; an easy cluster of silent space where Keira could think without distraction.

“I don’t see why this project is such a big deal.”
There goes the silence,
she thought and rolled her eyes at Kona when he waved off the librarian who shushed him.

The big linebacker sat next to her in front of a computer with the screensaver flashing the CPU logo. Despite how often she jabbed him with her elbow, Kona had done little more than play a game of solitaire or cast quick, not subtle looks in her direction.

Keira didn’t know how to respond to these lengthy stares. That night in her room when Kona tended to her scratches had caused something to shift between them. Neither of them mentioned it and they’d spent most of their time together either talking about their paper or not speaking at all. It had gone on for a few days now and every time they met, at the library or in the cafeteria, the tension only grew.