“Three years of off-the-radar self-defense classes, Kona. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Off the radar?”

Keira shrugged, a flippant gesture that she had to force. She wasn’t interested in detailing her private life. Not to Kona, not to anyone really. “My mom’s radar. She doesn’t think women who are athletic can find husbands, so I took the self-defense classes when I supposed to be going to Mass.”

Keira was reminded of Father Reynolds, the funny, excitable Irish priest in her parish. He’d had an affinity for Bruce Lee and was obsessed with jiu-jitsu. When she’d asked him about self-defense classes in the privacy of the confessional, Father Reynolds forgot all about doling out absolution for her transgressions. Instead, they made a pact. He’d cover for her when her mother mentioned Keira attending Mass, but she had to promise to show him what she’d learned.

“But you run track.” Kona’s deep voice erased the warm memory of Father Reynolds and his boney legs trying to perfect a roundhouse kick. Keira noticed that Kona wasn’t walking behind her now. He was at her side, so close she could smell the faint hint of sweat and cologne.

“Yeah, well, running doesn’t count to her. Not much of what I do counts for much with her.” A brief glance up at his face and Keira smiled, amused by how confused Kona looked. It was that frown, those pushed-together eyebrows, that had Keira finishing her explanation. “She says track is good for my muscle tone and will keep my hips narrow.” Another scan at him and Keira stopped walking. He was no longer frowning, no longer seemed perplexed by her explanation. Kona watched her for a moment, something he did when she told him unbelievable things, and she hated the pitying expression on his face. She hated that he was gleaning more about her relationship with her mother, just as he had tried to do when they were in the study room.

Seeing that expression unnerved her. So did the way he stood at her side, with his eyes fanning around them. He looked on guard, territorial. Keira didn’t like how casually they walked together. She did not like that their steps had kept time with one another, that their movements down the steps and onto the sidewalk felt comfortable, natural. “Point being, I don’t need you to walk me to my dorm.”

“It’s late, Keira.” He didn’t stare at her when he said that. Instead, Kona looked over her head, to the empty sidewalk and the road that ran in front of them. The rain had slowed to a mist and the sky above had calmed. Still, Keira wasn’t scared of the emptiness. She craved it. It had often been a companion that she never tried to drive away.

“It is,” she told him, adjusting her backpack further up her shoulder before she walked away from Kona. He followed. “And I’m capable of fending off would-be whoevers.”

“My car is at Kenner.” Two small strides and he again kept time with her. “You’re just a little ways from there in Graham, right? I’m going in that direction.”

That stopped her instantly. She didn’t recall mentioning her dorm. “How do you know where I live?” She didn’t remember, in fact, even telling him her name. But Kona Hale was resourceful and well connected. She’d figured he’d find out what he could about her despite her nondisclosures. When he only shrugged, avoided staring at anything but her frown, Keira sidestepped, making him look down at her. “You checked up on me?”

Kona widened his stance, defensive, preparing for something that Keira had no intention of starting. She had no desire to argue with this guy. She’d had enough of him for one night, but that didn’t mean she was going to walk away from him, letting him think it was okay to nose around in her business. She cocked one eyebrow, tapped her foot, and Kona relented, let his arms hang loose and unclenched at his sides. “You wouldn’t tell me your name. I had to find out so I didn’t look like an asshole when we met tonight.”

Leann would never tell Kona anything. Besides, Keira knew her cousin had spent the entire day in the theater building preparing for the dance recital for her Advanced Lyrical class. The only other people that knew anything about her were her teammates. Most of them were giggling, stupid bitches that only ran because their team locker room was right next to the football team’s. Unbelievable, she thought, ticking off the names in her head of each girl she planned to bitch out. “You could have asked, you know.”

“I did.” Back again was Kona’s sigh, and that time he added the slump of his wide shoulders. “You wouldn’t say shit.”

Flustered and more annoyed that their meeting hadn’t been as horrible as Keira thought it might be, she looked away from him, stepped back so that the temptation to roll her eyes left her. Tonight had been, not nice, no, but surprising. Kona was clever, she knew that by the brief mentions he made about his calculus and finite mathematics classes. Keira didn’t like it, didn’t like him, and especially did not like that her assumptions about the beefy Volkswagen had been wrong.

“I’ll see you in class,” she told him, walking away before he could stop her. Keira wasn’t naïve, and just the small interactions she’d had with Kona told her he wasn’t the sort of guy who just did as he was told and let things lie. She knew for every step she made toward Graham, Kona made two.

But she wouldn’t look back, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she wondered if he was behind her. Keira didn’t know why he cared or what had motivated the change in his attitude. Maybe it was her temper in the cafeteria. She certainly hadn’t ever acted that furious in class, and in her mind Keira heard her mother’s cool, nagging voice telling her she’d waved a red flag right in the big bull’s face.

Keira pulled her cardigan tighter around her chest, trying to shake off the swift breeze rustling the large pine trees that lined the sidewalk. As she hurried over the wet pavement, she passed a girl, Bethany, she thought her name was, that lived two doors down from her and Leann. She only managed the nod because, again, her mother’s voice popped into her head.

The woman told her not to chat, not to become too friendly. “Other girls,” her mother would say, “are at the university for the same reason you are, Keira. They’re working on their MRS. degree.”

The sad thing was, her mother really believed that. She didn’t expect much from Keira, she never had. She wanted her daughter to keep fit. She wanted her educated because she believed that the best wives of doctors and lawyers were the ones who could carry on intelligent conversations. Keira wasn’t friendly by nature and blamed that on her mother’s constant niggles about other girls being competition. She knew that archaic mentality was her mother’s issue, not Keira’s, but the refrain of keeping yourself guarded, of seeing other girls as the enemy, kept Keira from socializing with anyone but her cousin.

When Graham Hall came into view, Keira slowed down, figuring by now Kona had given up and jumped into his car at Kenner. The sidewalk was completely empty, and Keira relaxed, thinking of nothing but a hot shower and her warm bed. It was this thought, in fact, that kept her senses dull, kept her instinct silent as she walked near the dim alley between Graham and a row of married housing.

She did not hear the break of limbs against sneakers or feel the shadow behind her until she slipped into the dark corner of the building. A stranger came at her fast like a whip and managed to grab hold of her backpack before she could react.

 “Hey!” she shouted, more surprised than mad that the guy in the black T-shirt and worn jeans had managed to catch her off guard. “That’s my shit, you asshole.”

“Mine now, bitch.” And he took off, laughing over his shoulder as Keira followed. Her Nokia, her wallet, her keys were all in that bag, and Keira didn’t rationalize the stupidity of chasing after the thief until she was right behind him, until he stopped short and lifted his fist ready to strike.

When his hand came forward, Keira dipped, moving out of his way to land a punch right on his chin. It stung, and she swung around, cradling her fist against her chest, ready to bite back the pain when he lunged forward.

“You wanna fight? Let’s tussle.” The guy wasn’t large, stood only a few inches taller than Keira, but the glint in his eyes was fierce, desperate.

Keira dodged, twisting to the left when he charged her, and fell back, right against the curve of the sidewalk and the protruding screws of the street drain.

“That’s what I thought,” the guy said, laughing at Keira, who’d landed in a fresh puddle of rainwater.

“You thought what, motherfucker?” Kona came out of nowhere, and in one swipe of his massive hands, Keira’s bag fell to the ground as the thief’s feet left the pavement. “You didn’t seriously just try taking her shit, did you?” The huge linebacker shook the guy once, then squeezed his fingers around the thief's neck, holding him up with one hand.

“Dude, stop…please…” The guy could barely let the words lift from his mouth before Kona shook him again.

“Stop what? Huh, punk?” Another throttle and the kid started to choke. Bright, red streaks of heat collected on Kona’s cheek. Keira had seen fights before, most of them between her parents before her father took his leave, but she had never seen this. She had never seen the look of pure hatred, of vile loathing, in anyone’s expression. It was one Kona wore as he continued to squeeze his large fingers around the guy’s throat.

It was in that moment, with her heart drumming hard, that something twisted in Keira’s brain, something more frightening than being mugged in an alleyway. Instinct should have told her to stop Kona, to plead with him not to hurt the much smaller guy dangling from his hands. But she didn’t. Not immediately. The hot whip of pleasure shot through her veins, and the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensation of desire hardened her nipples.

Kona’s violent display completely turned Keira on.

The thief managed to kick at Kona, but the effort was weak, barely registering against Kona’s solid legs. Around them, lights from married housing started to click on, and Keira came back to herself, ignored the warm throb pulsing between her legs. She got to her feet, retrieved her bag. “Kona, stop it,” she told him, coming next to him, but still keeping a good two feet away. He didn’t listen, didn’t relax his grip at all.

The guy tried again, landing slap after slap against Kona’s head, but it had no effect. Keira suddenly realized that she hadn’t wanted to be the cause of something that could turn very bad. So she dropped her bag and touched Kona’s shoulder. It was only a graze of her fingertips against his shirt, but the feather touch stopped him.

“Just stop.  You’ll kill him,” she told Kona, stepping back when he dropped the guy to the ground.

Kona’s attention was divided between Keira’s cautious, stern voice and the kid at his feet struggling for breath. “Don’t you move, asshole,” he told the thief, but from the look of him, Keira knew the guy couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.

“Are you okay?” Kona shifted his gaze to her, but Keira’s didn’t want to focus on that confused frown on his face. 

“I’m fine. My back hurts a little, but I’m okay.” He acted instantly, darting toward the kid on the ground before Keira grabbed his arm. “Hey, stop it.” He ignored the moaning, choking kid and stilled as though he’d been leashed. This time, that close contact stopped Keira where she stood. How had she missed it before? Kona’s wide, warm arm beneath her fingers, the rounding of his eyes, was nothing to the sharp lick of fire shooting up her fingers. Her stomach coiled, and Keira felt like someone had punched her right in the gut. She didn’t know what it was, had never felt anything like it before. The darkness around them grew dense, weighted, and it seemed to Keira that every breath that left her opened mouth, that left Kona’s, froze in the mist around them. It scared her. It scared Kona too, she could tell. His eyes fell to her hand, which was still touching him, and Keira jerked back, curled her hands into her back pockets. 

The moment passed, and whatever had moved between them was lost in Kona’s distraction over the guy who was now coming onto his knees. Kona helped him up, but it wasn’t a friendly gesture, more an aggressive lurch on his arm and then a shove against the pine tree behind them. The kid looked like he was going to vomit, and his hands immediately went to his bruising neck. But Kona just stood there, glaring down at him.

“You touch this girl—you touch any girls again—and I’ll find out about it.” He moved his shoulders, a quick threatening jerk, and the thief knocked his head against the tree in his flinch. “You don’t want me finding out about that shit.” One quick twist of his chin and Kona stepped back. “Get out of here before I really get pissed.”

Kona didn’t give Keira a second to analyze what happened or what she felt. Her jeans were a soaking mess, and her back felt like it was on fire, but Kona’s attention seemed distracted, seemed focused on shaking the dirt and grime from her arm, checking her limbs, moving her face as he looked her over. Seeming satisfied that she wasn’t injured, he picked up her backpack and handed it to her.

Keira ignored the lick of fire that had passed between them. It was the adrenaline of her attack, a weird relief that somehow she’d been rescued. Shit, she thought. He saved me like a damn Disney princess. The thought erased the gut punch pleasure that was still coursing in her stomach.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mouth open, coming up in a small scowl, Kona shook his head as though he’d expected a thank you and not Keira’s bitching. “He was trying to gank your stuff.”

Keira slapped the dirt from her backpack, ignoring Kona’s words. “And you didn’t have to follow me.”

“It’s a good thing I did. You couldn’t have handled that shit.”

She wouldn’t let him be the hero. At least, not more than he’d already had been. Keira knew her face was flaming, knew that her embarrassment at needing a rescue was something Kona wouldn’t understand. She was tired already, from the long night in the library, from the shock of her attack, and could only manage a quick, self-deprecating nod in Kona’s direction before she turned around and headed toward her dorm. But two steps seemed one too many, and Keira flinched, her back seizing up.

Kona darted behind her, holding her arms under his larger fingers. “What is it? You hurt?”

“Probably just a bruise. It’s nothing.” Kona disregarded Keira’s half-hearted attempts to pull out of his touch when he grabbed her elbow. “Come on, we’re taking you to the infirmary.”

“No, we aren’t,” she said, twisting her arm out of his fist. She looked over her shoulder to check if there was any blood on her shirt, and again the pain rose up, making her wince. Kona pulled up from the sidewalk, that strong hand still on her arm, and she stopped walking, stepping away from him. They’d only spent an hour or so together tonight, but Keira knew already that he was stubborn. Shoulders slumping, she tried to convince him she’d had enough rescuing for the night. “It was just a bump against the busted drain. There’s not even any blood.”

 “You don’t know for sure.”

“You’re being paranoid.” Kona’s eyes narrowed, and those deep dimples in his cheeks faded. She knew brushing him off wouldn’t work, so she tried making him see reason. “Think about it…you take me to the infirmary, and they’ll ask questions. I kind of figured you don’t want anyone on your team or your coaches to know you choked some skinny punk.”

Kona bit the inside of his cheek and rested his hands at his hips, gaze moving to the street drain that had caused Keira’s small injury. Finally, as though he’d finished whatever asinine examination moved through his thoughts, Kona looked back at her. “Fine, let’s go to your room so I can check it out.”

“What?” He was crazy. There was no way she was going to let him into her room. She could manage on her own. She’d wait until Leann was back. One glance at the determined set of Kona’s mouth and that high arching eyebrow told Keira he wouldn’t go for that either. “You’re not coming into my room.” She thought her voice was strong, but when she said “my room” the words came out high-pitched and cracked, destroying any meager attempts to sound firm.

Kona acted as though Keira hadn’t said anything. He just took her arm and led her toward her building, his grip easy, but still steady. “If I wanted in your room, believe me, I could get in. Besides, you won’t be able to check for yourself.”

“I can.” She tried twisting away from him again, but his grip was like a vice on her elbow.

“You double-jointed or something?” For the first time since Kona had nearly choked that kid, the frown left his face, replaced by what Keira could only guess was a wistful grin of hope.

“I can get one of the girls to help me.”

“Keira, I watched you.” He stopped them just before they reached the bottom steps of her building, but did not release her arm. “You don’t even look up when you’re walking down the sidewalk. You don’t smile and acknowledge anybody. The only person I’ve ever seen you with is that Leann girl, in class. I highly doubt you’re cool with the girls in your dorm. Stop being pigheaded, and let’s check this out.”

Kona had been in many dorm rooms. CPU girls didn’t have a problem letting him hang out; in fact, they encouraged it. There had been that redhead from Spencer who practically sat on his lap when he told her he had to leave and the blonde from Easton who invited him over at 2:00 a.m. Her opening the door completely naked had been something akin to the warmest welcome he’d ever gotten.

To him, going into a girl’s dorm usually only meant one thing: the thing he loved most. The thing that most twenty-year-old guys loved most. But Kona wasn’t in Keira’s dorm for that. He’d like to be, maybe, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

In all those slipping-in-for-a-little-hey-now times he’d been to the girls’ dorm side of campus, he’d never once bothered to give more than a passing glance at how they lived. Most times, he barely took note of the color of their walls or the fluffy pillows and the feel of their sheets.

“Give me a second,” Keira said, waving him in before she threw her bag onto her bed and headed to the bathroom. Keira didn’t have fluffy pillows, and her bed was made up like a soldier’s, corners tight, with a simple white comforter and small blue pillows lined against the headboard.

The room was divided with Keira’s bed on the right and her roommate’s on the left. The difference between the two was enormous. Where Keira’s side was uniformed, bordering on obsessively organized, her roommate’s was chaos. Shoes on the left side of the room were thrown haphazardly under the bed, and discarded shirts, skirts and bras littered the unmade bed. Keira’s shoes were neatly stacked on a white shoe rack next to her desk, and a dark wood dresser was next to the door with only a small silver box and two framed pictures on top of it.

In one of the frames, Kona spotted a smiling Keira, probably ten or so years younger, with her arm around the waist of a man that had to be a relative. Standing on the deck of the paddleboat, the Creole Queen, with the Mississippi River wide and endless behind them, they had the same smile, the same bright, round blue eyes and both stared at the camera with their heads tilted to the right. Kona thought Keira hadn’t changed much since that picture was taken. Sure, she’d grown: her hips were now wider, her limbs longer, but her face looked much the same—open, honest, with the faintest spattering of freckles dotted sparsely over her cheeks.

Next to that picture was a current one of Keira wearing a fairy costume with wide, green wings and glitter intricately arranged around her eyes. She was smirking, not smiling wide as though she was happy, but she still looked friendly, relaxed. At her side in the frame was that Leann girl Kona had always seen her with, dressed in coordinating fairy wings, blue with yellow edges. Upon closer inspection of both faces, Kona saw similarities—Leann’s hair was lighter, thinner, and her eyes weren’t quite as round or as blue, but the high cheekbones were the same, as was the arch of their noses and the full pout of their lips.

“My cousin, Leann. We room together,” Keira said, coming to stand next to Kona. He nodded, but made his gaze return to the picture of Keira as a little girl. The frame was cold in his hand when he picked it up, and he motioned the picture toward her, curious.

Kona noticed that Keira’s face softened when her gaze ran over the picture, that the straight line of her mouth was less severe. After a few seconds, she blinked and looked up at him. “My dad.” She took the picture from Kona, kept her gaze on the glass for a few seconds, thumb moving over the man’s face, before she replaced it on her dresser.

“When did he die?” His question surprised her, and the soft edges of her faint smile twisted into a frown. “You’d make a crap actor, Keira. Everything you’re thinking is all over your face.” Kona moved his chin toward the picture, but didn’t take his eyes off her expression. “No way you’d look at your dad like that if he was still around.”

She exhaled, shoving the hair off her shoulder, and when she spoke, her voice was low, so low in fact that Kona thought she didn’t want him hearing her. “I was ten.” Then louder, she said, “I don’t talk about it.”

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 her, 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 and 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, settling 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.

Fingers barely grazing her skin, Kona 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 sweater 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, 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 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 and 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 anyone breech. He didn’t want anything more than to taste her, touch her more than he did now, but that would be it for him. He had no time for anything other than a hookup, and he figured that Keira wasn’t a hookup 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 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— a stuttering idiot 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 he only offered her a wink before he left down the hall.