Five…six…seven rings before Leann pulled Keira’s phone off the charger and silenced it.

“You know she’s going to keep calling until you answer.”

But Keira didn’t want to hear her mother’s voice. She didn’t want to do anything but lie on her bed and make herself sick on Jolly Rancher jelly beans. She had a meet in the morning, one she knew she wasn’t prepared for, but her temper had not waned much since she left Kona, and carb loading in the worst possible way was the only thing that helped mollify her anger. Her guitar was less than four feet from her, and she couldn’t even bother to reach for it, to make those strings and her father’s finger grooves work its magic on her temper.

 “Why isn’t your voicemail picking up?” Keira’s cousin moved around the room, digging through her clothes, slinging pumps and wedges across the floor. When the dorm phone started to chime, she threw it onto Keira’s bed, barely missing her temple. “It’s her. Answer the freaking phone, Keira.”

“No. She’s just going to bitch at me.”

Keira heard her cousin’s curse: low, vicious little words that should have made her blush, and she smiled, thinking of her mother’s reaction if she could somehow hear her niece. “Fine, be a little shit.” And then the smile moved off Keira’s face as Leann took the call. “Hello, Aunt Cora, how are you?” The saccharine tone was rude, and Keira was sure her mother was telling Leann not to be glib. “Oh, yes, she’s right here, stuffing her face with—”

“Are you stupid?” Keira said, jerking the phone out of her cousin’s hand. “You know what a psycho she is about carbs.” Leann gave Keira the finger then returned to her digging before the girl had a second enough to clear her throat. “Mom?”

“Keira, what in God’s name are you eating?”

She pulled the phone against her chest and growled at her cousin. “I am going to kick your scrawny little ass.” She knew her mother was still talking, likely asking questions and, sure enough, when she returned the receiver to her ear, the lecture hadn’t even slowed.

“…irresponsible. With your hips, you must be extra cautious of what you eat, and your skin, Keira…how often have we been to see the dermatologist? You know what the carbohydrates do to your…”

“Mother. Please. Leann was joking. I’m not eating anything.” Her cousin’s glare was ridiculous—tightened eyes and a severe line pulling her mouth that made Leann look old. Keira ignored her, cringing when she heard her mother’s long breath on the other end of the phone.

“Well, that’s good at least. You can tell Leann I don’t appreciate her little joke.”

“Oh, I’m sure she knows that.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” There was something off in her mother’s voice, as though she was waiting for Keira to fill the small beats of quiet that generally were never allowed in their conversations. “Awkward silences are rude, Keira,” she’d always told her. Her mother was waiting, expecting something, and with her head still muddled by Kona and Tonya Lucas, Keira couldn’t remember what her mother wanted.

“Um, so, why did you call?”

Another long exhale told Keira she’d already made a mistake. Slumping against the bed, she curled her knees to her chest and watched Leann flutter around the room like a bee. “Keira, really? Have you forgotten? Mark was so looking forward to seeing you. He called, of course? I knew he would when Steven told me he gave the boy your number.”

The only comfort came to her behind her closed eyelids. Her mother was meddlesome, nosy, and Steven seemed to agree that Mark was a perfect match for her. He’d apologized when he called three nights before, said he didn’t want her to think he was falling in line with her mother’s plan, and after the awkwardness passed, Keira had shuffled around a “yes” until his laughter relaxed her, until she had half-heartedly agreed to a date. She’d already put it out of her head, too consumed by distracting her thoughts from Kona.

“He called. We’re supposed to be meeting up tonight.”

“What do you mean ‘meeting up’? Isn’t he taking you out on a proper date?”

“Mother, it’s not like that. It’s casual.”

There was a brief pause, and Keira could almost hear her mother’s thoughts, the interworkings of agendas, calculating ways in which Keira could make Mark helpless to her “female charms.”  Her mother’s term—definitely not hers.

“Hmm, casual isn’t terrible, I suppose.” It took her mother three full seconds to switch tactics and then she was off with a litany of demands and questions. “What will you wear? Make certain your hair is off your neck. It’s one of your better attributes. Men like necks and a lot of skin, but don’t dress like a whore…”

Keira didn’t have the energy to argue. She didn’t care that Mark Burke was a nice guy. She didn’t care if she impressed him or not. The voice on the other end of the phone had her head throbbing at the base of her skull. The constant refrain of direction was old hat, something Keira had heard her entire life. “Pretty girls do this,” and “pretty girls don’t do that,” over and over until her mother was satisfied that she understood. She never had. She never wanted to. That voice felt like a weight around her neck. It crippled her most times, had her forgetting who she wanted to be; it made her doubt she had the stomach to walk away from this life one day. Her mother’s directives had become a fat mass in her gut, and the older she got, the bigger that tumor of expectation felt.

Defeated for the moment, Keira could only offer random mumbles of “I know” and the occasional “yes, Mother” as her mother babbled on, dictated, instructed like a sergeant sending his men off to battle. And there was the threat, something dark her mother tried to hide behind sighs, behind veiled words she played off as advice. “Don’t screw this up, Keira” and “Don’t disappoint me” whispered behind each demand. There would be consequences. There were always consequences.

Keira didn’t notice the tears forming in her eyes. It had been years since they registered, not since her father’s death, not since what she was supposed to be had dulled grief in her so that she barely felt the burn.

She kept the phone nestled on her shoulder and leaned her head against the mattress, ignoring the instruction, and around her, Leann’s constant bustling went still. She thought her cousin may have left in the midst of Keira’s marching orders, but then a hand on her ankle had her setting down the phone on the floor when she sat up.

You okay? Leann mouthed, her cousin’s annoyance at her earlier pouting clearly gone.

“Same as always.” She frowned when an errant tear slid down her face, then rolled her eyes at herself before she rubbed her face dry and picked up the phone again. Her mother hadn’t taken a breath, had started up a stupid line of questioning about what lingerie Keira would wear. “Okay, I got it. Don’t worry.” And then she turned off the phone.

Leann crawled next to her on the floor, scooting to the end of the bed to grab Keira’s guitar before she sat next to her and handed the instrument over. Her cousin knew what she needed, knew how to ease the anger that had been simmering all day. This was more than her mother’s usual expectations. This was about the pressure of pacifying the woman, and, as much as it hurt her pride to admit it, this was also about Kona. It was about shock and disappointment, and the heartache she didn’t want to admit came from seeing what he’d done that morning.

Hands on the strings, Keira’s fingertips followed in the grooves, sliding on the frets, and she felt calmer, like each hollow in the wood was a sedative she couldn’t do without.

She sang Leann a song. Her cousin had always been her single audience, the only person Keira knew would never tell her she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t anything but blessed. The words came to her from her childhood, something about lyrics and starlight and promises her father made.

Music made her weep. She remembered the steady strum of her father’s guitar, the sweet whine of his low voice, songs he sang to himself so that she couldn’t tell if he could even carry a tune. He wrote words on brown paper bags. He collected rows of thick, rough paper in a shoe box and they became a dozen lessons to teach her, a thousand words that sought to guide her, to show her that the world was not what her mother believed. Her father’s looping scrawls were guidelines, that box of broken dreams, his map of what she could have.

 “It will be different for you,” he’d told her. She was his child, and the good parts of her mother that had not been killed by greed and money and social standing. “Try to collect the stars, Keira. Put them in your pocket, send them in an envelope to another version of yourself, one that is older, one that understands your mother better. That way, when you’re older, when you know yourself a little better, that collection of stars will fill you up, remind you of the nights we sang our songs, of the days when you smiled with me.”

Those days had not lasted, became infrequent and sparse, and Keira forgot about the stars. She forgot to send that letter, and when he died, when her mother and all those impossible expectations got too great for him, Keira took those brown bags smudged with her father’s words and she stuffed them in the casket, underneath a tailored jacket he’d never worn. She wanted them next to his heart.

Music still made her weep. Not every song, not every note, but when something came to her, when she heard the hint of her father in the rhyme and lyric that danced in her head, she cried. That had been his legacy: the small whisper of his hope, the bright, incredible anticipation of happiness he believed she would have some day.

Sitting with her cousin, telling her that story in each note she sang, made Keira happy, vanquished the thoughts of all the intolerable things her mother wanted her to be and the cruel ways she tried to make sure Keira would become that person.  

When the final note vibrated into silence, Leann sighed, a contented little exhale that broke the melancholy in the room.

 “Come with me and Michael to Nathan’s party. It’s off campus. We don’t have to stay long, and you can have Mark meet you there.”

“Nathan Andrews?” Leann rested her head on Keira’s shoulder, and she felt her nod. “Nathan Andrews, who I have never spoken to in my life, ever?”

“Keira, there will be a million people there and free drinks.” She sat up, nudged her leg. “You need one night of fun, of absolute bedlam. You’re eighteen. You’re in college, and you said Mark was cute.”

“So?”

“So, why don’t you come have free drinks with me and Michael and bring McCuteness back here for some naked college shenanigans?”

Kona, she thought, knew all about shenanigans. Kona had gotten up to shenanigans that morning, and Keira tried not to think about how badly that hurt. She didn’t know why. They were friends. They were only friends, and whatever she’d invented in her mind about them wouldn’t change that fact or erase the image of Tonya Lucas coming out of his room.

 “I don’t want to have shenanigans with anyone, Leann.”

Her cousin moved her shoulders, exaggerated the movement with another sigh she forced out. “And that’s your problem. Not enough shenanigans in your life.” Leann moved across the room, picking up her towel before she hung her head out of the bathroom door. “It’s fine, Keira. You go have coffee with Mark and come back here all alone. I’m sure that’s what your mom wants you to do.”

Leann was a manipulative little shit when it came to things she wanted, and for some reason, she wanted Keira to be anyone other than herself tonight. Taunting her with her mother’s expectations was the perfect way to move Keira into action. And so, she let her cousin dress her in something that her mother would not approve of. She let Leann convince her to go to a party with a boy she didn’t know very well. Keira let herself forget about being proper and appropriate. For one night at least, she would be a girl who liked shenanigans.

Vanessa Roth’s nearly naked ass was directly in front of Kona’s face.

She bent over, cheeks bared under her blue and green plaid skirt, and her four-inch stilettos left scratches on Nathan’s oak coffee table as she danced on top of it. Joining her, Mimi Walker was similarly dressed, bumping against Vanessa’s hips. Both girls jiggled their asses to Method Man and Mary J’s “You're All I Need to Get By.”

Bitches ruined Kona’s favorite song.

“Come dance with us, Kona.” Vanessa’s voice was heavy, like she had smoked too much weed or downed one too many Heinekens and Kona thought she was a sloppy idiot.

Kona waved her off, slipping down further on the sofa with his legs spread and one arm flung across the back. He was relaxed, a glass of Abita Amber in his hands, and maybe he was a little buzzed, but still wholly uninterested in the two girls putting on a show for him.

“Something’s up with you if those two aren’t getting your attention.” Luka slumped next to his twin, eyes working all the way up Vanessa’s leg.

“Nothing wrong with me.”

“You’re full of shit, brah.” Luka was trying to be cool; Kona could tell. He kept licking his bottom lip like he imagined Vanessa was on the end of it, and Kona tried not to laugh at how obvious his brother was being.

“You want her, do something.” Another pull on his glass and Luka leaned next to him, eyes still moving up those impossibly long legs. “Stop staring like a punk.”

Luka waved him off, finally pulling his gaze from the dancing girls. “What’s your problem? You’ve been off all day.”

Instead of answering, Kona moved his head, drinking again as he looked around the room. Nathan’s apartment was huge and lush and completely out of element with anything Kona had ever lived in. His mother did okay. She worked hard, had provided for Kona and Luka very well. But they had never lived in anything like this.

The floors were polished marble, dark with light gray streaks circling in the center of the room. The furniture was modern, leather and every space in the open-concept layout was either brown, black or gray. It wasn’t homey. It wasn’t like his mother’s comfortable, plush sofas lined with thick throws and from-the-island pillows. There weren’t any flowers in this place, no sweet smells from the garden that always helped Kona drift off when he stayed with her. And, unlike the little Victorian his mother and Kuku still lived in on St. Charles, there was no music, no warmth brought in by family pictures or old, busted figurines that reminded Kona of his childhood in Hawaii. Nathan’s place was nice enough, but Kona felt suffocated by the people and the air of pretension.

The party had been in full swing for a good two hours or so, full of smoking-hot girls drunk on liquor, life and the idea of being at a player’s party. Kona didn’t care, really. Girls gave him a show, always, especially those interested in potentialing him hard, but he was bored of it all. This kind of party happened most nights at the team house, and it was nothing new to see girls like Vanessa and Mimi, half-naked and careless of how common they looked.

Next to him, Luka sat up abruptly, muttering a low curse, and Kona followed the jerk of his head toward the front door and the asshole that walked in through it.

“Fuck,” he said, knowing that Luka was going to bitch. He hated Ricky. Kona knew why, but he didn’t need shit started tonight. “Man, don’t.”

The can in Luka’s hand crinkled when he slammed it on the coffee table in front of them, and Vanessa and Mimi squealed, slinging their feet back from the spilled mess Luka made.

“I swear to God, Kona, if you don’t stop this shit…”

“I am, brah. I swear.” He grabbed Luka’s collar when his twin started to leave the sofa. “Just be cool. I told Ricky I was out.”

“Yeah, like you said a month ago?” Luka sat back, and Kona hated the way he looked at him, hated to see the disappointment in his brother’s eyes.

It had started too simply, out of necessity, but now what he did for Ricky had become an obligation that Kona couldn’t see his way out of. “He’s not gonna bug me. I talked to him earlier.”

“He was just at the house. What the hell is he doing here?”

“I’m not his keeper, Lu.”

Kona hoped his brother would be calm, but he knew how upset Luka got when Ricky or any of the shit that followed him was near Kona. He needed to deflect, to ease the tension as quickly as possible and so he nodded toward Vanessa as she helped Mimi off the table and the girl smiled, moving toward him like a deer learning to walk for the first time.

“Finally,” she said, landing on Kona’s lap. He looked to his right, caught Luka’s glare and then moved Vanessa’s nibbling teeth off his ear.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you keep my brother company, yeah?”

It took her a second to adjust between them. She slipped once, but Kona caught her, and she landed with an “umpf” on Luka’s lap. Kona wasn’t paying attention to anyone but his brother. He wanted to make sure that he’d calmed enough to stay off Ricky’s radar, and so he didn’t notice Keira until Vanessa looped her arm around Luka’s shoulder with her legs stretched out against Kona’s knees.

Keira stood next to the bar in the kitchen directly across from him, talking to Leann and the guy he’d seen her cousin with on campus. Watching her, Kona forgot about his brother’s temper or the asshole on the other side of the room that had Kona by the balls.

Keira look like a fucking goddess; hair down her back in waves; brown skirt hitting above her knees and a pair of leather boots that wrapped her muscular calves like a second skin. His dick got twitchy just looking at her, at that plump ass and how the creamy top she wore cupped her in lace.

He tried to smile at her, forgetting for a moment how she’d stung him that day when he walked out of his room with Tonya Lucas, her scent still clinging to him. He’d spent all afternoon feeling like an asshole and wondering why Keira made him feel guilty for doing something that was second nature to him.

But tonight, with her across the room, looking as beautiful as she did, smiling, relaxed, had Kona itching to beg her forgiveness. That live wire was too damn tempting, and he wanted to burn in her. He wanted to burn in her so bad. He knew what she thought of him, and the only thing he wanted right then was to change her opinion.

Keira took the drink that Leann handed her then held it still in front of her when something her cousin said made her laugh. Those blue eyes shone across the room in her humor and then landed right on Kona. He tried smiling, even sat up and pushed Vanessa’s legs off him, but Keira’s gaze shifted from his hands on the drunk girl’s ankles to Luka at his right. The smile fell from her face, and she returned her attention to her cousin.

“Shit,” Kona said, feeling stupid and guilty again.

“Man, she looks good tonight.” Luka moved Vanessa’s head out of way and smiled at Keira.

“Why you looking at her?”

Luka’s mouth hung open, and Kona could see his brother was trying hard not to laugh at him. “Brah, that’s why you’ve been acting like a dick?” He nodded toward Keira, then finally let go of his laughter. “You’re worried because she saw you with that Tonya girl?”

“No.” Kona knew his answer came too quick, and he rolled his eyes at Luka when his laughter grew louder.

“Go talk to her, asshole.”

A low grunt vibrated in Kona’s throat, and he punched Luka in the shoulder, feeling like Keira’s presence tonight would have him on edge. But, he knew his twin was right. He was acting like a punk because Keira made him feel guilty, made him feel like he was something undeserving of her attention. Right then, he really wanted that attention. He leaned forward, took a final sip of his beer, steeling himself to walk across the room, and then dropped his glass onto the floor when he saw a guy walk right up to Keira and kiss her cheek.

“Damn, brah. Too late,” Luka said, his amused voice only adding to Kona’s simmering anger.

Keira turned to face the guy, and the smile that the sight of Kona with Vanessa’s legs on his lap had erased returned, and she let that motherfucker hold her hand.

Shenanigans were stupid.

That’s the first thought Keira had when Leann dragged her into the party. There were too many people acting like depraved idiots. Too many girls drunkenly dancing on the furniture or straddling whatever football player had a free lap. The music was too loud and, oh yeah, Kona Hale was glaring at her like she had stolen something from him. 

“We don’t have to stay.” Leann’s voice carried over the music, but Keira still had to lean toward her to make out what she’d said.

“It’s okay.” She moved her chin toward Michael and Mark, smiling. “Looks like they’re having fun.”

Leann shook her head and slid across the bar to stand closer to her cousin. “Who knew, right?” She glanced again at her boyfriend and the animated way he was talking to Mark. “Freaking lacrosse. We won’t get two words in for the rest of the night.”

Keira smiled, then nodded her thanks to Leann when she handed her a shot. She hesitated only for a moment but then caved when her cousin’s eyebrow disappeared beneath her bangs. “Fine. But this is the last one.” The tequila went down with a burn, but before Keira could do more than squint and frown at the taste, Leann shoved a lime in her mouth, and the bitter taste disappeared. “God. Why?”

“We’re young and irresponsible. We’re supposed to do stupid things.”

The juice from Leann’s lime ran down her wrist, and Keira grabbed a napkin off the bar to hand to her cousin. At least she tried to, but Kona walked up on the other side at the same time, and Keira moved her hand off the counter.  She meant to turn, to stare over his head, look anywhere other than at his scowling, bad-tempered expression, but Keira was trying something new; she wouldn’t let Kona’s mood ruin her night. So, instead of scampering away like a coward, she lifted her chin then squinted at him, silently challenging Kona to say anything to piss her off.

Kona’s stare lingered for a moment, and in his expression was something Keira knew wasn’t forced. He either didn’t like her being here, or he was still pissed off at the low blow she’d served him at the team house. At least, that’s what Keira thought his look meant. But then Kona shifted his attention to her left and his frown deepened, lips pursed, as he watched Mark laughing with Michael.

You’ve got to be shitting me, she thought, realizing that Kona’s anger had nothing to do with her telling him he’d never change.

Kona stepped closer to the bar, leaned on his elbows. “Having a good time?” he asked Keira, still watching Mark.

“Yep. You?”

“Oh, I’m good, Wildcat.” He took a swig from the half-empty bottle of vodka on the counter, but didn’t let his eyes leave her face.

“Do not call me that.” Her voice came out too loud, and Keira cursed to herself when she noticed a few people turn in her direction. She knew her cheeks were setting off like a flame. She could feel the prickle of embarrassment rush up her skin.

“Is there a problem?” Leann asked, turning around to face Kona.

“None,” he told her, his smile exaggerating the cleft in his chin. “I think your cousin here is in a bad mood.”

“My cousin,” Leann said, locking her arm with Keira’s, “is not in a mood. At least she wasn’t until you showed up.”

“I was here first, sweetheart. You’re in my world.” To emphasize his point, Kona lifted his hands and gestured around him. Several of players loitered behind him, chatting, drinking, kissing whatever mouth was on top of theirs, but at his raised voice, a few stepped up behind him and laughed, slapping his back.

“We can leave.” Keira wouldn’t look at Kona, couldn’t stand seeing the entitled jackass attitude he wore like a cloak. Leann’s lips parted, an argument broaching, and Keira knew she’d have something particularly harsh to level at Kona. Leann wove insults like a master, but Keira didn’t have the energy to deal with drama and was about two hours past enjoying Leann’s promised shenanigans. “It’s fine, Leann. Let’s just go.”

“Something wrong?” Mark said, walking to Keira’s side.

“No. We’re good.” She grabbed his hand and started to turn. “We’re leaving.”

“Oh, Wildcat, don’t leave. The party’s just getting good.” Kona’s voice got even louder, and all around him, drunken players and their companions cheered.

“Come on,” Leann said, dragging Michael behind her as she headed toward the door. Keira knew her cousin would have to hurry her boyfriend from the scene. He was up to two strikes for stupid shit he’d gotten into the summer before, and being in the middle of a fight could earn him a third.

Keira turned away from the bar, was right on her cousin’s heels and out in the hall with Mark next to her, when she felt a tug on her wrist and the imposing, heated sensation of a large, obnoxious jackass behind her. “Leaving already?”

“Hey, man, what’s your problem?” Mark looked fearless, pissed and Keira was impressed that his being a good four inches shorter than Kona didn’t make him back down from the big linebacker. “Why don’t you leave her alone?”

Kona barely glanced at Mark, and Keira thought it wouldn’t be stupid at all to claw his eyes out or slap that pompous smirk off his face when Mark’s words were ignored.

 “Who is this guy?” he asked her, his head jerking toward Mark who had stepped in front of her.

Keira nodded to Leann at the elevator, telling her with a head jerk to take off and then, she rounded on Kona. “He’s my date, and he’s leaving with me.” It took three yanks on his sleeve, but Mark finally followed her, stepping backward to glare at Kona as they made for the elevator. She glanced at his face, eyes narrowed, his mouth drawn down hard, and Keira closed her eyes, said a small prayer that Kona would give up and let them leave.

No such luck.

“Keira, hold up,” Kona said, the harsh tone of his voice changed, softened by his small plea.

“Listen, man, I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to back off.” Mark had to look up to glare at Kona, and a quick rush of gratitude filled Keira’s chest at her date’s determined expression.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Kona finally glanced at Mark, arms over his chest like he had to force himself to keep his hands still. He nodded to Keira. “I was talking to her.”

Mark’s shoulders straightened, and he pulled himself to all of his six feet zero inches , but the threatening stance he held and the small scowl curling his mouth didn’t seem to intimidate Kona. Keira could taste the crackle of violence on the air, the heavy sense that if she walked away, Kona and Mark’s pissing contest would become a bloody mess.

She liked Mark. He was a nice guy. He was tall and broad, but he didn’t have Kona’s size. He didn’t make strangers take a step away from him when he walked down the street. Kona did, and Keira thought being beaten senseless by a jealous linebacker wouldn’t be Mark’s idea a good first date.

Kona grinned, mouth bunched to the right, an expression that read like a taunt as he tipped his head to the side and watched Mark like he was a kid on a playground. “You got something to say to me, brah?” Mark took a step and Kona met him, that smug, bastard sneer still on his face.

“That’s enough.” Keira wedged herself between them, her back to Mark’s front, and when he slipped his hand on her hip, Kona moved his jaw into a grind. Keira acted quickly, worried that the growing anger seething in Kona’s eyes as he stared at Mark’s hand would only spiral into something she couldn’t control. She pushed Kona’s chest, made him step back and rounded on Mark. “Give me a second, okay?”

His gaze left Kona’s face and some of the anger dimmed from his expression, but he didn’t take his hand off her hip, and he kept that defensive bearing in his shoulders. “I don’t like this,” he told her, gaze shifting to Kona. Keira let Mark lead her, as he walked back, holding her fingers. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“No.” She didn’t like how quietly she answered him or how much saying the word bothered her. “There’s…something, but it’s not like that.” She glanced behind her to see Kona leaning on one shoulder, arms folded, against the wall. “He won’t touch me.” She knew that. Whatever Kona was, he’d never be a threat to her, and she hoped Mark could see she believed that. “He’s just trying to mark his territory or something. It’s no big deal.”

Mark hesitated, squinted at Kona. “Keira, that guy is a freaking silverback.” Again, he glanced behind her, and the frown returned to his face. “Look at him. That isn’t a dude who thinks you’re no big deal.”

Over her shoulder, Keira caught Kona’s glare. Despite how cool and calm he held himself, his eyes were lit with something she’d seen in him before. It was wild and dark and had Keira feeling that stare could break her.

When Mark said it, when a small line formed across his forehead, something shifted in Keira’s mind. She and Kona had skirted around this for weeks now. It was the unspoken current that hissed against her skin when he looked at her. It was that small, still whisper in her subconscious that she pretended she couldn’t hear. It had been there from that first night in her dorm. It was that little burst of energy she felt when she touched his arm as he throttled her attacker. It was the same pull that made her stay with him at the hospital, that had her kissing him before she left.

Kona knew it was there; he’d told her as much, but until Mark confirmed it, until someone outside looking in noticed it, Keira’s blinders stayed firm. Now they had been removed, and the heft of what she felt, what Kona incited in her, worked out of her skin like a sweat.

Mark dropped her fingers, and the severe pull of his mouth softened, returned to the sweet smile she’d already grown used to. “What’s my play here? Do you want me to duck out so you can have a conversation? Or do I just cut my losses and forget I have your number?” Keira bit her lip and stared at a small curl flattened against Mark’s forehead. When she said nothing, hesitant to slide her gaze back toward Kona, Mark sighed. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

She watched Mark slip into the elevator, stared after him as it moved down each floor, the light on the numbers overhead dinging off with each descent, but she didn’t turn around. Behind her, Kona left the wall, stood too close. She could see his large shadow cover hers on the floor in front of her. Her thoughts were scattered, a jumble of anger and want and confusion that she could not organize into logic.

Kona had acted like an asshole—that didn’t surprise her—but it was his attitude, the jealous glares and taunting scowls at Mark, that had lit the fuse of her anger. He did that, seemed to be the only one to tease at the root of her temper, begging it to raise, to rankle into something that would be ugly.

“Keira—” Just the sound of his voice, now calm  and mildly apologetic, flooded growth and sustenance right onto that newborn root, and she jerked around, ready to attack.

“What exactly is your malfunction?”

“Mine? What about you?” Kona pinched his lips together, and Keira was too angry, too annoyed, to read into that defensive expression. “Who the hell is that guy?”

“I’m sorry, how’s that your business?” She took a step, a quick one that had Kona moving back.

“It’s not.” It was then that Kona’s arrogance deflated somewhat. Hands working through his hair, the linebacker grunted, moving his neck as though he struggled with a reasonable excuse for his anger. “I just think you could do better.”

Keira could only shake her head, staggered by the small, futile defense Kona grasped onto. “Mark is pre-med. He comes from a good family, and he volunteers at the battered women’s shelter. What’s bad about any of that?”

Kona’s laugh was quick and bitter. “You don’t like him.”

He was doing it again—that assumption thing that galled Keira into a whip of fury. “Fuck you, Kona. You don’t know what I like.”

He stepped forward, shoulders coming up. “You barely talked to him all night.” Back again was his attitude, and with it, the elevation of his voice that told Keira his own temper was percolating. “He and Leann’s man were all on each other’s dicks. He’s not into you, and I know you’re not into him.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” It was a pointless argument, something Keira decided right then she didn’t need to bother with. Kona Hale didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know her, he didn’t see her, and she wouldn’t spend another minute letting him pretend he did. “You never will.” When she turned, eyes narrowed, focused on the down button on the elevator, Kona followed, and this time when he grabbed her arm, his fingers bit into her skin.

“Yeah? Bullshit.” She jerked her arm away from him, shoved him once when he backed her next to the elevator. She expected his voice to be licked with fury; his eyes certainly flickered with anger, but when he spoke, Kona’s tone went flat, almost blunt. “You like music and Les Mis and onion rings with extra ketchup.” He stepped closer, eyes calmer. “You like Toni Morrison and think you were Shakespeare’s woman in a past life.” Another retreat from those dark eyes and Keira’s back was against the wall.

He’d remembered. Small tidbits of likes and dislikes, weird habits that she didn’t think anyone noticed, fears of what she didn’t want to become—Kona had paid attention to them all. Quick lunch grabs in the cafeteria and long nights in the library, both of them sweaty and stinking from practice, both rambling about their childhoods, about their families, it all came back to her then. Kona was a mammoth presence with a bigger personality that most days Keira found overwhelming. But there was a person behind that strength and sarcasm that he’d let her see. There was someone kind, someone who just wanted to be heard, and Kona had shown her in brief glimpses and small smiles that until then, she’d put out of her mind. She hadn’t wanted to get attached. She didn’t think he’d bother, but as Kona’s gaze slipped around her face, as his breath moved like a whisper across her cheeks, she realized he’d also seen the girl she was when she thought no one was watching.

“You hate football,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and if you ever have a kid, you want to name her Lennon, maybe Joplin.” Kona moved inches from her then, palm against the wall by her ear. The space between their faces grew smaller, breath hotter then, closer. “You like sonnets and poetry but are too nervous to enter a poetry slam or sing in front of anyone but Leann.” He brushed her bangs off her forehead. “Does that asshole know any of that?” There was no tease in his voice, no inflection that made Keira want to lash out. It was curiosity, wonder, and, Keira thought, the hint of hope.

She couldn’t think of a defense, nothing that would answer the question in his eyes. “Mark isn’t an asshole, and you need to back up.”

“You don’t want me to back up, Wildcat.”

“Stop calling me—”

“Shut up.” He took her face, large fingers stretching across her cheek, the tips resting on her temple. And then, with the smell of beer and the warm touch of his lips covering her mouth, and Kona Hale kissed Keira Riley.

Hard.

She heard his growl, felt the tilt of her head as Kona moved it, fingers pressing down, and that moan grew deeper. Keira wouldn’t let him control her, wouldn’t release the sweet heat of her anger as Kona consumed her mouth. When he slipped his free hand around her arm, pulling her forward, Keira’s temper flared bright, hot, and she pushed back the buzz on her skin and the thought of how delicious he tasted.

He’d kissed her. Again. No regard for her temper. He was too much, assumed too much, wanted too much, and Keira couldn’t contain her rage. She pulled away from his mouth and tried not to stare at the wet shine on his bottom lip. Chest moving hard, Kona challenged her with glare, leaned back in, but Keira’s palm against his chest stopped him.

“Don’t do that again.”

“You liked it.” He hadn’t moved: palm still on the wall at her side, breath fanning against her lashes. Kona let some of that arrogant attitude surface. “I liked it.” He underlined his point by moving his hips, brushing his hard dick right against her. “I really fucking liked it.”

Keira didn’t think, didn’t question why the ripple of heat crowding between her thighs was nothing to the whip of anger Kona’s little move roused in her. She didn’t care that he was beautiful. She didn’t care that she wanted him to kiss her, everywhere. Kona smirked, his throat moving with another growl, and she lashed out, pushed his chin with her nails digging deep. She meant to move him aside, to eliminate that leer from her sight, but the sweat from his skin made her fingers slide, and she scratched an angry cut along his cheek.

Kona’s hiss was low, and Keira could see, by the return of his glare and the tremble on his top lip, that he was trying to control his anger. A half a step, barely passable as a movement at all, and Keira’s heart thudded hard. Nostrils flared with his heavy exhale, and then, like a blink, Kona’s smug smile erased his anger.

“Didn’t know you liked the rough shit, Wildcat.”

It was his laugh that blinded her. She couldn’t hear anything but the heavy rush of her blood pumping in her ears and the echo of his humor in the dark hallway. Then, the rage that only Kona could pull from her had her lashing out. She stood straight, defensive, and slapped him right across the face.

The sound was like a whip, quick and deafening. She’d moved away from herself in that moment, replaced by some creature consumed with venom, and she didn’t understand why her fingers stung or why Kona’s head was turned away from her and his skin was streaked with a bright red handprint.

He turned his head, unhurried, a shift in his eyes that came before his face was back in front of her. And inexplicably, the look he gave her, and then the slow, meticulous slide of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, had Keira’s nipples pebbling against her shirt.

That look made her wet.

She expected his anger. She expected him to back away, to snatch from her the heat that his body and the moment poured over her skin. But Kona’s eyes did not narrow. They didn’t squint down in his anger, and his face was not a mask of abject rage. Kona Hale brought his tongue into his mouth, before the cleft in his chin came up and a smile slid across his face.

Keira stopped breathing.

And then that mysterious, unnameable zip that always crackled between them shot out hard, like the force of a lightning bolt, and Keira didn’t think about why she wasn’t scared, why she found it impossible to squeeze her legs together tight enough to take the throb away.

The throb became a pulse, and that pulse beat into an ache when Kona’s deep growl grew louder as he leaned toward her. The growl wasn’t angry, wasn’t a coil of frustration, and Kona paused, lingered just long enough in front of Keira until all she felt was hot, tantalizing breath on her face.

Kona grabbed her collar, and Keira let him, wanted him close, wanted him dragging her forward. “I fucking love your hands on me, Wildcat.”

They came together quick, with the speed of a shot. The frenzy was hard—gripping fingers, mouths and tongues colliding, anger and desire and beautiful heat collecting, touching so that the vibrations Keira had denied for weeks culminated in a landslide.

For every thrust against her, Keira gave two. With Kona’s strong hands pulling her against him, Keira scratched across his skin, and the dance played on—harder, fiercer, shedding logic or caution.

Push.

Pull.

Give.

Take.

Their sounds filled the empty hallway: moans and grunts, breaths held and released, lips sucking, all became a cacophony of sounds that announced the break of resistance and the end of denial.

Kona lifted her up, pressed her against the wall, and some primal urge directed her, had her slipping her legs around his waist, skirt rising up her thighs and Keira didn’t care that they could be discovered. The idea of someone catching them, in fact, made her wetter, had her clawing at Kona tighter.

“God…oh God,” she said when Kona grabbed her ass, when she felt the thick, brutal outline of his dick jutting against her. She craved that touch, the weight and girth of what waited for her, his hot, heavy breath on her skin, of his wide, perfect tongue slipping in her mouth. Kona was large, too large and consuming, his weight too heavy against her chest, his fingers too tight against her nipples, and Keira pulled back, gasping from the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t breathe.”

“I got plenty breath for the both of us.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, and Keira felt both drunk and consumed, more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, and at that moment all she wanted was Kona’s skin on hers, the smell of his sweat, the heat of his body covering her.

Dizziness came to her, made the air around her confining, and she pulled her mouth from his, needing a moment to breathe air that did not taste and smell of Kona to keep from drowning. “Wait.”

His grunt was deep, frustrated, but Kona pulled back, chest heaving, his forehead on her shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. And in that moment the old Keira gained a toe-hold, and she let reason slip back in between the raging, dark thoughts.

“What are we doing?” He looked up at her and she gasped at the claw marks on his neck and the angry scratch on his chin. When had she done that? “Oh God. What…what the hell are we doing?”

“Keira, it’s been coming for weeks. You know that.”

“This is stupid. This, I’m not…this isn’t me.”

“No. It’s not.” Kona pulled her legs from his waist and his hands moved back to her face. His voice was level, calm. “This is you with me.”

Instinct had her retreating. She had groped Kona in the middle of a strange hallway where anyone could see them. She had left Mark downstairs waiting, and Leann likely worrying about how she’d get home. She’d attacked Kona, got turned on—so very turned on—by the scratches and slaps she leveled at him. She let him touch her. She let him grip her. These were not the actions of a sane person.  And the fear of what she had done, of what she had allowed herself to do, crowded deep in her mind, had Keira taking too many breaths, shifting too far away from Kona’s reaching arms.

“I have to go.”

 “Why? Going to find your date?”

“No, I’m just getting away from you.”

His arms came around her waist when she made for the elevator. “Don’t act like being with me would be a bad thing.” His chest felt wide, edges and dips that she couldn’t help leaning against. “Don’t act like you don’t want me.” She didn’t bother arguing, resisting the wet path he made against her neck with his lips. “I’m not like this, not usually. Only with you. You’re in my head too much. The smell of your hair, the way you taste, your nerdy jokes. I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me stupid.”

“I told you, Kona,” she said, looking up at him. “I don’t do hookups. I’m not Tonya.”

Kona winced, and Keira took a step forward, needing not to see that expression. “I know you’re not, and I’m glad you’re not her.” He took her hand, pulled her around so she could see his eyes. “There isn’t anyone like you, Wildcat. No one, and I have no idea what that means, but I wanna find out.” When Kona moved his hands down her back, Keira could only think of tasting his full lips and the airy breath on her tongue again. “Let me, will you? Don’t walk away.”

She knew how easy saying yes would be. Kona was hard to reject, but Keira didn’t trust whatever was happening between them. It felt too foreign, too thick. “I…I can’t. Not with you, Kona. I’m not…”

“This about Tonya still? You think I’m into her.” He looked up at the ceiling, stretching his neck. “I’m not,” he said, staring back at her. “I’m not into anyone. You can’t hold that against me forever.”

“Why not? I’m only observing, here. Only collecting the facts to form an opinion.”

Shoulders slumping, Kona pulled back, but didn’t seem able to keep his hands off her completely. “You think I’m trash?”

“I think you’re easily bored. I think you have no idea what real emotion is.” A breath, and then Keira cleared her throat. “I think you’re incapable of what I want. Thin will never be good enough for me.”

With his frown, Keira knew Kona was remembering their conversation about Beloved. She wanted the real, the impossible, the consuming, and despite how they touched each other, how the fire between them set flame to their bodies, she wasn’t convinced Kona was able to be what she needed.

 “Let me try.”

“I can’t…”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, ignoring her protest. “That’s not me.” His hand went back to her face and just that small touch rekindled the ache between her thighs. “But dammit, Keira, I have to be around you.” He walked them back, leaned her against the wall again and Kona’s breath came out hard, like he was trying to keep it steady. “You have to let me try.”

Next to them, the elevator doors opened, and despite the warning that came when the bell chimed, Kona did not push away from Keira. Neither of them checked the hallway or noticed they weren’t alone.

“Keira?” Mark’s voice was like an alarm, and Keira pulled Kona’s hand from her face, tried to adjust her shirt, smooth her hair. When his gaze shifted over her rumpled clothes, Keira saw the shifting expression on Mark’s face. A little disappointment, maybe a quirk of humor. He still reserved a quick frown for Kona. “You okay?”

“She’s fine.” Kona pulled Keira’s fingers between his.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Mark said, throwing back Kona’s words to him.

The linebacker’s breath grew heavy, and Keira could tell by the flex in his hand that his calm was ebbing. She hurried in front of him, not caring for once that her cheeks were flushed. “I’m fine, Mark.” She smiled, took a step toward him when he continued to frown. “Promise.”

Mark waited a moment, gaze moving between Kona and Keira before it settled on her face. “Leann and Michael took a cab back to his place. My car’s parked a block away.” He left the offer open, telling Keira he’d let her make a decision.

“I’ll get her home.”

Mark didn’t bother acknowledging Kona. Fair play for the asshole behavior, Keira figured, but when Mark’s squint and slow quirking smile told her he wasn’t angry, Keira relaxed.

She could feel Kona’s breath blowing against the top of her head. She could smell the mix of sweat and cologne from his skin and, despite the audience, the sensation was overwhelming, penetrating so that Kona’s brief, brush of a touch against her neck had Keira’s eyes rolling behind her closed lids. The moment kept with the pads of his thumb down her spine, and it was only Mark’s clearing of his throat that brought Keira out of Kona’s touch.

“I’ll be fine,” she finally told him.

A quick nod and Mark hit the elevator button, but before he left, he winked at Keira, a quick smile making him seem calm, or at least, less annoyed. “You be careful with this new game plan.”

She smiled at him, offered Mark a quick nod. “Absolutely.”