Hard Knox

by Nicole Williams

  A flame of anger managed to blaze through the stupor. “You were the one last week who was all about my choice to go or not go to the hospital, and this week, you’re pretty much ordering me to go. What the hell changed?”

  He stared out the window as he barreled the truck ahead. “You’re in no condition to make those kinds of decisions right now. The non-drugged person has to make them for you.”

  “Kind of like I was in no condition to make that decision last week when I was passed out? What the hell? You’re not even making sense, and you should be since you’re not the one who ingested a sip of roofie-enhanced water.” The anger felt like it was cutting through the haze. The hotter my blood became, the more lucid I got.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be funny. It was meant to be ironic. But you still haven’t answered my question—what changed?” When the only reply I got was another shake of his head as the truck flew down the road, I did something that probably wouldn’t be considered smart by nine out of ten safety-conscious drivers: I pounded my foot down on the brake. The truck came to a screeching halt. Thank God for properly adjusted lap belts.

  “Fuck, Charlie!” Knox hollered, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “What. Changed?” I asked in a voice that was as calm as his wasn’t.

  “Take your foot off the brake,” Knox demanded, although he did nothing to move it away.

  Thankfully, there were no other cars out this late at night. Otherwise we would have been getting our share of honks and birds for blocking the road.

  “I’ll take my foot off the brake when you tell me what changed. Why are you dragging me to the hospital instead of making sure it’s what I want?” I twisted to look at him, but he kept his eyes on the road.

  “I could force your foot off of that pedal, you know. It would be as easy as lifting my pinkie.” His jaw was rigid, his whole face creased in frustration.

  “Then why don’t you do it? Since you’re forcing me to go to the hospital, why don’t you force my foot off of the brake as well? Make it a trend.” My body still felt weak, but my mind had pushed away most of the haze. I would keep battling him until I couldn’t hold the haze off any longer.

  “I’m not going to force your foot off of the brake. You want to keep it there, keep it there, but don’t make me out to be some kind of animal operating off of instinct and impulse.”

  “Then stop acting like one.” I leaned closer to him, but he still wouldn’t look at me. “You won’t force my foot off the brake, so why are you forcing me to go to the hospital?”

  He glared out the windshield and ground his jaw tighter, looking one flex away from ripping the steering wheel out of the dash. “Because I’m worried about you. That’s why.”

  I whipped my head from side to side. “So you weren’t worried last week? Not buying it. You want to try again? Maybe go with the honest answer this time?” I was quiet for a while. I got to ten before losing my patience. “Waiting, Knox. And still waiting.”

  His head whipped toward me, his body angling at the same time. His expression was so torn, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scoot farther away or closer.

  “You want to know what’s changed?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Last week, you were just some girl who needed someone to step in and help her. Last week I didn’t know you. But now—” His mouth clamped shut. Punching the steering wheel, he let out a frustrated growl.

  “But now what?” I asked gently. “What’s changed?”

  His shoulders fell when he exhaled. “But now I care. Instead of being just some girl, you’re some girl I care about.” His fist hadn’t stopped pounding the steering wheel. “Right now, me caring about you has got me so fucking scared of what’s going to happen to you, I’m about to throw you over my shoulder and run you to the hospital whether you want to go or not.” His eyes lifted to mine. Somehow, they were more tortured than his expression. “What’s changed is that I care about you.”

  It seemed to take me as long to process what he’d said as it had taken him to admit it. Knox Jagger cared about me? In what alternate reality could that happen? Up until recently, I’d been convinced the only care Knox had for a woman was for what resided between her legs . . . But maybe I’d been buying into the dreaded rumor mill I’d always promised myself I’d steer clear of.

  “You . . .?” Even I couldn’t say the words. That’s how difficult they were.

  His fingers curled around the steering wheel. “Are you going to make me say it again? Because it was hard enough the first time.”

  I bit my lip, trying to sort through a mountain of confusion. “You . . . care . . . about me?”

  Knox looked almost ashamed. “More than I should, but still less than you deserve.”

  Swinging my leg over his lap, I somehow managed to wrangle around the steering wheel. My free arm wound around him at the same time my mouth crushed into his. That kiss may have been attributable to the drugs, but I didn’t feel like some foreign substance was forcing my hand. Instead, it felt like desire and attraction and those raw instincts and impulses I’d just accused Knox of employing.

  For the shortest moment, Knox seemed frozen in surprise. As soon as that passed, he kissed me back with just as much force, his hand exploring my body like mine was his. I’d kissed plenty of guys, but I’d never been kissed like I was now. I’d never kissed the way I was now. It was almost like the world was shrinking around us—shrinking until it felt like it could barely contain us.

  And the way his touch felt? It awakened every emotion and desire and want inside me that I’d never known I had. One moment his forearm was pressed hard into my back, cradling me close to him and making me realize I’d never felt truly safe until now, and the next moment, his hand was splayed against my lower back, and I felt like I was about to drown in my own need and want. Knox Jagger was consuming me, one kiss at a time, one touch at a time. Moment after moment, more of me belonged to him.

  My wrist being handcuffed to his was making me insane. I wanted it to be free to explore with as much freedom as my other hand was, but it was trapped within a circle of metal. That didn’t stop me from trying to pull it free though. I felt close to rubbing the skin around my wrist raw, but if I could just slip it free . . . I could almost feel the cuff starting to give, so I gave it a hard yank. Followed by a sharp cry of pain. Handcuffs weren’t so easily slipped free of—probably why cops were such fans of them.

  Knox’s hand reached for mine, his fingers tangling through mine to keep them still. My fight with the cuff ended. My hand was content where it was. Shifting above him, I felt something pressed against my lap, and whatever scrap of reason I may have held onto left my body. Bye-bye, better judgment. So long, rational thinking. It’s been nice knowing you, caution, but get lost already.

  My hand had somehow worked its way beneath Knox’s shirt and was gripping the ridge running up the center of his back. Slipping around his side, my fingers worked over the button of his jeans. Almost right away, Knox’s hand untangled from my hair to work on the button of mine. It was clear from his speed and ease of motion that he’d freed plenty of girls from their jeans one-handed, but I was far less experienced. I was still fumbling with his damn button when his finger slipped inside my jeans, skimming the material of my underwear.

  His finger pressing me in just the right place made me jolt against the steering wheel. When my back bowed, my head fell back with it. With my mouth no longer joined to Knox’s, I went to move back. Then his finger moved again, and movement became impossible. Breathing was barely possible.

  If Knox’s finger trailing along my underwear wasn’t enough, he started to kiss my neck like he’d just kissed my mouth. I was breathing so hard that I could feel my chest rising and falling, as high as the sky and back down to the earth. My hand that had just been fumbling with his button was pressed into the back of his neck.

  Knox’s mouth and finger started to slow. Oh, God. If he slowed down, I was
n’t sure I could handle it—not when I was so close to feeling the whole world fall apart beneath me.

  Moving my hand to his chest, I shoved him back against the seat hard, and I crashed back down on his lap. A rush of air escaped his mouth from the impact, and another followed when my fingers finally managed to free his jeans’ button. I was just lowering his zipper when everything changed.

  Knox’s whole body froze, along with his expression. His hand grabbed mine and pulled it away from his lap. “Fuck.” He panted, his breath racing.

  My breath was racing too, my heart even faster, and my whole body felt numb. “Again with the cursing one-word sentences.”

  I wanted to pull him back to me. I wanted him to pull me back to him, but I could tell from the look on his face that he was not in a picking-up-where-we-left-off mood. Now that some of the heat of the moment was dimming, reason and judgment were slowly making their return. Had I just been making out with Knox Jagger? Had he just had his hands on every single part of my body? Had we just been about to have sex? Holy WTF moment.

  “Fucking hell,” he edited, lifting a brow. “That better?” His breathing was still labored, and a sheen of sweat coated his face, but he was recovering far faster than I was.

  “Better in terms of sentence structure, but not in terms of clarification.” At the end of that sentence, I had to take a few deep breaths. Every word felt like running a six-minute mile. “Did you mean that as in, Fucking hell, that was amazing, or Fucking hell, what are we doing, or Fucking hell, I forgot a condom, or Fucking hell, you’re a tomcat?” I had to take another minute to breathe. “You can’t just freeze up on a girl, cry fucking hell, and not expand on it.”

  Knox had already refastened the button on his jeans and was breathing normally. He wiped his face with his hand, keeping his eyes clamped shut. “You’ve got a drug associated with date rape in your system. It’s messing with your mind and your . . . impulses and inhibitions. It’s making you feel things you wouldn’t under normal circumstances. It’s making you do things you’d be mortified to even think of doing tomorrow. This isn’t who you really are. When I said ‘Fucking hell,’ I meant ‘Fucking hell, I need to stop before I become that guy who takes advantage of a girl messed up on roofies.’”

  I found myself glaring at him—not because I was angry, but because I was hurt and glaring seemed like the better option than crying. “Don’t you assume to tell me what I would or wouldn’t feel under normal circumstances. Don’t even think about telling me what would or wouldn’t mortify me come tomorrow. Don’t tell me it’s the minuscule amount of some vile drug that’s making me some other person.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, and that was the most painful part. After what we’d just done and been about to do, he should have at least had the courage to look me in the eyes.

  “You’re going to tell me that earlier tonight, you were thinking about, or open to the possibility, of fooling around with me? The guy you think is a man whore is the one you’ve been fantasizing about getting busy with? Please.” He shook his head. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. I know the rumor is I am one and all, but it’s wrong.”

  From one kind of heat to another kind. It seemed like all powerful emotions were made of heat, ranging from a smolder to a blaze. I was sure I’d never felt so much heat—all of the kinds—for a person before Knox Jagger. “Stop assuming you know what I think, you egotistical omniscient-acting asshole!”

  I was tempted to slap him, so instead I busied my hand trying to re-button my jeans. After a few seconds of messing with it to no avail, Knox’s fingers shoved mine aside and had it fastened in one smooth motion—which only served to fuel my blaze of anger.

  “So you think I’m a man whore, an idiot, and an egotistical, omniscient-acting asshole? I’m one worthless piece of shit then.”

  “I think you’re one of those things. The other two you put in my mouth.”

  When I moved to slide off of his lap, he gripped my hip and helped with the job. He was able to manipulate my body with one hand. It wasn’t the first time I’d realized how powerless I was against Knox Jagger, but it was the first time it had frightened me. I wasn’t scared he’d hurt me physically, but the more damaging ways could leave a person permanently scarred.

  “So all I am is an egotistical, omniscient-acting asshole to you?” Knox adjusted the cuffs once I was back in place beside him.

  From the looks of it, my wrist was rubbed raw . . . but it looked like his wrist was in even worse shape. “And a jerk,” I added, crossing my free arm over my stomach.

  “Well, that one isn’t a rumor at least. That one’s the truth.” Knox’s hand returned to the steering wheel as he gave the truck some gas.

  I’d completely forgotten about being stopped in the middle of the road. The windows had become so fogged up, he had to crank down his window and wipe the windshield with his forearm. At least his eyes were open now. His jaw was so clenched, I wondered if it was close to snapping. After a few blocks with nothing but the sound of his truck, I decided to restart the conversation.

  “What we did wasn’t wrong, Knox. What we were about to do wouldn’t have been wrong. It wasn’t like you were the one who slipped me that pill.” As I said the words, I realized I was reassuring myself as much as I was him. I had some kind of animal attraction toward Knox, but I had no idea what other kinds of attractions I either did or could have for him. If I knew anything, it was that I wouldn’t be able to figure that out in the span of one truck ride.

  “There’s no difference between me and the jackass who dropped that into your water.”

  My eyebrows knitted together. “In what reality do you live where you believe you’re as bad as the person who slipped an illegal substance into my drink in hopes he’d get to fuck a comatose Charlie Chase?”

  Knox slammed the brakes as the light in front of us turned red. His arm broke out in front of me, keeping me from jetting into the dashboard. And that’s why seatbelts are a good idea.

  “I might not have put it in your drink, but I was taking advantage of the effects.” He looked like he had more to say, but instead, he clamped his mouth shut and banged the steering wheel a few times with his palm. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken the thing by now.

  “The effects of what? Me feeling a little sleepy? We’re college students. If we’re not in a perpetual state of exhaustion, we’re not doing it right.” He grunted his disagreement, making me grunt my frustration. “And would you quit with the I’m-an-opportunistic-bastard-who-takes-advantage-of-incapacitated-woman act? In case you’ve already forgotten, I was the one who made the first move when I catapulted into your lap.”

  We were cruising down a quiet road at close to fifty miles per hour, although I was pretty sure the last speed limit sign had read thirty. I had no idea where we were going or if we were going anywhere in particular, but as angry as I was with him, I still felt safe—protected. Maybe that was what Caesar had thought before being stabbed in the back by his pal Brutus, but it was what I felt.

  “Can we just not talk about this anymore tonight?” Knox asked, his voice quiet. “Tonight’s been a crazy night. I’m amped up, and you’re drugged—”

  “Partially drugged.” With the anger and frustration and lust draining from my veins, the exhaustion was coming back in full force.

  “Let’s just get some sleep tonight. We can talk about everything in the morning, if you still want to.”

  “If I still want to?” I repeated, aghast. “Why in the world would I not want to talk in the morning about what happened tonight?”

  Knox’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel said volumes. “Because in the morning, when your mind clears, you’re going to feel awkward and ashamed and realize it was all some giant mistake. You’re going to come to the decision that fooling around with me is not something you want to talk about over coffee.”

  My anger switch fired, but nothing came on. I felt it stirring, but the haze was too thick for it to cut throu
gh. Instead of yelling at him like I wanted to, I yawned. “Fine. Let’s not talk anymore tonight. But here’s a warning—if you’re still telling me how I feel come mañana, I’m going to punch you.” I paused, remembering the scene in the staircase. “Again. Harder. So hard you actually might budge.” I was pretty sure that the quiver at the corner of Knox’s mouth meant he was fighting a smile, but along with my head, my eyelids couldn’t seem to stay up.

  “Now there’s a threat,” he said.

  “Enough sarcasm.” I yawned again, scooting closer to him. “Can I use your shoulder as a pillow?”

  “I thought you just said enough sarcasm.”

  When my eyes closed, I knew they’d stay that way for a long time. Someone could have been presenting me with the Pulitzer, and I wouldn’t have been able to pry them open. “That wasn’t sarcasm.” My head dropped to his shoulder. It might have been a patchwork of muscle and sinew, making it not the most comfortable pillow in the world, but it was still pretty great.

  Knox exhaled after my head had already dropped into its resting place. “Sure, Charlie. You can use whatever piece of me you need.”

  “Not every piece clearly.” The rejection was still fresh on my mind, and it was still just as bitter of a pill to swallow.

  “The only piece I wouldn’t want you to use is my heart,” he said, almost like it was a confession.

  “Why?” I asked around another yawn.

  “Because it’s the only part of me I’m afraid could hurt you.” He shifted, almost as if he was trying to put some distance between us.

  “Why?” Another yawn. I knew that before another one could creep out, I’d probably be asleep.

  “Because it’s hard—so hard that no one can get inside it anymore.”

  What the . . .? Was I having a conversation with the Knox Jagger about hardened hearts? “Is that why they call you Hard Knox?”

  “No.” His pinkie finger looped around mine as he shifted a bit farther away. “It’s why I call myself that.”

  I’D WOKEN UP to more roofie hangovers than I had alcohol ones. That was seriously messed up. My brain felt thick the next morning, my mouth and throat so dry I was a long ways past parched, and my body felt like it had been tumble-dried in some industrial-sized dryer. At least I wasn’t half as bad this Saturday morning as I’d been a week ago, but if those birds didn’t stop chirping outside, I was going to go searching for a BB gun.