by Doyle, Dawn
“Nah, I’m good,” I replied, taking another bite of my sandwich. I shrugged her hand off of me.
I heard her sharp intake of breath through her nose. “Maybe you could give me your number? I could send you a text when I’m free.” She held out her phone this time, the screen already on the contacts page.
This time I looked up, seeing her expectant face, her eyebrows lifted, and her pink lips curled up as she held the bottom one between her teeth. She brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, her fingers working down the strands towards her tits.
I licked my lips, watching her eyes follow the movement of my tongue. “Well,” I replied, lowering my voice. “Like I said… Nah, I’m good.” Three people had my number, and I lived with two of them. I pumped my eyebrows once, blanked my expression, then got back to my food.
“There’s something wrong with you,” she hissed while the guys at the table looked like they were close to cracking up.
“Preach,” I said around a mouthful of food.
“Asshole.”
I threw my hand up. “Can’t anybody come up with a better fucking word other than asshole?”
Josh rubbed his chin. “Jerk?”
“Prick?” Layton added.
Josh clicked his fingers. “Ass-wipe, dickhead, jackass, bastard—”
“Bastard,” I said, pointing at him. “That one, I like.”
He nodded slowly, understanding in his gray eyes. “Suits you.”
“Yeah, I tried it on a while ago. I liked the fit—tailored just for me.”
The guys around the table looked at each other like we’d lost our fucking minds, and we probably had, but the one person that gave no fucks whatsoever, was me.
Chapter 2
Kinsley
“Fuck!” I’d gotten lost twice already this day, and the third time was my breaking point. “Every hallway looks the same.” The light colored walls with a dark border reminded me of the hospital back in Crosshall. The long, narrow corridor I’d walked down to the room my dad had been lying in, ready for us to see him.
I stopped to take a breath, the memories stinging, bringing the usual tide to fill my lids.
“You okay there?” a voice came from behind me.
I blinked back my tears and turned to see a girl, about my height, slinging her black backpack over her shoulder. Other students were roaming the halls, but they were quickly disappearing into the neighboring rooms that were definitely not the one I was looking for.
“Just a little lost,” I replied with a short laugh, taking in her blonde hair. Hot-pink streaks in her bangs made the deep brown of her eyes stand out.
“Where are ya headed?” she asked, fixing her long ponytail. As she did, I noticed the streaks continued there also
“The art studio.”
She smiled wide—showing white teeth—that seemed genuine. “I’m going that way, so I’ll walk with you.”
I groaned internally. Even though Miss. Happy pants seemed nice enough, I just needed directions. My map had gotten lost, my theme for the day, and I hadn’t had the time to get a backup yet. “Thanks.”
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said, pointing behind me and walking in that direction. “Transfer?” When I nodded, she asked, “Junior?”
“Senior.”
Her carefully arched brows dipped. “Oh. Have you recently moved to the area?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered.
“Not like it, huh?” Her tone was sympathetic and low enough to sound even a little bit pitiful.
I took a deep breath. “Just different, I guess.” Different? It was the polar opposite. It was more desirable in the fact it was smaller, but getting turned away for something not my fault made me hurt so much more.
She nodded again, then her head snapped up. “I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Miley Dupree, and I’m a senior, too. You are?” She blinked fast, waiting for my answer.
“Kinsley. Kinsley Jensen.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kinsley Jensen.” She beamed, then gestured toward the corner. “We’re a small college, as you can already see, so you’ll get to know everyone pretty quick.” She stopped and adjusted her thin sweater that matched her streaks.
“Maybe.”
Not if I can help it.
Miley turned her head and gestured toward a set of white double doors that I recognized. “Here we are. Art studio.” She put her hand into the back pocket of her white jeans and pulled out a phone. “Number?”
“I-uh.” Why the hell would she need my number?
“Look, I’m guessing I’m the first person to talk to you, right?” Her brows lifted as her lips pulled up in the corners.
So far, I’d felt like an exhibition piece, put here solely to be stared at. It was like high school all over again, right after I’d lost my dad. “Um, yeah,” I said before those thoughts could take hold.
“I bet you feel like a fish in a bowl.” She giggled when my eyes snapped to hers, her long lashes almost hiding her irises. “That’ll change, don’t worry. But, in the meantime, if you need a guide or just a friendly face, shoot me a text.” Miley stared at me until I rattled off my number. My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. “There, now you have mine, too.” She pocketed her phone again. “I gotta go—I have class, too. See you soon, Kinsley.” She waved as she walked away, her heeled boots making barely any sound against the shiny green floor.
“At least I got to class at the last minute,” I whispered to no-one. Miley was sweet, and I felt like a total bitch for trying to brush her off. “One friend might not be so bad.”
I took the chair at the computer station I’d been assigned to. Before I sat, I untied the red and black plaid shirt from around my waist and draped it over the backrest.
Whispers filled the space behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to the source of the voices, which ceased when I made eye contact with a dark-haired guy, eyes to match, who smiled with one half of his mouth.
He tipped his chin up, a kind of ‘hey’ greeting. “How are you fitting in, Kinsley?” he asked, his voice deep, but it seemed unnaturally so, as though it was supposed to be attractive. I felt nothing.
“Fine, thanks,” I replied, then turned my attention back to my desk.
“Nice tat, by the way.”
I froze, my hand hanging in the air for a couple of seconds until I switched on the monitor. “Thanks,” I repeated, wishing I’d chosen to wear a T-shirt instead of my black tank. Not much was exposed on my shoulder, but just enough to see what it was.
The whispering started up again, the low rumble of male voices passing messages back and forth.
“How many do you have?” another guy asked.
I didn’t have to turn to know it was the friend of the first guy. I’d been the topic of conversation between those two in my first art class a few days before, too.
“Just that one,” I replied, finally.
“Too bad,” the same guy said. He whispered to his friend again, but I didn’t miss it when he said, “I wouldn’t mind checking them out if she did.”
I clenched my jaw hard. So hard that my teeth crunched, the loud sound making me wince.
Don’t say anything, Kinsley, they’re just immature assholes.
“Ignore those two.”
I looked to my left to see a guy leaning toward me. “I fully intend to.”
He grinned, his hazel eyes creasing lightly around the edges. “I’m Colby, by the way.”
He looked like a conventional boy-next-door. His blue polo was buttoned all the way up and seemed to be a little too big on his slightly built frame. He had light-brown hair, neatly trimmed—shorter around the sides—and his teeth were white and straight. I’d even say he was reasonably good looking, but seeing him as anything more wasn’t on my list of priorities.
“Kinsley.” I faced my screen when it had finished booting up, my spine stiffening with the sense of being watched.
Colby’s eyes remained fixed on me. “Se
riously, though, your tattoo is pretty cool.”
I side-glanced him. “Thank you.”
This seems to be the recurring word for the past ten minutes.
“Those pink and red shades are blended perfectly.”
I shifted in my seat, trying and failing to get some distance between us to lessen how uncomfortable I was. In my peripheral vision, I saw him lean back in his seat, fucking studying me. “Do you mind?” I practically spat after a few more minutes of his staring, my hand slightly raised as I kept my gaze dead ahead. I let my eyes slide to his, my nostrils flaring with irritation when he didn’t say anything right away.
“I was just commenting on the artwork, Jesus,” he said, his brows furrowing and his lips turning in a defensive snarl.
“Then gawking for ages like I’m some exhibit?”
“Isn’t that what tattoos are for?” he fired back. “For people to notice? To admire?”
“I noticed yours, too, but did I make as much of a deal about it?” The clock face, surrounded by clouds and trees, took up the inner part of his left forearm, clearly noticeable from the way he rested it on the desk. “How would you feel if I did the same to you?”
His face softened to an easy smirk, one that I recognized well. “I wouldn’t mind.” One of his eyebrows lifted.
I dropped my head back and looked up at the ceiling, giving myself a second or five, so I wouldn’t snap at him further. “Okay, then. What if a guy you didn’t know did that to you? Would you still not mind?”
His face fell, and for a split-second, I felt shitty for taking off on him. My issues weren’t his fault. “Hey, I meant no harm, Kinsley. We’re art majors—I was admiring the artwork. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He continued to watch me, but with less intensity, his eyes scanning up and down my profile.
I blew out a breath, reached behind me, and slipped on my shirt, covering myself. “It’s fine,” I muttered. I’d gotten my tattoo when I was eighteen, a gift from my dad. People only ever saw the part on the back of my shoulder.
I grabbed my camera, hooked it up to the computer, and opened my recent photographs. While Mr. Spiers, the art professor, showed the class some digital manipulation techniques, color adjustments, and effects, I applied them to an image of an orange Asiatic lily. I brought the focus of the petals’ details to the forefront by carefully adding a blur to the background.
“Great work, Miss. Jensen,” he said, pointing to my screen. “I particularly like the use of vignette. It certainly draws the eye to the vibrancy of the petals, as well as the dusty pollen on the long stamen.”
I smiled my thanks as he walked away, his focus staying on my work for a while longer until he got to my neighbor’s desk. I stopped listening when I got lost in my work, all other noises drowning out until I was alone in my own world of creation. Right where I was happiest.
Quinn
Josh shook his head after studying my face. “Jesus, Quinn, you look like shit.” He looked around, then closed the gap between us, making sure nobody could eavesdrop. “You’re also wound tighter than usual. I don’t think you should go to the beach. Layton and I can make excuses for you.”
My brows furrowed. “I don’t need an excuse, Josh. I just say no, like I am doing. I don’t have a problem with that.” I smirked. “You know these things piss me off, but it’s not because I don’t like having a few drinks with you guys. It’s the constant ‘oh hey, Quinn. Great fight, Quinn. I bet on you, Quinn.’ I don’t want that shit when I’m trying to relax.”
Josh snorted, then his eyes left mine, trailing after a girl, no doubt. “Considering you’ll do anything to avoid attention, you still manage to find yourself in the middle of it.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.” I sighed.
“And the girls sitting right on your lap before your ass has even touched the seat.”
I groaned internally. That was the reason I started keeping out of the way. “What do I have to do to get people to stay out of my face? It’s fucking tiring, man.” I hated the exaggerated interest, and them draping themselves all over me. If I was just an Instagram like to them or a boost to their ego, I fucking let them know it wasn’t happening. And I didn’t mind dudes wanting to shoot the shit, even about fighting as long as it wasn’t about the circle.
His brows shot up, and he visibly flinched at my reaction. “I seriously think you need to sit this one out—you’re fucking exhausted.” When I opened my mouth again, he cut me off. “Look, you know I’ve got your back when keeping the ass kissers at bay—not even a question—but I can see you’re not doing so good right now. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
I had, and he was right—it wasn’t pretty. The bruises had faded to a dull yellow, and the split in my lip had healed. Just in time for another fight organized for the next weekend. But that wasn’t it. I’d been staying out all night, riding my motorcycle until early hours, clearing my head from the everyday bullshit, amongst other things I wasn’t going to drag him in to.
“Late nights and early mornings don’t look good on you, dude.”
“Hey, you don’t look too pretty yourself,” I fired back, gesturing to the dark circles under his eyes. They weren’t just the accessories gained from going to college; Josh had been busy, too.
He grinned. “Yeah, but mine is for a good reason.” He fixed his dark blue backpack and pumped his brows. “I was taking full advantage of your groupie situation after the fight.” He nodded slowly with a shit-eating grin, and when I dropped my head down, shaking it, I let out a quiet chuckle. “I gotta say, being your brother from another mother has its perks.”
“So, you’re just using me to get pussy?” I asked, raising my brow and snorting a laugh, teasing him. “That’s so sad, Josh.” I placed my hand over my heart, feigning pity. “I thought you were better than that.” I didn’t give a shit. If he was happy keeping them off my back, then he could stick his dick wherever he wanted.
He socked me in the shoulder. “No, Quinn. No, I am not. Besides,” he looked around, “they forget who you are once they’ve taken a ride with me.”
I laughed louder than I’d intended, causing a lot more faces than I’d liked to turn in our direction. “I’m glad to be of service.” I moved around him, edging away from the students hovering near us, just waiting for a break to slide in and join our conversation. “I gotta train tonight, so I’ll be in the basement until late.”
His expression shifted, his mouth pursing, and his eyes hardening. “Need me there?”
I shook my head again. “Just some bag work.” It wasn’t just that, but I wasn’t about to mention it when Josh never did. I liked that. My personal shit was my own.
“You need to hit something before the weekend.” He knew me so well, the ass, and could tell when I needed a release that didn’t involve beating another person for cash.
I nodded, then blew out a long breath. “Fuck this shit, Josh.” I massaged my fists, the urge to ram them into something growing with every passing second. “If I didn’t need to be here right now…” I’d fuck off someplace else. Somewhere that would calm me the fuck down right away. The one place I didn’t wear my mask.
Josh turned his backpack around and pulled some papers out. “How many classes have you missed?” He handed me the notes that another student had given him. “It’s only this one for me. Did you get what you needed?”
“Three,” I replied, running my hand down my face. “I had to allow time for the extra shit.” So much for not slipping up. I might as well just sprayed water at it, stripped down, and took a long fucking run and jump. I was a slip and slide away from falling behind. But, it was necessary to pull off what we’d planned.
“Hey.” Josh jerked his chin toward the crowded hall. There were a lot of eyes on us, their owners chatting with their heads close together. “Let’s get to class, okay? We’ve got some catching up to do, superstar.”
I grumbled under my breath, my incoherent words threatening a slow and painful demise to my a
doptive brother.
Most of the seats were full by the time we walked in, and Josh and I took the places we’d had since freshman year. All except the one next to me, the one nobody could sit in; I wouldn’t let them. They didn’t want to go anywhere near me when I was growing up, so they couldn’t now. I was the gross kid, the dirty kid, the one nobody wanted. And now, now that I’d gained two-feet in height and one-hundred pounds of lean weight since then, oh, they wanted to fucking know me all right.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Professor Stanson greeted us, but his tone suggested it was anything but. “Glad you could join us today.”
Josh rolled his eyes, but I allowed my emotionless expression to remain on the professor.
“I’m sorry, but are we in high school?” I asked, looking around. “Because I’m pretty damn sure it makes no difference to you if we show up or not.”
Professor Stanson’s mouth gaped. “Mr. Dexter, it’s my job to ensure your time here isn’t wasted.”
I smirked and lazed back in my seat, not giving a damn. “No, we pay to be here, and if we don’t show up”—I spread my arms out—“it’s an expensive waste of time that’s all on us, so don’t stand there and pretend you give a fuck.”
His face reddened, his lips pursing so tight I swear they were turning white. I wanted to laugh in his face, to get him to yell, to throw me out, to do something that gave me an excuse to leave.
“Are you quite finished?” he asked, the low sound forced out between his teeth.
The corners of my mouth tilted up, but the small cocksure smile went no further. “I’m sure I can find some more if provoked,” I replied. I stared at him, daring him to continue the little back and forth he thought he could have with me. I wasn’t some kid that would shrink back when he’d done wrong, getting reprimanded for a bad attitude or not turning in his fucking homework on time.
Try to humiliate me in front of the class, I fucking dare you.
I’d had enough of that in my life to take it from some snot nose guy in brown checkered slacks and a matching fucking bowtie.
