by JB Salsbury
Her father sneers at Layla. “You and your bastard kid.”
I watch with revulsion as every word he says chips away a piece of the girl I love. Her shoulders cave, and her face pales with each verbal blow.
“I married you because I thought you were Axelle’s dad. If you weren’t, why didn’t you say anything?” Layla’s face is white, her lips quivering.
“What was I supposed to do? Admit that I roofied the hottest chick in school so the boys and me could gang-bang her? I’d end up in jail.”
Blake’s practically vibrating now. I reach forward and grab Axelle’s hand, afraid the worst is coming and offering my support.
Stewart studies Blake through narrowed eyes. “Haven’t you been listening, asshole? You don’t want her. She’s garbage. Even back in high school, no one stepped up. Not one of the guys claimed the baby as their kid. No one wanted them.”
Crack!
Some would think the sound came from Blake’s fist as he finally shut that piece of shit up by slamming it into the guy’s nose.
That may be true, but what I heard was the crack of Axelle’s heart breaking.
One
Present Day…
Killian
The sun beats down on my back as I hunch over my phone. My eyes devour line by line of the latest sci-fi novel by my favorite author, Mikel Vermouch. Aliens have implanted their seed in hundreds of unsuspecting human females, their gestation cycle is half the length of a human’s, it’s been four months, and shit’s about to get ugly.
Voices flood my fictional world, along with the opening and slamming of doors signaling my time is up, and the best part of my day is about to begin.
I shove my phone into my backpack and lean against the picnic table, my gaze zeroing in on a door that leads to her last class. Creative Writing, room E34.
One by one, UNLV college students filter out of the room, and I search for her from behind my sunglasses: a guy shoving a book in his bag, another popping in his earbuds, a string of women I don’t even notice beyond their hair color, and then finally… I suck in a breath.
Axelle.
Fuck, time slows like some cheesy chick-flick, and I drink in every inch of her—from all that chestnut hair she bitches about being too thick to her baggy tee that droops on one side to reveal the smoothest olive-skinned shoulder, and those dick-hardening yoga pants that hug her ass. I groan as she pulls her backpack straps on, taking the fabric of her shirt on a ride up her slender belly. Gorgeous. I want her.
I tell myself it’s possible to live the kind of life I read about in books. The kind where ordinary men can become extraordinary and the geek wins the girl. Even if that girl is more beautiful than anything he could possibly deserve. Somehow the fates would favor him or some dynamic bullshit within would shine through and show her he’s a fucking superhero.
Yeah… I tell myself it’s possible.
But experience has proven it sure as shit is not.
Her eyes find me almost immediately, and she lifts her chin before heading over. Green Converse-clad feet trudge through the grassy commons, and she smiles, watching me watching her. Those thick lips can deliver a slicing word and bring unimaginable pleasure. That’s not true. I’ve imagined it plenty. Hell, that’s all I’ve fuckin’ done is imagine it. Any pleasure those lips have brought me so far has been in words only.
She pops on her sunglasses and my stomach plummets. Those blue eyes, so expressive when they light with the fire of her anger, shine with tears, or dance with humor are entertaining as hell to watch.
She stops a couple feet in front of me and props a hand on one slender hip. “You don’t have to wait for me every day, Killian.”
That’s true, but you know what they say about old habits. The last three semesters our classrooms were close, and I made a habit of walking her to her car every day after school.
We’ve only been back in school for a week after Christmas break, and though the spring semester brought more distance between our last classes, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up my after-school ritual.
I shrug one shoulder and swing my gaze around the commons, taking in groups of co-eds. “Who says I was waiting for you?”
Her smile slams me in the chest, but I’ve worked for years to school my response to her, tamping down my physical reactions to appear unfazed. Friendly. Because that’s what I’ve always been—friend zoned.
“Your last class is all the way across campus.” One sculpted dark eyebrow pops up over her shades. “You’re telling me you come here to sit outside my classroom for thirty minutes for someone other than your best friend?”
Friend. There’s that fucking word again.
“Maybe I’m waiting for my girl.” Truth. She just doesn’t know it.
“Oh, your girl.” She taps her chin. “Hmmm…and who is this imaginary girl, huh?” She points to a huddle of women. “Oh, is it Charlene? She’s a book-nerd like you. I could see you two getting along.” She flashes a teasing smile then searches the common area and points to what I’m assuming is another girl. I don’t know. I only have eyes for her. “Tarryn maybe? She’s smokin’ hot and dates jocks.”
“Jock? I thought I was a book-nerd?”
“You’re both.” Her smile suddenly crunches up, and she curls in on herself, hissing through her teeth. “Ugh!”
My pulse kicks in worry. “What’s wrong?” I stand and move toward her, but she holds a hand up.
“No, I’m okay.” She takes a few steps to the picnic bench and sits.
“You sure?” I sit back down next to her, her pained expression not doing shit to relieve my worry.
“Yeah, just cramps.” She crosses her legs and lays a hand on her lower abdomen. “Worst. Period. Ever.”
Being an only child and having a terrible relationship with my mother, I put talk of girl issues high up on my don’t-go-there list of convos, but this is different. This is Axelle, so I swallow my discomfort.
“Right.” I reach into my backpack and pull out a bottle of Advil. I shake a couple out and hand them to her. “Here.”
She flashes a grateful, but strained, smile. “Thanks, but I don’t have—”
I push my water bottle into her hand.
She sighs and thanks me again before tossing the pills back. Her lips wrap around the bottle’s mouthpiece, and I have to look away. A sick part of me revels in the fact that I’ll be able to have her mouth on mine, even if only through the connection of the water bottle. Yeah, I’m fucking pathetic. Four years of this shit and I still haven’t grown a pair big enough to confess my feelings for her.
“How do you always seem to know what I need before I need it?”
“I pay attention.” Because I’m in love with you.
She hands me the bottle back. “You’re too good to me.”
Aw, baby, I could be so much better if you’d let me.
Again, my chest cramps. If she only knew how much I hold back to keep our friendship from being awkward… I’d give her everything she ever wanted, satisfy her every whim, work my ass off to make enough money to provide for her, and die trying to give her the beautiful life she deserves.
Ever since Axelle came into my life back in high school, I knew she’d own me. She claimed my heart the day I found her in the parking lot: the new kid, kicking and screaming every profanity in the book at her Bronco. As much as I tried to hint to something more than a friendship back then, nothing beyond it ever developed. I knew it was because she was way too good for me, so I spent the next few years bettering myself: got a job and contact lenses and started training with the world’s best MMA fighting league. But even bulked up at just under 200 pounds, a good half foot taller than I was when we met, she still sees me as scrawny Killian McCreery.
Someday soon I’ll win her over. There’s no other option because, no matter what life brings, she’ll always own me. So unless I plan on continuing what I’ve been doing—standing on the sideline while she gives the biggest douchebags on the planet wha
t was solely made for me—I need to work less on my BFF skills and more on my seduction skills. Right, the guy with zero experience is going to win over the most desirable woman in existence. It’s fucking laughable.
I run a hand through my hair, pushing back my love-sick thoughts. “Come on; let’s get your crampy-ass home.” I grab my backpack and pull it over one shoulder to the sound of her giggles.
“It’s not my ass, Kill. It’s my uterus.”
“Ick.” I cringe, wrap my hand around the back of her neck, and guide her through the breezeway. “If you’re trying to get me to squirm, you win.”
“What is it with you big bad fighters, huh?” She peeks up at me with a sly grin. “All that muscle and you can’t handle a little talk of the female anatomy?”
“Oh, I can handle the female anatomy.” I’m such a liar.
She rocks her hip into me and laughs. “Suuuure, dude.”
We get to the parking lot, and I walk Axelle to the little white Ford SUV her mom and Blake got her for graduation. She tosses her backpack into the backseat and sits in the front with her legs out and feet propped on the running board. She manages to make even the most casual things look hot. I lean my forearm against the top of the open door, thinking if she stood up her lips would line up with mine perfectly.
“Listen. So you know it’s Clifford’s birthday, right?”
Buzz-fucking-kill.
I nod and push past the jealousy roaring in my chest.
“Well, I know what I want to get him for his birthday.” She tilts her head as if she’s waiting for me to ask.
I don’t because I could give a flying fuck about Clifford, her current piece of shit.
“But the thing is I’m kinda nervous, so”—she shrugs one shoulder in that adorable way she does and my resolve caves—“will you come with me?”
I fist the strap of my backpack and force a calm into my voice I’m far from feeling. “I planned on going straight to the training center.”
“Pleeeaaase?” She puffs out the full lower lip that has starred in more fantasies than I’d ever be willing to admit.
I clench my fist and try to relax my jaw enough to get a damn word out. “You know I can’t miss training.”
“Oh come on!” She slaps my stomach, and fuck, I love her touching me. “Why not?”
Still working on becoming good enough for you, baby.
“I mean, really, you’re running out of places to store muscle.” She playfully pulls up my shirt, and I don’t fight her. I know what’s underneath, and for now, until I get my first official UFL fight and get my degree, it’s my best asset. She motions to my abdomen. “You’re already at full capacity.”
“Nah… I’ll find room.”
She points to my bicep on display with my arm propped on her door. “Um…you look like Popeye.”
“Do not.”
She laughs and the sound shoots straight between my legs. “Do too! I think you even have an anchor tattoo under here somewhere.” She pulls at my shirt again, and I flinch as her fingers brush my ribs. Her eyes flare. “You’re so ticklish!”
I drop my arm, back up a step, and point at her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Ryder, a friend of ours, and the son of the UFL’s owner Cameron Kyle, saunters up wearing a Bad Religion shirt and a frown.
“Ryder, tell Killian he should come with me to run a quick errand and then come to Clifford’s party tonight. And tell him he’ll have plenty of time to work out between our errand and the party so he can have the best of both worlds.” She shrugs like it’s just that simple.
“Or maybe Axelle should skip the party tonight”—I give the guy a fist bump and nod at Axelle—“and hit the gym with me instead.”
Ryder’s eyes widen. “Dude, never tell a woman she needs to hit the gym, man. That’s bad juju. Bitches talk, and before you know it you’ll be taken off the fuckable list of every chick on campus.”
“Yep, he’s right.” She swings her feet into her car and shoves the key into the ignition. “You’ve now been scratched from my list.”
I clear my throat, but it makes more of a choking sound. I think she’s kidding, but was I on her list? Even if only a proverbial one? Damn, just the thought and… I can’t feel my legs.
“Oh crap!” Axelle rests her head on the steering wheel. “I think I forgot my phone in class.”
I blink away the visual of my name getting slashed from her list. “I’ll grab it.” I move to head back to room E34 when she stops me.
“No, you stay here and let Ry convince you to come to the party tonight, and when I get back, we’ll go run that errand.” She pinches my cheek, and I know I’ll do whatever she asks. I watch her jog-walk back to her classroom, mesmerized by the sexy sway of her hips and the cute way her left foot kicks out a little, making her gait uniquely hers.
“Breathe, brother.”
I peer down at Ryder, who’s almost my size, minus about three inches and fifty pounds of muscle. “Does it look like I’m not breathin’?”
He shakes his head. “Dude, just come to the damn party. Better to be there than stuck at home, worrying something’s going to happen to your precious princess.”
“Fuck off.”
“Yeah, you keep that act up. No one’s buying it except you…and maybe her.”
I freeze and glare at his blond spiked hair. “First of all, you’re an idiot. Second, if you’re at that party tonight and anything happens to her, I’ll break all your fingers.”
“Come to the party. Have a drink. Hell, meet a girl. Act irresponsible for once; make some mistakes. You live like a priest, man.”
“Got shit I wanna do.” I shrug. “Partying and making mistakes will stand in the way of where I’m going.”
He throws his head back, laughing.
My skin itches in irritation. I’d never expect him to understand. He’s been practically handed everything his entire life. Whatever. I don’t have time for this shit.
“It’s one night!”
A growl rumbles in my chest. “I’m not going.” I’ve made the mistake of being around Axelle when she’s “dating” someone, and the torture is so bad I’d beg for disembowelment.
“Fine,” he moans.
Axelle comes bouncing across the lot with a bright smile and her phone in hand.
“I’ll keep an eye on your girl,” he mumbles.
“So?” Her head swivels between us. “Are you coming?”
Ryder lifts an eyebrow, and I scowl at him before nodding to her. “Sure. But let’s make it fast.”
She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her soft body deep into mine. Pure fucking heaven. I give her a quick squeeze and back away as I always do. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t break away first how long she would hang on for.
She jumps in her car. “Follow me!”
Ryder grins and shakes his head. “See you kids tonight.”
I don’t have the balls to say I’m not fucking going. I’ll text Axelle later, tell her I fell asleep or training went long. Either way, there’s no damn way I’m going to this party tonight.
~*~
Axelle
Shit. Bringing Killian might have been a mistake.
If the look of disgust on his face when he pulled up wasn’t a sign, his brooding silence and perma-glare send a pretty clear message.
He doesn’t approve of my birthday gift to my current…um…what is Clifford? Not my boyfriend, but he’s more than a hookup. We’ve been seeing each other for a month now. What we have isn’t like a traditional relationship. We don’t go out on dinner dates or spend the weekends together making meals and shopping or whatever dating people do. But we spend a lot of time together, or rather, I spend a lot of time with him when he’s playing video games and hanging with his friends.
An uneasy flutter turns my stomach, but I push away the discomfort. Clifford was hard to win, and he certainly makes the chase fun, never really giving me the checkered flag for exclusivity, but I�
�ve never seen him with other girls so…
“What do you think of the placement?” The tattooed and pierced-to-hell guy who introduced himself as Tom—which is kinda funny because he looks more like a Gunther than a Tom—holds a mirror up to my face.
“Eye lyle eh.”
He scowls. “You can close your mouth to answer.”
I close my lips and try not to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and risk messing up the ink dot. I turn to Kill, who’s slumped in his seat, his long powerful legs open and outstretched, arms crossed at his chest, and a chilling glare aimed at the body piercer.
“What do you think?” I drop open my jaw and show him my tongue.
His eyes flash with something tender a second before his eyebrows drop low and he radiates fury. “How are you going to explain this to Blake?” He spits the words from his mouth. “No, better yet, how am I going to explain this to Blake?”
My spine stiffens and I scowl back at my grumpy best friend. “I’m twenty years old, Kill. Pretty sure piercings are my choice now, not his.”
He tilts his head, and the deadly look in his eyes almost makes me flinch. “It’s not the piercing; it’s the why.” He growls the last word.
I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, like I’d ever tell Blake I’m getting my tongue pierced as a gift to a guy.”
Tom chuckles. “Lucky guy.”
Killer glides—really, it’s like he floats—to his feet and stares me dead in the eyes. I catch my breath at the overwhelming intensity of his face. All that dark hair, framing amber eyes, and he has the kind of skin most women would kill for. “Do not ask me what I think about the tongue piercing you’re getting to suck your man off on his birthday, Ax, because you know my answer is going to be I don’t fucking like it. Not one fucking bit.”
My cheeks flame, and I’m not even really sure why. I’m a legal adult. If I want to get my tongue pierced, I can get my tongue pierced. “It’s not like that’s the only reason I’m—”
“Fuckin’ hell.” He runs his hands through his hair.
