Kiss To Conquer (Blairwood University #1)

by Anna B. Doe

  Nix’s head pops out of the fridge for a moment. “A cute little raven that would bite your dick off if she heard you say shit like that.”

  “I meant it in the nicest way possible, geez, you assholes need to chill the fuck out. What’s with you all and that girl?”

  My best friend’s eyes clash with mine and the image of him wrapping Callie in his arms pops back up front and center making me clench my jaw tight.

  He sees it too, and a knowing smirk tips his lips.

  “Yeah, Hades… what’s the deal with Callie?”

  Tossing the rest of the beer down my throat in one big gulp, I crush the can in my hand.

  “There is no deal with her, except that you all better stay the hell away from her. Nothing good comes from associating with her. Trust me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  CALLIE

  “Hayden,” I breathe as he leans in. So close his mouth is brushing against mine. So close… my lips tremble in anticipation of being kissed by him. Devoured. But he just stays there, leaning in, teasing.

  Kiss me. I want to beg him, but somehow I hold the words in. Even without saying them out loud, he has power over me. Over my body. It craves him. I crave him. The last person I should even think about, yet I crave him no matter how much I try to convince myself to let him go.

  But he apparently can, because in the next heartbeat, he’s sitting across from me. When did he get here?

  I look around, trying to figure out what’s going on, but we’re not in the hallway of my dorm anymore. We’re in the… library?

  And not just any library, it’s our high school library.

  “Callie?” I turn back to look at him. Hayden smiles shyly at me and I feel myself relax a little.

  “Yeah?” I nibble at the inside of my lip, observing him.

  He looks exactly as he did then. A dark mop of hair that’s disheveled most of the time. A football team hoodie that is just a tad too big on his lanky frame and those golden freckles illuminating his dark green irises.

  His gaze lingers on my mouth for a few heartbeats as the silence settles over us. His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips.

  “Hayden,” I whisper, my hand reaching out to touch his. He might be on the skinny side, but the muscles are slowly forming from all the practicing he’s been doing. Hayden Watson might not be one of the best players on the team, hell, if you ask anybody except for the coach, he most definitely shouldn’t even be on the team, yet, he’s one of the most dedicated people out there. Going to every single practice, repeating every single play no matter how many times he messes it up.

  Hayden is a lot of things, but he ain’t a quitter. A value I can respect. Plus, he’s smart. Like wicked smart. And that’s why I need him. If a little flirting will help me with that, I’m not against using it.

  A zap of electricity goes through my arm when our hands connect. He looks at me, his pupils dilated. Can he feel it too? It’s unnerving. I need this guy to help me pass my class. I already have a boyfriend, a boyfriend who’d be pissed as hell if he found out what I was doing, no matter how small or insignificant it really is.

  “What about this one?” Innocently batting my lashes, I turn my notebook so he can look at the equation.

  His face grows bright red, but he doesn’t move his hand from underneath mine.

  “Calculus, right.” He shakes his head like he needs to clear his thoughts. He looks down at the notebook, going through the problems I solved, until he isn’t. “Fuck that.”

  Then he’s on me. His hand at the nape of my head, fingers tangled in my hair, lips pressed against mine, leaving me breathless.

  And then? Then I’m falling.

  I’m falling. My weightless body is trying to find some semblance of the equilibrium, a foothold or base, but there is nothing. Only darkness swallowing me whole.

  Grabbing through the thin air, I try to scramble out of it, but I can’t. My lungs are closing up as panic sets in.

  This can’t be happening. It can’t. I can’t drown. Not like this…

  I sit upright on a sharp inhale, my hands covering my mouth so I don’t wake sleeping Yasmin. Covers falling in my lap, a shiver runs through me as chilly air touches my skin. My heart is thumping hard against my ribcage.

  Another nightmare.

  At this point, I stopped counting the number of times I had them. They’re just a blur, although this one… this one was different.

  A tremble shakes my body as memories of what I dreamed about come rushing back.

  It must be this place. Coming here, seeing him is making me feel guilty about the way I was more than usual. And Hayden just keeps reminding me of what a shitty person I was, making it difficult to move on.

  Exhaling slowly, I lean against my pillows, pulling the covers high to warm up.

  It’s still dark outside. My eyes dart toward the other side of the room where Yasmin is still sleeping. She seems unaware of my restless dreams, her chest rising and falling evenly. I concentrate on that slow, rhythmic motion until my own body adjusts to hers.

  I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but once my breathing and heartbeat are back to normal, I turn away. My eyes feel like somebody poured sand in them. All raw and itchy, especially when I pull my phone and the bright light of my screen shines in my face.

  Four fifty-three a.m.

  It’s not even surprising the hallways are almost deadly quiet on the other side of the door and the light peeking through the blinds is so low it’s practically non-existent.

  This is that unholy hour of the morning when it’s too late even for the hardest partiers and too early for early risers.

  Putting my phone away, I lay down and look at the ceiling. There is no way I’ll fall back asleep.

  I never do once the nightmare is over.

  Because it isn’t really.

  The only difference is, I wake up and realize that it’s not just a dream. It’s also my reality. And it hurts all over again.

  Pushing the covers to the side, I go through a series of stretches before I even attempt to get out of the bed.

  My leg always aches from the position in which I slept in. No matter how hard I try to sleep with my legs extended, I just can’t do it. My body curls in itself, my legs pulled almost all the way to my chest.

  Slowly, I work my legs through a series of motions, forcing myself to lean just a little bit more into every stretch, until my legs feel like jelly, but my muscles are relaxed enough so I can stand on my feet and walk without seeming like a newborn lamb.

  Once I’m out of bed, I change as quickly and as quietly as possible so that I don’t wake Yasmin. Grabbing my earbuds, phone, and some cash, I slip outside of the room.

  The slight bite the morning air had back in September has turned into a full-blown chill. A shiver runs through me and I’m grateful I picked my trusty hoodie because this is practically freezing for a Cali girl like me. Still, I take one long breath in, letting it fill my lungs and chase the rest of the nightmare away.

  Connecting my earbuds to the phone, I tuck them into my ears and turn on the music. Then I start to walk.

  Even though I started back with the PT three times a week, my therapist suggested I keep some form of physical activity even on the days I’m not coming in for our sessions. She always blabs about keeping my muscles moving and whatnot, but I’m only half-listening most of the time. Especially if she brings out the big guns and mentions my past as a dancer.

  I don’t want to think about my past. I don’t want to be remembered of what, of who, I was before. Of everything I’ve lost since.

  So I don’t think, I just walk. No direction in my mind. Just an empty road and music filling my ears.

  My pace is slow, but I don’t tire as easily as I did when I just got here. I hate to admit it, but my therapist was right. I needed to start moving again if I didn’t want to lose even more mobility and increase my daily pain levels.

  When I was going regularly to therapy back in Californ
ia, it was easier for me to move and my muscles wouldn’t get tired so easily, but ever since the summer, I’ve been slacking and it was showing.

  Besides, no matter how much I didn’t want to admit it to her, I could at least do it to myself—I wasn’t used to being still. I was dancing even before I could properly walk. Movement is in my blood, so I might as well walk.

  Since I came I didn’t wander much around campus. Leaving my room only when necessary to go to classes or grab coffee. Hey, don’t look at me like that. Coffee is essential for my sanity. When you barely get to sleep a few short hours without interruption, you learn how to appreciate the black gold.

  And while we’re on the topic of coffee… I look down at my phone. There is still half an hour left before Cup It Up opens for the day.

  Oh, well, I guess I’ll walk a little more before turning and stopping for coffee.

  Lifting my gaze, something catches my attention.

  Stopping in my tracks, I stare at the building in front of me. I shouldn’t know it, I’ve never stepped foot anywhere near it, yet I do. Because I’ve seen it countless times in brochures and on the internet.

  I’m not sure how I ended here. A subconscious reaction probably. Even after three years.

  A lump forms in my throat, heaviness falling on my heart.

  Will it always be like this? Will a part of me always lead me toward my one true passion or will this feeling of something missing inside of me eventually fade away?

  Before I can ponder over it any longer, I see a woman round the building, going straight for the door. I must have moved or something because she gives me a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “The class doesn’t start for another thirty min—”

  “I’m not here for the class,” I say, the ache inside of me growing. My fingers curl like they would if I’d hold on to the barre.

  She pockets her keys but doesn’t enter instantly. Instead, she turns around to get a better look at me. Her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to place from where she might know me.

  Finally, she reaches my face and the recognition flashes in her eyes. “Callie Stewart.”

  “Madam Ivanov.” I nod in acknowledgment, slightly surprised she recognized me.

  The short woman standing in front of me is probably in her fifties. Her blonde hair streaked with silver is neatly pulled in a low bun at the back of her neck, makeup minimal. Classic and elegant, like most of the dancers.

  She was one of the best ballet dancers back in the late twentieth century, both in America and Russia, until she decided to stop dancing full time and concentrate on teaching instead.

  Madam Ivanov was one of the reasons why I wanted to come to Blairwood in the first place. I loved watching her dance. The way she moved was stunning, almost magical. And at the time I would have given anything to be taught by her.

  But I never imagined she would know who I was. I mean, I was good, but that good? I don’t think so.

  “I didn’t think I would see you here.” She moves closer, offering me her hand for a handshake.

  I look at the dance studio behind her. “I didn’t think I would have come here either.”

  “Are you a student at Blairwood?”

  Even though your career is ruined? She doesn’t complete her question, but I can hear it, nonetheless.

  “Yes, I decided to come here. Both of my parents went to BWU, it seemed natural to follow in their footsteps.”

  “Mhmm…” She nods in understanding. “That’s good to hear. You should have come here before.”

  A laugh escapes me. “Why? I’m not a dancer anymore.”

  “You can’t dance anymore,” she corrects me. “But you’re still a dancer. You’ll always be a dancer.”

  I shake my head at her words. She’s wrong. So wrong.

  “What difference does it make? A dancer who cannot dance is as useful as a bird who cannot fly.”

  “There is where you’re wrong. And when you figure it out, I want you to know you’ll be welcomed here.”

  Wistfully, I give one last final glance at the studio. I don’t have to step inside to know what I’ll find. The shiny wood floors, the mirrors, barres placed in the middle of the room, ready for the lesson.

  The chatter of the students.

  Ballet slippers sliding over my feet, fitting like a glove.

  The rush in my veins as I rise to the tips of my toes.

  All the memories of my past come rolling back with intensity. Like a tsunami, it rises high in the air and falls over me, pulling me under.

  I should have been here. Warming up and dancing my heart out. It should have been me.

  But it isn’t.

  It’ll never be me.

  “There is nothing for me here. Not anymore.”

  Chapter Twenty

  HAYDEN

  “Seriously, guys,” Nix says in a hushed voice as we enter the library. “No slacking off. You heard Coach. We can’t have players benched by the faculty because of grades. Now sit your asses down and let’s get to work.”

  “Can’t we do that later?” Emmett protests, rubbing at his stomach. “I’m starving.”

  As if he summoned it, Emmett’s stomach growls loudly just as we pass the librarian’s desk. Old Mrs. Gibson gives us all a stern look, that’s more of a death glare, over the rim of her thick glasses, her lips pressing in a tight, unamused line.

  “Next time, grab a protein bar or something,” I say, mouthing sorry in her direction and throwing in an extra charming smile. That shit always works. But apparently not with good-ol’ Mrs. G.

  “Do you seriously think a protein bar can feed all this?” Emmett waves a hand in front of his body.

  “Dude, your gut is too big as it is, you don’t need more fat,” this comes from Prescott, our running back.

  “You idiots better shut the hell up,” I warn, giving them both a smack over the head in warning. “Mrs. G is giving us dirty looks as it is. She won’t have a problem throwing us out. As a matter of fact, she’ll enjoy it. And Coach will find out about it.”

  They both look over their shoulders but quickly turn back, shuddering. Sure enough, she’s throwing daggers at our backs. I can just feel her mousy eyes on me.

  Finally we reach the table that’s big enough to seat all of us.

  “Do you think they’re banging behind everyone’s back?” Emmett asks conspiratorially, leaning in.

  “Who? Coach and Mrs. G?” I ask, frowning. Just the idea makes my stomach turn. Nope, not going there.

  “Yes, I mean we already know he’s a sadist so maybe…”

  But he doesn’t get to finish—thank fuck for that—because the topic of our conversation strolls to our table.

  “If you boys don’t zip it, I’ll have to throw you out,” Mrs. Gibson whispers, her narrowed eyes meeting each one of us.

  I lower my gaze to the desk because there is just no way I’ll be able to look her in the eyes and not imagine the picture Emmett, the dickhead, just painted in my mind.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Gibson,” we all murmur in unison.

  “Last warning.”

  But Emmett apparently doesn’t take it seriously because as soon as she’s out of earshot he once again leans in so we can hear him. “See what I’m talking about. They’re like a match made in the sadist heaven or something.”

  “Only you can think there is such a thing as sadist heaven,” somebody throws from down the table.

  “Dude, please no more.” Prescott groans and I couldn’t agree more. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

  Emmett finally lifts his hand in surrender. “Whatever, but you mark my words.”

  Chuckles spread across the table and finally we all start pulling our shit out to maybe get some actual work done.

  I’m setting up my laptop when I feel somebody watching me. I wait until I’m all set before lifting my gaze and scanning the room. It doesn’t take me long to find the person staring at me. She’s not even trying to hide it.

  She
’s leaning over her desk, chin propped in her hand, one finger twirling a strand of bright red hair. She’s nibbling at her lip suggestively as her dark eyes bore into me across the distance.

  “Well somebody’s got attention already,” Prescott murmurs as he gives the redhead a quick glance. “You planning to tap that?”

  “Maybe,” I shrug.

  I didn’t come here to find a hookup, but I sure as hell am not going to refuse one. Not all the girls are looking for a nice guy, some just want to be thoroughly fucked. Besides, the girl is hot. I can’t see much of her since she’s sitting, but by the way her tits are spilling from the deep V of her shirt, she does have a nice rack. And there’s something about redheads...

  “Dude, I don’t think Hades has to breathe for him to get all the attention.”

  Winking at the girl, I turn to Emmett. “You jealous, Hulk?”

  “Of that?” He doesn’t even grace the girl with a look. “Fat chance.”

  “If I had a girl like Katie warming my bed, I wouldn’t be interested in cleat chasers either,” one of the rookie’s remarks, which earns him an elbow to the gut.

  “Bro, if you had a girl like Katie in your bed, you wouldn’t even attempt to stray because she’d bust your balls in a heartbeat,” Prescott shakes his head.

  That does it. Guys erupt in quiet laughter, well as quiet as a bunch of football players can be quiet, until the loud shhh stops us.

  As one, we turn toward the front desk where Mrs. G is glaring at us.

  “Well, that does it,” I mutter, a shiver running through my body.

  Suddenly serious, Nix turns to us. “Work. We’ve got one hour and then we’re going to grab something to eat.”

  We all nod our agreement, neither of us trying to open our mouth again.

  Opening my books, I get to work. There is some Spanish homework I have to finish and reading for one of my business classes I have to catch up on.

  For a while we all work in silence, each one of us concentrating on our own homework.