Infraction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Kins licked her lips as tears filled her eyes for the second time that night.

  “Shit.” I grabbed her before she could lunge away from me, and the minute her body came into contact with mine, I was hit with such longing I wanted to smack my head against the granite counter. She was sad. I was hugging her. And suddenly I felt better than I had all day?

  It made no sense.

  “I hate him.” She sniffled.

  “No you don’t.” I spoke against her hair, which smelled like coconut and lavender. I gave it another whiff, barely suppressing the groan building in the back of my throat.

  Kins glanced up at me with teasing eyes. “Did you just sniff my hair?”

  “Would it be creepy as hell if I did?”

  Her nose scrunched. “Only because it seems like you did it twice.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to make sure.”

  An eyebrow arched. “Make sure that your nose works?”

  “Nah.” I tilted her chin up. “Maybe I just want to make sure that I don’t ever forget what you smell like, you know, just in case I piss you off even more in the near future, which let’s be honest, the odds aren’t in my favor. I want to remember the way you smell when I’m alone, in my cold, depressing bed, and you’re off drinking all of Jax’s milk and stealing random strangers’ pass codes and house keys.”

  Her smile fucking broke my heart, the corners of her lips were met with tearstained cheeks. “You make me sound like a psychopath.”

  “If the blood-caked stiletto fits . . .”

  She punched me in the shoulder. “I was upset, alright?”

  “And you hitting me means you’re happy?”

  “I’m getting there. I just . . . I need time to process.”

  “I have ears.”

  “Yup, two of them, I’ve noticed. You gonna tell me you have a penis next, then whip it out to prove it?”

  “Hah!” I barked out a laugh and released her. “Is that your cute way of asking me to show you again? Already miss it, huh?”

  “Can’t miss what you never had, Miller. And I don’t really remember having it, you know, all that drunken sex, fuzzy thoughts . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Bullshit.” I gripped her by the elbow and pulled her flush against my body where she could very well damn feel every single inch of me against her. “I’m calling your bluff.”

  “Call it all you want. That doesn’t change the fact that nobody’s seeing anybody’s penis, even if it is . . .” She licked her lips and glanced down, making the damn thing feel the need to meet her halfway. “Impressive.” She made air quotes.

  I’d never wanted to strip so badly in my entire life.

  “Impressive.” I repeated the word, rolled it around my tongue, nope, not the word I was looking for, I rejected it immediately. “I think you can do better than impressive.”

  At least the tears were gone, the reminder that they’d been there in the first place was in her streaked makeup and flashing brown eyes.

  It was a moment I would never forget.

  The heat from her body pulsed against mine in perfect rhythm, like my heart was straining to match the cadence of hers—it was more than just the feel of her in my arms, or the way she looked up at me with trust I didn’t deserve or earn—it was every single piece of the puzzle fitting, pulsing, tempting.

  Kiss her.

  Kiss her.

  I needed to kiss her.

  To suck the sorrow away from that mouth, to press my lips against those tears, to make it all go away.

  To make her forget.

  Or maybe, to make us both remember.

  Why it was so good in the first place.

  Why I was still so afraid of what it felt like to have her beneath me, to slide into her while she watched with rapt attention.

  Kins bit down on her bottom lip and slowly shook her head. “I should find a hotel, or something.”

  “Or something.” I barricaded her against the counter, my body still firmly pressed against hers. “I think I know a place that has an opening.”

  Her head tilted, those lips parted enough to suck in whatever air she needed to probably yell at me to stop micromanaging her life like her brother. Instead, she closed her mouth and looked down before saying, “Does this place have HBO?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Does this place allow equal remote control benefits?”

  “Of course . . . I’m not a monster.” One heartbeat, two, I could feel my pulse skyrocketing the longer she was touching me. “You may even get fed.”

  “Wow. How fancy.” She smiled up through tear-filled eyes. “It almost sounds too good to be true.”

  “Yeah, well, nothing’s ever free.”

  “I figured.”

  “But you might enjoy the payment.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sleeping with you, Miller.”

  Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes clear, lips pressed together like she was trying not to think about the last time we kissed.

  “Did I say anything about sex?”

  “No, but—”

  “One kiss,” I finished for her.

  “One kiss?” Her eyes narrowed. “And then I can crash in your spare bedroom?”

  “One kiss,” I repeated. “Harmless.”

  We both knew it was a lie.

  There was nothing harmless about the way we touched, just like there was nothing harmless about the way she tasted, the addicting flavor of her could be my downfall, and even though I knew that, I still lit the match and waved it around like it wasn’t going to burn the hell out of my hand.

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes. “Go ahead.”

  Her face was void of emotion, perfect, still. “That’s not what I meant.”

  One eye opened then two. “You said one kiss?”

  “Right, but you have to kiss me.”

  “Miller!” An edge of irritation tinged her voice. “It’s the same thing.”

  “If it was the same thing you wouldn’t be arguing with me, would you? But, hey.” I pulled away just enough to put a few inches of space between our bodies. “If you’d rather rent a hotel room, with what I’m assuming is your brother’s money, then . . .” It was a low blow. One that reminded her that as much as she hated her brother in that instant, he was the reason she was able to live and breathe cheerleading like it was her life.

  Because she got paid absolute shit.

  It was a gamble.

  Using her pride against her.

  But I was a desperate man.

  Desperate for her kiss, her touch, and maybe just desperate to prove to her and to me, that something between us could be good.

  Even if it meant it couldn’t be forever.

  “Fine.” She bunched the front of my shirt with her right hand, and stood up on her tiptoes. I let her pull me down to her level while her head descended. I wanted to meet her halfway.

  But meeting her halfway would ruin the point.

  So I nailed my giant feet to the floor and waited for the first brush of her lips.

  In a hypnotic, heart-twisting movement, her mouth fused against mine, her lips slowed.

  One step.

  Two.

  Her legs tangled with mine, her hips bumping against my thighs as I drew a powerful breath in through her lungs, through her mouth, making it mine. Claiming the air, the space between our bodies.

  Heat radiated between us as she slowly slid her hand up my chest and wrapped it around my neck, her other hand joining her as she hung on to my body. I lifted her by the ass and set her on the countertop, never once pulling away from her lips, but drawing each kiss from her mouth like a drug, just one more hit, and then another.

  Words that were said between us incinerated—going up in smoke as our kiss intensified, as the need tripled. I kissed down the slender column of her throat, taking my time to taste her before claiming her lips again.

  Her tongue explored my mouth, slowly, tenderly before she pulled back and gripped my biceps,
digging her fingers into my skin just hard enough to make me stop my assault of her mouth.

  “One kiss,” she repeated, her voice hoarse.

  “That was one kiss,” I corrected.

  “How do you figure?”

  I tucked her hair behind her ears, she gave a little shudder. “Because my mouth never left you once.”

  And even though I wanted to pull her into my arms again, kiss the hell out of her, and get her naked.

  I didn’t.

  I took a step back, and then another before turning around and grabbing her duffel bags. “We should get going.”

  “Right.” She slid off the counter, pressed a hand to her flushed face, and then did a full circle before picking up the last bag and the pair of flip-flops she’d thrown at my face. “Thanks, for this . . .”

  “This is what friends do.”

  I don’t know why I said it.

  Why I drew that damn line in the sand again.

  Maybe it was self-preservation.

  Or just my mind protecting every remaining piece of my heart.

  Because for those few brief minutes, I could have sworn, she wasn’t just kissing me, she was sucking the hurt away, the pain, and forcing me to forget all the reasons I helped send her out of the country in the first place.

  And all the reasons that I’d do it again.

  Because I was still selfish.

  And when you’re selfish, you focus on the only thing you can think of that can blind you to others’ pain.

  Your own.

  Chapter Fifteen

  KINSEY

  Two weeks.

  That’s how long I’d lived with Quinton Miller.

  And in the entire time we’ve lived together it had turned into a terrifyingly normal thing to not only see him in nothing but a towel at least ninety-nine percent of the time, but get flashes of naked ass when he forgot—right, forgot—to do laundry.

  In the mornings, he drank milk shirtless, I know because I almost always ran into those muscles every morning in the kitchen.

  He made his coffee strong enough that I was worried that one day I’d wake up with chest hair.

  And he bought a special mug for mine.

  It was pink.

  It had a K on it.

  In short, Quinton Miller was slowly killing me.

  He made protein shakes like a boss, always kept fruit snacks in storage just in case the zombie apocalypse happened and there was a shortage, his words not mine, and he was the perfect gentleman.

  I’m talking perfect.

  One night after a double practice, I’d come home to him not only drawing me a bubble bath but asking if I’d like champagne to go with it.

  It wasn’t until day fifteen that I snapped, completely lost it and nearly rammed my fist through his perfect face, because how the hell dare he! It wasn’t his job to make me happy, or cook me eggs, or make sure that I had my own ceramic coffee cup! We weren’t really dating and all he was doing was making me wish we were, which was really unfair since he was like an emotional terrorist who bombed your heart only to tell you that you’d have to leave the country to find a hospital big enough to fix it!

  By the time I got home that night, I was fuming, fuming! He’d left a note in my bag to have a good day.

  Right. It said Have a good day.

  That’s it.

  I was still irritated that I was upset over something so small, something so nice, something that for some damn reason brought tears to my eyes at least four times during practice.

  Jax had given me a wide berth the past few weeks, and knowing that I was this pissed was probably killing him as much as it was me.

  And then there were the phone calls and visits with the parents, where I pretended to be brave, then cried myself to sleep after.

  “Miller!” I slammed the note on the kitchen counter of his immaculate penthouse apartment.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  “QUINTON MILLER, YOU GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!” I was full-on squeezing my hands into little fists and getting ready to start throwing dishware all over the kitchen when he rounded the corner.

  In a freaking towel.

  Again.

  “That’s it!” I charged toward him. “This is the last straw!” I tugged the towel free, not really thinking about anything other than how irritated I was that he was basically naked again. I had the towel in one hand and the note scrunched up in my other hand.

  And Quinton Miller, sexiest tight end God ever created, was looming over me with a confident grin and little water droplets sliding off his abs onto the floor by his feet. “Kins, you okay?”

  “Y-yes.” Look away, just look away. “I mean no, no.” God bless football, and God bless the V, it was so deep I wanted to reach out and touch the valley between his lower abs until my hands grazed his ever impressive—

  “Kins?”

  “Hmm?” I jerked to attention. “Yes?”

  “You were yelling.”

  “I was.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “And you stole my towel. I’m kind of at an impasse here, little Waffle, did you just want to see me naked, or what? Because I’ve got a date in a few.”

  “A date?” Deflated, I let the word hang in the air like a complete idiot. “Of course you do.”

  Jealousy slammed into me. Heart weak, I felt like I needed to sit down. Why was I upset again? Oh, right, because he was making me like him more than I already did, he was being nice, and now? Now the rug was getting pulled out from underneath me. Of freaking course. A date.

  “You can join me if you want.” He grinned that stupid grin that had elderly women everywhere grabbing their chests and either fainting or going to the ER for heart attack symptoms.

  Damn it. “No, um, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “It’s not really that kind of date, Kins.”

  “Oh.” I shifted on my feet, and then handed him his towel, all done in jerky movements like I was the one in the wrong when he was the one running around treating me like the best friend he’d never had. I gulped, “I should probably change.”

  What was I saying?

  Was I actually thinking of going with him?

  Seriously?

  “Great.” The guy pissed me off further by patting my head like I was a child, and then he mussed my hair. “Just wear what you normally wear, jeans, leggings, nothing too sexy.”

  My eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

  “What?” He looked genuinely confused as to why that last statement had me ready to rip his eyeballs out. “You do want to go, right? We have to be there in fifteen minutes. Come on, you’ve been moping for two weeks. It’s time to get out, Kins, live your life, and stop being sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” I argued like a child, even going as far as to cross my arms.

  “You’re right,” he whispered. “You’re angry. Which is almost worse. Because at least when you’re sad you can mourn. Sadness you can battle. But anger? Anger we just justify until we’re miserable as hell. The last time I saw you smile was in your brother’s kitchen, you’re losing weight, and you forgot to shower yesterday.”

  “I did not!” Embarrassed, I wanted to crawl under the couch and let it suffocate me to death. “I’ve been busy with practice!”

  “You’re working out too much.” His fingers grazed my chin. “You’ve been crying yourself to sleep, and we’re out of ibuprofen. How many headaches have you had?”

  I jerked away from him. The psycho actually counted the ibuprofen tablets? Who the hell was I living with? “You’re not my brother.”

  “You’re right.” He flinched as if I’d just smacked him, and then a smile brightened his features. “I’m your pretend boyfriend, so you may as well go out with me. Hell, I’m even willing to face the wrath of Jax in order to get that smile back on your face.”

  “You forget, I’ve been living with you. I’m immune to your charms.” I was such a liar, but it was all I had, he clearly saw all the little things I’d been tryin
g to hide. The headaches, the exhaustion, the dark circles under my eyes. It was bad enough that Jax was suspicious, but Miller wasn’t even supposed to know me that well.

  “Clock’s ticking, Waffle, go change.”

  I looked down at my athletic shorts and Nike shoes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “I can see you’re going to be difficult.” He tossed me over his shoulder, carrying me into the guest bedroom and depositing me on the mattress. I bounced up, my head nearly connecting with his chin while he rummaged through one of my bags. Soon a pair of jeans was sailing by my head, followed by one of my favorite tops, how did he even know that? Was it a coincidence? He found a pair of Gucci boots and added them to the pile of crap getting thrown in my direction. He paused and then walked over to the dresser where I kept my jewelry. His massive hand grabbed something and then he was walking over to me.

  With a sigh, he grabbed my hand and pressed a pair of diamond studs into the palm. The studs my dad had given me when I graduated college. The same ones I hadn’t worn for two weeks, out of fear, irrational anger, sadness.

  “You have two minutes.”

  He shut the door behind him.

  And rather than give him attitude or argue, I stood on wobbly feet, and changed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MILLER

  She was killing me.

  It wasn’t a swift death either.

  Kins represented everything I swore to myself I’d never repeat. Like becoming friends with a girl who I could potentially fall for, and somehow, after that first night, when I heard her cry herself to sleep, I’d gone and lost my damn mind.

  It wasn’t that I just cared.

  If it was that simple, I’d just give her a shoulder to cry on when she asked.

  No, it was worse.

  Somehow, every little quirk about her had my body on high alert; the first time I’d taken a shower after her I’d nearly banged my head through the wall. Lavender and coconut nearly choked me to death, and every day since that first fateful shower, my shower time more than doubled, for obvious reasons, just thinking about her had me ready to excuse myself from the room.