“Yeah.” I slung my bag onto the desk and sat down, the seat comfortable and warm. I took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent permeating the air around me. It was pure Kinsley, the smell that hadn’t left me since the first fucking day.
Her long legs moved over to me, her skin bare except for a pair of black cut-off shorts, and no footwear—not even socks.
“Quinn, tell me what’s going on because this hot and cold thing you have with me is starting to stress me out,” she said, resting her hand on my shoulder. Fuck, I could feel it through the leather on my jacket, scorching me, though that could also have been the flare in my temper, the whirling rage wanting to spiral out of control. Kinsley sighed, turning away from me. “The silent treatment again.”
I knew I was an asshole, I knew my behavior was causing shit between us, but it was just how it was. I was me; she could deal, just like everybody else.
So why does it make me feel like shit with her?
I shrugged, sucked in a breath, and willed my body to chill the fuck out. I opened my bag and took out my books. “We’ve got studying to do.”
“Uh, sure.”
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, her ass moving as she headed over to her double bed, her deep-red tank top molding to her slim waist. My cock stirred, coming to life again from when I saw her on the stairs. Her long braid swished, and as I lifted my eyes, roaming up, I spotted some petals, shaded in various pinks, across her left shoulder.
Interesting.
I had my own ink, only visible when I took off my shirt. I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.
The door flew open, and Kinsley jumped. “Mom!”
“Hi,” her mom said like she hadn’t just barged in unannounced. “Do you need anything from the store while I’m out?”
“I thought you were gone already!” Kinsley said, pen and book in her hand.
“I came back to see if you needed anything.”
“Uh, phone?”
Mrs. Jensen glanced at me, then back to Kinsley. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.” With one last check in my direction, seemingly satisfied finding my own books sprawled out over Kinsley’s once neat desk, she waved. “I’m definitely leaving now.”
When the door shut and the tell-tale sounds of her mom actually leaving this time, Kinsley huffed out. “What the hell was that?”
“You don’t know why she just did that?”
Kinsley grimaced. “I think I do, but I really don’t want to.”
I painted the picture for her anyway. “She wanted to catch us fucking, Kinny. She thinks we are anyway, and she wanted to catch you in a lie even if it meant walking in on you riding me.” Her horrified expression made me laugh. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“God, she did, didn’t she?” She shuddered. “Ew, my mom catching us having sex. That’s not a good picture to put in my head.”
I stared at her for a little while, expecting her to continue with something snarky about it being with me. “Does she do that a lot?”
“What, walk into my room without knocking first? No,” she replied, not looking up from her book. She placed it down and began toying with the ends of her hair, removing the band at the bottom, then separating the woven tresses. “My mom respects my privacy, but I guess she was a little hesitant when she saw you.”
I balked. “What about me?
Kinsley deadpanned. “I don’t need to explain that one, Quinn.”
I gestured to my jeans, the rips over the thighs and knees showing a little skin as I bent my legs. I placed my hands on my chest, brushing down my matching black T-shirt. “Do I look dangerous, Kinny?” I asked gruffly. “Does she really think I’d hurt you?”
Her eyes lifted again, her hands pausing in her hair. She perused the entire length of me, and my already half-mast dick perked up. She continued up and down, then focused on my face, her throat bobbing when she swallowed. “I don’t think that’s what’s going through her head, Quinn. I think she’s just worried I’m going to take off with a biker, ride into the sunset, and start popping out babies.” The blood ran from my face, my spine chilling. Her straight expression cracked, and she threw her head back and laughed, the sound melodic and steady. “You’re an idiot. Of course she doesn’t think that.”
“That’s not funny,” I said, shaking my head.
“It was from where I’m sitting.” Kinsley held up her hair tie, pulled it through her fingers, and fired it at me, my reflexes kicking in to catch it before it could hit my face. It was going to get enough of that in a couple of days.
I pushed my hand through it, keeping it on my wrist. “Then you keep sitting there,” I growled.
“Aww, afraid I’m gonna come over and sit on your lap and bring the comedy to you?” she asked with a mock pout.
I’m afraid I’ll keep you here.
“No.” I turned back to the books but couldn’t focus. Instead, I paid attention to the photos pinned to the board above while Kinsley fiddled with something where she was sitting, a few clicks sounding, then finishing with a beep. A sealed newspaper cutting with an obituary was pinned onto the board. Isaac Jensen, wife to Shelley Jensen and father to Kinsley Jensen. Killed in the line of duty doing what he loved.
“My dad,” Kinsley said, and my eyes moved to the picture next to it, her arms around a guy, laughing together, her face lit up like it was the best day of her life. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her face. “My mom’s brother, Uncle Ray. He would’ve hated you.” She chuckled when I turned to side-glance at her. “Only because your bike’s nicer than his was.” Her happiness fell slowly away, the light disappearing from her eyes as she seemed to get lost in thought at the pictures.
“I’m sorry, Kinny,” I whispered, still looking at her photos. The memories she’d left behind when she’d come to Broken Hollow. Fuck, she probably couldn’t visit their graves because of the fucker who’d forced her here.
When we find him, he’s going to pay.
“Thanks.” She got up and moved her things off of the bed and onto the floor, her camera to the nightstand, the same wood as her bed frame, then grabbed the remote next to it. “Enough of the sad talk,” she said, flicking on the flatscreen on the wall facing her bed. “And enough studying. I’m watching TV.”
She flicked through the channels as I tried to look down at the book, but the words jumbled up on the page. All I could see out the corner of my eye were her legs. One bent, giving me a view up the back of her thigh, leading toward her ass. The other resting on top of her knee, swinging up and down.
My fingertips drummed against the surface of the desk, my hands twitching, and my back tense. I could study with Layton banging a girl in his room, and I could study when Josh was getting his freak on all fucking night, but this… It was fucking torturous.
“You don’t want to finish your project?” I asked, keeping my head down.
“I’m too tired,” she replied, yawning. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Oh?” Then I turned, slowly, just my head, and pumped my brows. “Busy?”
“Considering what we agreed, Quinn, I wasn’t that kind of busy.”