Thin Love(161)

Kona was conflicting her, confusing her with the clash of his focus on Ransom and those heavy stares that she didn’t understand. Stares like the one he was giving her now.

Eyes shifting to the right, Keira cocks up a brow. “What?”

He moves his head, a brief shake before he returns his attention to the field. “I never got to tell you, with me training and spending time with Ransom, but I’m sorry about your mom.”

Her laugh is small, bitter. “Kona, that was a month ago. Besides, You hated my mom.”

Kona shrugs, can’t seem to help the smile of agreement. “So did you.”

Ransom moves faster, strides wider down the field and a flash of wind shoots in front of them as ten players whip past the bleachers, setting a chill over Keira’s skin. In her peripheral she notices Kona laughing to himself, shaking his head.

“What now?”

“Nothing changes, not really.”

“Oh things change alright.”

“That’s true enough. But you getting cold in seventy degree weather? Still the same.” He moves closer, pulls his arm around her shoulder like him touching her was natural, normal.

The scent of his cologne drifts from his skin, that delicious tang that never failed to make her heart pound like a machine.

She guesses he is right. “People don’t change. Things do.” She feels him watching her; the dip of his chin, the way his hot breath skates down her cheek, but she won’t look at him. That kindling needs to remain in its ember state. It scares her, the return of the blaze; that mad, desperate fire that they were together. She moves away from him, but gives him a smile so he doesn’t think her rude.

“You’re not a coward.”

“What?”

A small lean, a whisper against the shell of her ear and Kona’s voice is deep, drugging. “I was just trying to keep you warm. I wasn’t trying to move in on you.”

“I know.”

“Liar.” Then he sits back, sets his elbow on the armrest right next to Keira’s hand. She watches him. There isn’t a smile on her face and the scrutiny has him running his fingers over his forehead, down his high cheekbones. “You scared of me, Wildcat?”

She laughs. “No. I always knew Samson wasn’t a monster.” She looks away, returns to watching Ransom move around the field. “A bastard sometimes. A jealous prick, but not a monster.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart.”

She can’t deny it. She was just as insane as he had been. The it factor again, seeping in to destroy them, to enable them to destroy everything good that they were. “We were kids. We were pathetic, wild kids.”

“We were in love.”

Kona’s expression is light, but in the quick glance he gives her, Keira sees a fire, a determined confidence that tells her he remembers the past differently. “You think that’s what it was? Love?”

His face loses all semblance of calm. He frowns, his forehead wrinkles and a small part of her feels an instant wave of guilt. Had she devastated him? Had she shattered all he remembered about them?

“You don’t?”

Mouth opening, words stuck in her throat, Keira can’t watch him, not that intense stare or the slow dip of his eyes when they land on her mouth. “I think we were bad for each other. I think we were stupid for thinking that passion and insanity and jealousy had anything to do with love.” She looks at the vestiges of his shock, how they are replaced with annoyance, perhaps a dab of anger. “We always fought. Always.”

Kona is silent, staring at her, jaw working, but then he nods and his grin returns. “We were always pissing each other off, true enough.”

“You had too many groupies.” She can’t help the little dig at him, loves the way that grin transforms into a wide smile.

“You were always trying to break up with me.”

She laughs. “I had a temper and you loved pissing me off.”

“Fine. We were insane.” Again he moves closer to her and she feels warmer. “But not all that was bad. Not all that fire was bad.” He moves her hair off her shoulder and she wonders what he’s thinking, but doesn’t ask. “I thought it was love. I thought I’d die from how much I loved you.” When she refuses to return his heavy gaze, he takes her pinky and moves her hand onto his knee, running his thumb over her knuckles. The gesture is simple, subtle but it pulls a lot of unexpected, forgotten sensation into Keira’s heart. “It was love to me.”

“You have a selective memory.”

“Why do you think that?”

She pulls her hand from his leg. “You don’t remember how many scratches and bruises I gave you? Or how many times maintenance had to patch the drywall in my dorm because you’d gotten pissed at me for one thing or another and punched the wall? You don’t remember the bottle in my hand outside of Lucy’s?”