She watched Mark slip into the elevator, stared after him as it moved down each floor, the light on the numbers overhead dinging off with each descent, but she didn’t turn around. Behind her, Kona left the wall, stood too close. She could see his large shadow cover hers on the floor in front of her. Her thoughts were scattered, a jumble of anger and want and confusion that she could not organize into logic.
Kona had acted like an asshole, that shouldn’t have surprised her, but it was his attitude, he jealous glares and taunting scowls at Mark that had lit the fuse of her anger. He did that, seemed to be the only one to tease at the root of her temper, begging it to raise, to rankle into something that would be ugly.
“Keira—” just the sound of his voice, now calm, now mildly apologetic, flooded growth and sustenance right onto that newborn root and she jerked around, ready to attack.
“What exactly is your malfunction?”
“Mine? What about you?” Kona pinched his lips together and Keira was too angry, too annoyed to read into that defensive expression. “Who the hell is that guy?”
“I’m sorry, how’s that your business?” She took a step, a quick one that had Kona moving back.
“It’s not.” It was then that Kona’s arrogance deflated somewhat. Hands working through his hair, the linebacker grunted, moving his neck as though he struggled with a reasonable excuse for his anger. “I just think you could do better.”
Keira could only shake her head, staggered by the small, futile defense Kona grasped onto. “Mark is pre-med. He comes from a good family and he volunteers at the battered women’s shelter. What’s bad about any of that?”
Kona’s laugh was quick and bitter. “You don’t like him.”
He was doing it again—that assumption thing that galled Keira into a whip of fury. “Fuck you, Kona. You don’t know what I like.”
He stepped forward, shoulders coming up. “You barely talked to him all night.” Back again was his attitude and with it, the elevation of his voice that told Keira his own temper was percolating. “He and Leann’s man were all on each other’s dicks. He’s not into you and I know you’re not into him.”
“You don’t know anything about me!” It was a pointless argument, something Keira decided right then she didn’t need to bother with. Kona Hale didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know her, he didn’t see her and she wouldn’t spend another minute letting him pretend he did. “You never will.” When she turned, eyes narrowed, focused on the down button on the elevator, Kona followed and this time when he grabbed her arm, his fingers bit into her skin.
“Yeah? Bullshit.” She jerked her arm away from him, shoved him once when he backed her next to the elevator. She expected his voice to be licked with fury; his eyes certainly flickered with anger, but when he spoke, Kona’s tone went flat, almost blunt. “You like music and Les Mis and onion rings with extra ketchup.” He stepped closer, eyes calmer. “You like Toni Morrison and think you were Shakespeare’s woman in a past life.” Another retreat from those dark eyes and Keira’s back was against the wall.
He’d remembered. Small tidbits of likes and dislikes, weird habits that she didn’t think anyone noticed, fears of what she didn’t want to become—Kona had paid attention to them all. Quick lunch grabs in the cafeteria and long nights in the library, both of them sweaty and stinking from practice, both rambling about their childhoods, about their families, it all came back to her then. Kona was a mammoth presence with a bigger personality that most days Keira found overwhelming. But there was a person behind that strength and sarcasm that he’d let her see. There was someone kind, someone who just wanted to be heard and Kona had shown her in brief glimpses, small smiles, that until then, she’d put out of her mind. She hadn’t wanted to get attached. She didn’t think he’d bother, but as Kona’s gaze slipped around her face, as his breath moved like a whisper across her cheeks, she realized he’d also seen the girl she was when she thought no one was watching.
“You hate football,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and if you ever have a kid, you want to name her Lennon, maybe Joplin.” Kona moved inches from her then, elbow on the wall by her ear. The space between their faces grew smaller, breath hotter then, closer. “You like sonnets and poetry but are too nervous to enter a poetry slam or sing in front of anyone but Leann.” He brushed her bangs off her forehead. “Does that asshole know any of that?” There was no tease in his voice, no inflection that made Keira want to lash out. It was curiosity, wonder and, Keira thought, the hint of hope.