Twenty-Three
Holden
Only a couple of weeks have passed since the start of the new semester, and Phoenix has already been buried alive beneath a mountain of classwork on top of his practice schedule. A fate I’d never wish on my worst enemy. Which, funny enough, Phoenix used to be.
The only positive thing coming out of this is it gives me a reason to crash his cram sessions; meaning I get to spend more time with him, all under the guise of doing my own work.
And it definitely is a guise, seeing as the only thing I can focus on studying is the way his teeth sink into his lower lip when he takes notes.
I’d love to bite it for him, if he wasn’t so intent on actually using our time in one of the library’s study pods for actual work rather than other much more fun activities—
“You’re staring.”
I smile. “You’re distracting.”
His attention falters and he peers up at me, brows furrowed in confusion. “How?”
Before thinking better of it, I reach over and trace my thumb over the little swollen patch of his lip, the brush of his skin electric beneath my touch.
“I can’t think when you bite your lip like that.”
Heat flares in his eyes, but he sits back in his chair, forcing my touch to fall away. “You’re the horniest person I know.”
“Guilty as charged.” A smirk lifts my lips. “Don’t try acting like you don’t enjoy it, though.”
As if to prove his point and my own, I slip my hand beneath the table and trace a daring path up his jean-clad inner thigh. And just like I thought, his lips twitch before rolling inward, only parting again when my fingers graze his cock through the denim.
He groans before catching my wrist, eyes as dark as a starless night when he stares at me.
“You’re trouble,” he whispers, voice gruff and full of lust.
“The best kind.”
His teeth scrape over his bottom lip in a move far sexier than it should be, especially if he’s asking me to keep my hands to myself. “Sometimes I’m not too sure about that.”
“Eyes and mouth, Nix.”
Some mixture of a scoff and a laugh leaves him, and he lowers his gaze back to the book while shaking his head.
We’ve been careful ever since that day in the empty classroom, ensuring to keep any and all hook-ups behind closed, locked, private doors. If we’re keeping this a secret the way Phoenix wants—at least from Kason—then having someone walk in on us is pretty much the worst thing that could happen.
After all, people talk, and word spreads fast. Even at a college Leighton’s size.
But moments like this? When we’re alone and I make the mistake of touching him, or he catches me staring? Fuck, they make it hard to remember why we’re supposed to behave.
“Stop. Staring,” he says, his tone flat and direct while his eyes stay locked on his notebook as he continues writing.
“Stop. Being. Sexy.”
“Kinda something I can’t control, considering I’m not even trying,” he retorts.
“Mmm, yeah, you’re right. This is one of those maybe he’s born with it moments.”
His gaze lifts from his notebook again. Slower this time, before he cocks his head and blinks at me. “Did you just Maybelline me?”
My lips lift in a grin. “Maybe.”
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
I hold my hands out to my sides in a what can you do shrug. “Hey, at least I’m entertaining. There’s nothing worse than a boring study partner.”
“Actually, there’s nothing worse than a partner who just doesn’t study.”
Touché, Nixy.
I don’t have a rebuttal, so I just laugh and go back to reading about the fall of the Qing Dynasty. But every time I look up, there’s Phoenix with his teeth in his lip all over again. I swear, he’s doing it on purpose now, but…fuck.
“Keep biting your lip, and I’m gonna bite it for you,” I warn him.
From the little smirk that forms as he releases it, he’s definitely doing it on purpose now. One of the many ways he drives me crazy.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve discovered this chemistry between us is indescribable. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and it makes me wonder if it was similar the first time we hooked up. The night, no matter how many times I ask, I still know nothing about.
At this point, it’s become a game to him. So while I know him telling me what happened—in every glorious, explicit detail—won’t bring back my memories, part of me still wants to know.
But then again, maybe what happened isn’t the question I should be asking.
I watch him as he’s writing dates for something, and then the words fall from my lips before I realize it.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the night at Kappa Sig sooner?”
Phoenix’s pen pauses on the paper as he looks up at me. His eyes search mine momentarily, his face taking on an indecipherable expression that quickly turns to something like…shame? Guilt, maybe?
“I didn’t know you were so drunk that you wouldn’t remember,” he says, casting his eyes down again.
“It wasn’t until you brought it up at the bar in St. Pete’s that I realized it.
Up until then, I just thought you were an asshole and wanted to pretend we’d never slept together. Or it was so unmemorable, you…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. I have a pretty clear idea of where it was heading.
So unmemorable, I didn’t realize he was the person I’d slept with.
An ache emerges in my chest from an onslaught of emotion—one I’ve been feeling a lot more lately when it comes to him.
Regret.
Not for sleeping with him—but for ever making him feel like that. As if he could ever be unmemorable or lackluster or anything other than fucking amazing.
I shake my head vehemently, rejecting the idea that could ever be the case.
“I didn’t remember. I still don’t.”
“I know, I believe you. The constant badgering about the details kinda gave it away.” He offers a wry smile before his expression sobers a bit.
“But at the time, I wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing I was thinking about it.
If you were hell-bent on acting like you’d never met me or it never happened, then I was too. ”
“Spiteful,” I point out, with a smirk. “How very on-brand of you.”
He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “You definitely brought out the worst in me at some points.”
I don’t miss him saying it in past tense, and it sprouts something within me. Something resembling hope. Like maybe he and I are done with that part of our story, and now we can focus on bringing out the best instead.
I reach my hand over the table and grab his. “Nix, about that night—”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.”
“I do, though.” I glance down to where my fingers trace over his knuckles, working up the courage I need to give him this piece of me.
It’s only when his hand shifts to lace his fingers with mine that I find the words.
“The night of the finals week party was the anniversary of my mom and dad’s death. ”
Phoenix’s fingers tighten around mine imperceptibly as he lets out a soft curse. “Shit, Hold. I—”
I wave him off. “You don’t have to apologize. Seriously. It’s been…God, almost six years now. I should honestly be a lot more adjusted than I am.”
“You’re doing the best you can.” His thumb rubs the back of my hand in soft, soothing motions, and I sink into the familiarity of his touch. Even if it’s just that singular spot, it’s the kind of grounding pressure I’ve been missing for years.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice coming out on shards of glass.
Looking up at him, I find sympathy in his eyes as he watches me. But as I look closer, I realize it isn’t the kind I hate, the kind filled with pity. It feels different, yet I don’t know why.
“I haven’t told many people this, but…my parents who died weren’t my birth parents.”
His brow arches imperceptibly, and it’s like something clicks together in his brain when he murmurs, “You’re adopted.”
I swallow roughly and nod. “Yeah, they adopted me from birth.” My focus shifts over to the door of the room, finding it easier to tell him this without looking at him.
“I guess my birth mom was a teen girl who didn’t even know who my father was.
And the couple who adopted me—my parents—couldn’t have kids of their own, and by some divine intervention, they found my mother a few months before I was born. ”
Phoenix’s hand squeezes mine, and I focus on his thumb still circling over the back of my hand before continuing.
“My parents were never secretive about my being adopted. I’ve known for as long as I can remember, and they always answered any questions I had about my bio mom.
They even offered to contact her so I could meet her, if that was what I wanted.
But to me, they were my parents. I didn’t know anything else, and even though I had my curiosities, I didn’t feel like I was missing anything by not knowing her. ”
“Have you thought about reaching out to your birth mom since they passed?”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “She died when I was twelve from a drug overdose.”
Pained doesn’t even begin to describe Phoenix’s expression when I finally glimpse at him. But again, it’s not in sympathy. It’s like he’s feeling all the emotions I am. Like he’s taking them for himself, so I don’t have to carry the burden alone.
He licks his lips and exhales a heavy sigh. “I know you don’t want apologies, but I’m sorry you no longer have them. All of them. I know it can’t have been easy to go through all that loss.”
My throat constricts, and I nod. “At least I had Gran. But no matter how glad I am to have her, it’s not the same, you know?”
A sad smile curves the corner of his mouth. “I get it.”
Emotion lodges itself deeper in my throat, and I let out a rough laugh. “She’d like you, though, with how you’re always putting me in my place and giving me shit.”
“Someone has to do it.”
I’m starting to realize there’s no one else I’d rather have doing it—only him.