Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-two
Scarlett
What’s the likelihood of going to hell for lying to your parents?
Because waving bye to my dad and then driving directly to the hockey house feels like I’m committing a grave sin.
I’ve appeased my conscience by telling myself it’s for the greater good of academia.
If Kian passes the course, he’ll graduate and be on his merry way to the NHL and I won’t ever have to tell my dad about this arrangement.
So far, he’s been overly curious about what I’m doing in my free time, and I tend to dodge that question by reciting all my classes.
It helps that even when I was in the sorority and partying every night, I still managed to ace all my courses.
There isn’t one professor at Dalton who could say anything bad about me.
The students, on the other hand, well, that’s a different story.
Promiscuous. Wild. Elusive.
“Hey, Red!” Cole calls as I’m making my way up the porch steps. He’s dressed in all black, helmet in hand and keys swinging from his index finger. Sebastian is right behind him, walking out of the now-closing garage.
The house is loud and exactly what I expected. There are a bunch of guys from the hockey team in the living room, screaming at the TV. I spot Dylan in the kitchen across the hall, shirtless and yawning as he eats a bowl of cereal.
Their practices have been pretty brutal, and Dylan’s decided that he can juggle both hockey and figure skating with Sierra. My dad is not happy about it.
I’m trying to find Kian in the group of guys, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“I think he went outside,” Cole says to me, pointing to the sliding doors.
I nod and weave through the guys, who barely notice me. The need to stretch the hem of my shirt down doesn’t appear, and neither does the feeling of being appraised raise the hairs on the nape of my neck.
I slip through the sliding door and onto the back porch. The muffled sound of the TV barely makes it through here, covered by the bubbling sound coming from the massive hot tub. It’s huge. And it’s got Aiden Crawford’s face all over it.
I’m so confused by the sight that I almost don’t notice Kian soaking in it, head back, body lulled deep in the steaming tub.
The curve of his neck drips with droplets of water running down his Adam’s apple and toward the tattoos that branch out on his neck. He’s got one arm on the edge of the tub, his thick biceps spanning a fourth of the perimeter.
I swallow, watching the way he flexes and unflexes his hand, the veins under his skin popping through even under the dark ink. I wonder how they’d feel around my neck, the sheer weight of them on my body, and how his fingers—
“Scar?”
I jerk, springing myself into a coughing fit that I try to muffle with my fist. When I clear my throat, he’s still got that wide smile on his face, kind of like a puppy wagging its tail.
“Come in. The temperature is perfect,” he says.
I deadpan, my eyes locked on him, until he finally lets his gaze sweep over my clothes and then nods to himself.
“Right. One sec.”
Kian flips a switch on the wall, reaching it easily with his long arm. Then he lifts himself out of the water, and my eyes stay stuck on him like leeches. Every movement feels drawn out, slow, and downright torturous with how my clothes itch against my skin.
The water clings to him in tiny beads, rolling down his shoulders, his chest, and his arms, catching the light like little pearls. My mouth parts as the drops of water trace each muscle. Stuck to every part of his skin like that’s where they belong now, holding on to him desperately.
His obscenely tiny black shorts cling to his thick thighs, molded to the muscle beneath like one of those airtight plastic bags. My tongue feels like sandpaper.
The steam from the hot tub wraps around him, curling up in the air, tracing the outline of his body in a misty haze like it would some kind of god. He keeps walking toward me, and it’s too much for my brain. The catalog of new skin and tattoos have nowhere to go in the overfilled planes of my mind.
I freeze, caught somewhere between awe and something I won’t admit aloud. Then Kian smiles, and I’m about to follow him back inside but he doesn’t stop. He keeps walking until he’s pressed against me.
That’s when he hugs me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what we do, but I’m speechless for the entire six seconds.
His body is hot, hotter than I expected, and wet. So wet it clings to me like a sponge, transferring all the heat and slickness of his body to mine. I can nearly taste the salty chlorine water on my tongue. I’ve become a human towel.
Then Kian stiffens, and I know he’s realized what he’s done. His rough curse is muffled, and even that sends a tiny electric jolt somewhere low. He pulls back, his hands on my shoulders. “Oh shit, I didn’t realize.”
“That you’re soaking wet?!” With my arms lifted out from my body, I stare at the Kian-shaped splotch of water on my shirt and leggings.
He hands me a towel. “Here. I’ll get you a change of clothes. Come on.”
He skips using a towel for himself, grabs my hand, and drags me behind him, water dripping across the hardwood as his housemates jeer. My gaze tries and fails to stay anywhere away from his body. I’ve got the perfect view of his back, hard muscles, and broad shoulders.
When we’re in his room, the door shuts behind us, the soft sound of Bon Iver is playing, and I forget how to act normal.
I’ve been in his room before. Slept in it.
But right now, with him rummaging through his dresser, still dripping, with that focused look taking over his face, I feel hot.
His brows furrow, and he’s biting the corner of his pink bottom lip, white teeth pressed down on the skin.
It makes me wonder what it would feel like, having those teeth—
“Everything’s in the laundry, but I’ve got this Star Wars T-shirt?” He holds up the gray, worn-in graphic tee, a frayed hem on the sleeve and a faded image.
I nod quickly, as if him looking at me long enough might reveal my thoughts. “This is good.”
I shrug out of my wet crewneck, glad for the sports bra underneath because the chlorine stings. He hands me the sweats, his gaze brushing past my tattoos for the briefest second. I reach for the waistband of my leggings, shrugging them down.
“I’m going to shower,” Kian says hurriedly, heading into the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”
I sit in his clothes, letting my gaze roam his room.
I go to his wall of vinyls, some stacked high, others arranged by genre on his shelf.
At his desk he has pictures with his friends.
There’s one tucked into a black moleskin sketchbook.
It’s of an older man, his dad I think, carrying a young Kian.
There’s a tiny drawing of a rainbow on the back of the picture.
I’ve just opened the first page when I realize what I’m doing. This is private. I drop it, just as the bathroom door creaks open and Kian steps out in only a towel.
He’s so comfortable in his body, like he’s in the exact right place all the time. I try not to watch his post-shower routine for too long. He gets dressed in a 2023 Frozen Four champions T-shirt and gray sweats.
Then Kian sits on his bed, flopping back on it as he stretches like a cat. He takes up the entire mattress before he shifts to lie on his side, propped up on one elbow, and a hand cradling his head. “Okay, let’s start.”
I stare at him from the swivel chair. “At your desk, Romeo.”
“But if we lay here, it’ll feel less like we’re studying,” he argues.
“What kind of tutor gets into her student’s bed?” I say the words and hear the mocking response almost instantly. I know he’s thinking it when he rolls off his bed, and that’s why I blurt, “Well, my kind, I guess. That’s no secret.”
Kian pulls up the shorter plastic stool, letting me have his cushioned chair. Then he watches me for what feels like an eternity, but he doesn’t agree or say anything I’ve already thought in my head. “You smell like chlorine.”
“I wonder why. Now show me your assignment. Then we’ll go over your previous ones so you’ll be ready for your test on Friday.”
There’s a faint smile on his face as he pulls out his work. “It’s cute that you memorized my syllabus.”
“If I left it to you, you’d miss your exam because you lost track of time in your hot tub.”
“Hey, that was a onetime thing. I’m barely ever in it.” He sees the look I give him. “I’m serious. The last time I wanted to use it, I’m pretty sure Dylan had a girl in there.”
I laugh, because I know exactly who that girl is. Her clothes smelled like chlorine when I tossed them onto my laundry pile at my parents’ house.
“How’s Neha, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask you when we can visit them all again. I got the kids Dalton jerseys.”
The fact that he even remembers the women’s shelter coordinator’s name throws me off. I thought it was a one-off, something he did to make the whole letter thing up to me.
“You got them jerseys?”
He shrugs. “Of course.”
Something strong and foreign stirs violently in my chest, creating a chasm that splinters right through me. It’s strong, the urge nearly blasting through me before I appease it by lunging forward and wrapping my arms around him.
There’s a low, rough breath that escapes him, but he doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around me. Hugging Kian is never a mistake. He makes every single touch feel fated, like he’s timed it perfectly and will always return it.
When I pull back, he stares at me, then simply turns back to his laptop. “I tried to do most of it, but if you could explain—”
“Are you not going to ask why I hugged you?”
His mouth opens, then closes with a soft, almost sympathetic smile. “You don’t need a reason, Scarlett. I like you hugging me.”
Blush creeps onto my neck so deep, you’d think he’d just kissed me. But that’s what those words feel like, tiny presses of affection all over my skin. I pull his laptop to face me, hoping the blue light will hide the redness on my cheeks and neck.