Chapter 12
Hayes
And just like that, we’re right back at square one.
Kelsie sits on the far side of our lecture hall avoiding me like the plague, and I’m too exhausted from my early morning training to deal with our current situation.
I stayed up all night stewing over what happened. The amazing sex we had, followed by the way she just left to be with “what’s-his-name,” drove me crazy with jealousy and resentment.
The professor yammers on about some process for marketing as I sit slumped in my chair, my baseball cap pulled low to cover my face. I’m partially listening while sneaking glances at Kelsie every few minutes. She’s sitting down closer to the door today, giving me a good view of her profile.
She never once looks my way, but that doesn’t keep me from replaying that hot-as-hell hate sex scene we had yesterday over and over in my head like some sort of bad reality show I can’t stop watching. I can’t forget the way she squirmed when my tongue brought her to orgasm or how her tight pussy felt wrapped around my cock. It was like coming home. Everything about it felt right. Well, almost. At least the physical release.
We need to work on the other interpersonal stuff. If she would stop being such a stubborn pain in the ass and give me a chance to talk, I could try to explain things.
Try harder.
The professor finishes the lecture, but I’m so zoned out I don’t realize it until one of the students accidentally kicks my foot when they pass my seat and I bolt upright. Shit, I hope this lecture material isn’t going to be on a quiz tomorrow because I will fail.
I shove my laptop in my bag and glance over to see Kelsie already filing out of the lecture hall, swarmed by a couple of classmates who are looking for her attention. By the time I zip up my bag and exit the room into the hallway, she’s disappeared.
I scan the corridor past the people lingering about or hurriedly walking to their classrooms but don’t see her anywhere, so I head to the student union to grab a protein shake from the coffee stand.
While I wait to place my order, I see Hendy striding confidently into the building, bag slung over his shoulder, nodding to people as he goes. When he sees me, he nods with his chin and heads in my direction.
“What’s up, Mac?” he says, clapping me on the back in a friendly gesture.
“Not much.”
Everything. I’m a mess and fucked up with Kelsie again is what I really want to say.
Instead, I smile, give him a handshake and motion toward the menu board behind the counter. “Just grabbing a smoothie before I head home to study.”
“Fuck, yeah. I love their smoothies. Bear-y-licious is the best,” he says jovially, and then turns his megawatt smile toward the cashier taking orders, who proceeds to blush profusely and beaming at him like he’s a rock star.
Jesus. I wonder what it’s like to be a guy like Joel. QB extraordinaire. Star football player. The one everyone always clamors to be around. Joel Henderson can’t go anywhere on this campus without being recognized or fawned over. I would hate that kind of recognition, but he seems to enjoy the shit out of it.
I’ve never wanted to be that guy or have that kind of attention focused on me. Holden may have had aspirations of that at one point, but not me.
I step up to the counter to place my order and the girl smiles politely at me, but then her attention darts to Hendy and I swear she stares at him with fucking hearts in her eyes.
“Hey, Hendy,” she coos, toying with the ends of her hair flirtatiously, promptly forgetting I’m even there.
He bends down and leans on his elbows over the counter, producing a cheeky grin.
“Hey, Bree,” he drawls out in a low tone. “How you doing?”
She giggles and flutters her lashes. I clear my throat to get their attention and Hendy chuckles as the girl finally offers to take my order.
We move down to the end of the bar to wait for my drink, as Hendy leans casually against it, one foot propped over the other.
“Hey, it’s movie night at the house if you want to come by tonight,” he offers, scanning around the student lounge and acknowledging people as they walk by. I try to hide my grimace at the prospect of going through a similar scene that happened at their party a few weeks ago. The last thing I need is Grace and Lucy glaring daggers at me and wishing I were eaten by a fire-breathing dragon.
“Are you sure? I thought I was banned for life.” The words spill out before I even register them. They aren’t meant to be rude, just a confirmation. “Will the girls be there?”
Hendy chuckles, angling toward me conspiratorially. “Word is that you’ve been given the green light. I don’t know what changed. Maybe it’s because Kelsie is seeing that hockey player and her attention is elsewhere.”
I scowl and inwardly groan. There’s no way I could sit through a movie if Kelsie and Ben are fucking making out in front of me.
“I don’t know. Next time, maybe. I really got to go over the stuff from class today. And since we have that spring scrimmage coming up, I need to work with the special teams coordinator out on the field,” I offer, hoping it sounds plausible.
“Shit, you’re a better student than me,” he laughs congenially. “Well, if you decide otherwise, or maybe after your practice, feel free to stop over.”
I nod with a smile. “Sure thing, bro. Thanks for the invite.”
“Of course, dude. You’re part of the team. You’re always welcome,” he says, grinning as his gaze shifts to a petite brunette on the other side of the student lounge. “Gotta run. See you later, Mac.”
I nod and watch as he saunters over to the woman who seems to wear the same heart eyes expression as Bree the cashier. She gives him a hug. Damn, Hendy definitely has swagger.
As I take the walk through the quad and back to my off-campus house, I consider his invite. A part of me wants to go over tonight and chill with my new friends. I need some distraction from my overactive thoughts on Kelsie and the situation with my brother. By the time I get home, though, I decide against the movie night in order to study. I need to maintain my grades so I can keep my scholarship and spot on the team. Otherwise, this entire transfer will be for nothing.
I can always hang out another time.
It’s not even past 4 p.m. when the winter dusk settles in and it’s grown dark by the time I make it back home. As I turn the corner of the street, I happen to glance up at the old house from the front walkway. There’s a light on in the attic dormer window. No one lives up there, to my knowledge as all our housemates have their own rooms. Although I’ve never been up there, I thought Parker mentioned it was just used for storage.
I enter the house, kick off my shoes by the door, and wave to Parker who sits with her back to me at the kitchen table, head bent over her laptop, fingers flying as she types what appears to be a paper.
“Hey,” I say, hoping not to interrupt her. She doesn’t look my way, but throws a hand in the air in greeting.
I haven’t gotten to know Parker all that well yet. All I know is her father owns this house, she’s lived here the last two years, and she hopes to go into broadcast journalism when she graduates.
Glancing down the hall toward Kelsie’s room, I notice her door is shut and there’s no light coming from inside. Looks like she might be gone. I suppose that’s a good thing since I have studies to do.
I take the flight of stairs up to my bedroom and toss my bag on the bed. But curiosity gets the better of me and I want to see why there’s a light on from behind the attic door. I climb the narrow flight of stairs to the third floor.
Light streams down into the staircase and as I round the corner, Kelsie comes into view. She’s standing with her back to me, wearing a pair of her paint-splattered overalls, a white tank top beneath, facing a large canvas propped up on an easel. She’s barefoot even though it’s cold as fuck up here. And she’s…painting.
Quietly, I watch her for a long moment as she strokes the brush of light brown paint along the canvas. I didn’t realize she was still painting, considering she told me it was just a hobby. I figured now that we’re back in school, she wouldn’t have time. But while in Paris, she showed me some of the artwork she’d completed because she was inspired.
When I mentioned how talented I thought she was and asked her why she wasn’t studying art in college, she just shrugged me off and said she’d never make a living at it, so why bother?
Quietly and without detection, I make my way over to stand against the far wall, taking in her exquisite body and the graceful movements of her arm as she sweeps color across the canvas. Then she stops and puts the end of the brush between her teeth, tilting her head from side to side to assess what she’s created. She plucks it from her lips, putting the brush back to the canvas and stroking another swath along the edge.
I’ve never seen anything as sexy as when Kelsie paints.
My eyes wander across the room where I notice several more paintings—some finished and others in a state of incompleteness—lined up against the attic floor. How many paintings has she done since she returned to school? I can’t believe I didn’t know she came up here.
But then again, there’s a lot I don’t know about Kelsie still.
“That’s really good,” I offer out of the blue, my voice echoing over the cold dusty floor.
The paintbrush clatters to the floor when she jumps and then spins around to clutch at her heart.
“Jesus H. Fucking Christ! Hayes, you scared the living shit out of me!”
I give her an apologetic smile as she bends down to pick up the fallen tool and then wipes off the smudge of paint it left over her boob.
When she turns to fully face me, I see she has paint smeared on her right cheek and left arm. She’s a mess and so fucking adorable.
A perfect, beautiful mess with her hair piled in a high bun on top of her head, disheveled with strands of blonde popping out and falling over her face.
I take a few steps closer to get a better look at her work and she stops me by stepping in front of the canvas, blocking it from my view. I wrinkle my forehead with a frown over her reaction.
“It’s not done yet,” she murmurs, fluttering the hand in the air that still holds the paintbrush, uncertainty lacing her tone.
I peek around her, pointing at the art. “I’ve seen your stuff before, Kels. Your art is amazing.”
A look of vulnerability passes through her eyes, which surprises me. Because Kelsie is anything but weak or unconfident. She’s the fiercest woman I know and the brightest star in the sky.
She slowly steps aside. “Please don’t judge it. I’m not done with it yet.”
“I promise I won’t.”
What I see takes my breath away and I smile wistfully at the scene in front of me. It’s a park in Paris near the Seine where we used to go for walks. Where we’d stroll along the path beside the bank of the river and later make out on a blanket while the world moved around us in slow motion. The painting floods my mind with my memories of us sitting there for hours talking, our hands entwined, or when she’d lie on my lap as I stroked her hair. Or times we’d be studying, books on our laps, and my arm would be wrapped around her shoulder. Then just for the hell of it, she’d turn her head and kiss me on the cheek. My heart constricts at those memories.
Those were the best days of my life.
The time I spent in Paris with her made me forget all about the pain I left behind in Colorado.
Her painting captures the beauty of our experience perfectly.
“I love it,” I state matter of factly, feeling a little choked up.
“You do?” She twists her lips in question.
“I do. You have a talent for capturing a place exactly as it was with every detail colorfully represented. It’s really good, Kelsie. I’m so glad you’ve found a place and some time to continue your work.”
“Thanks.”
She turns back around and starts to reorganize her supplies. I sigh.
“Kelsie, we need to talk about what happened.”
She shakes her head. “No, we don’t. It was only sex. We needed to get it out of our system. And we did.”
“That was more than just sex, Kels, and you know it.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration and she glances at me. “We have history together.”
She stomps her foot and rolls her eyes. “There you go again, telling me what I know. Mansplaining things to me.”
I swallow back the laugh and place a finger under her chin, gently guiding her to look at me.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to continue to fight with you,” I state, her eyes meeting mine. “Believe it or not, I still care about you.”
She swallows and I fucking hate the pain I see behind her eyes. I put it there.
“There are things we should talk about, but…I just need some time to get my head straight,” I try to explain. Her body visibly stiffens. “Can we at least try to be friends?”
She bites her bottom lip as she contemplates my offer. “You won’t get all jealous and weird on me again, will you?”
Ugh, that’s right. Ben.
I frown. “I can’t make promises like that. But I’ll try.”
I hold out my hand. “Truce?”
She tilts her head to one side and then the other.
“Fine, whatever. Truce,” she agrees, accepting my outstretched hand as we shake on it. Her hand remains connected with mine and when she doesn’t pull away, I run my thumb over her knuckles. I watch goosebumps form on her arms before she finally jerks her hand from my grip.
I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, but at least it’s a start.