Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
KINCAID
Francesca’s unexpected behaviour might have disrupted my plans, but it doesn’t take me long to rally. As I watch her and Aidan talk and laugh together, I formulate a new plan; taking my time because the torture of unrequited desire is a new experience, and I want to soak in the frustration until I have my fill.
Each sharp jab of envy only makes me want her more.
It worries me that she barely eats. Sometimes bringing a sandwich from home, often not even having that.
Aidan doesn’t notice. His eyes move to our table more often than they rest on his friend. When she looks away or down, his expression is calculating enough to give me the creeps.
She’s not yet in the room when I enter the cafeteria on Friday. Rather than join the queue, I signal to a girl behind the counter, and she pops out the back, returning with a specially prepared tray.
Coach sends the kitchen a plan, and they stick to it. The food tastes like cardboard and gently sautéed weed, but my taste buds take second ranking to my performance on the field.
I carry it to my usual table, taking a corner seat with a vantage point over the room, claiming the neighbouring seat with my bag.
Aidan soon arrives with my favourite redhead, and when Alice catches my eye, I nod. She saunters over to the pair before they can sit, talking to them in an urgent manner, pointing in my direction.
When Francesca follows Alice’s finger, I withdraw the rugby jersey and phone from my bag, placing it on the table.
There’s another short and furious exchange, then Francesca lunges away from her would-be attacker and strides across to join me, cheeks glowing red. “I thought you told Alice to leave me alone?”
“I did.”
She scowls when I move my bag and pat the seat next to me but takes it, her shoulders slumping. “Then why’s she still targeting me?”
Aidan works out his friend isn’t returning and walks over. “You okay, Chess?”
“She’s fine.”
“I wasn’t asking you, King.”
Francesca’s gaze travels back to Alice, now seated with Dory and Arabella, all three watching developments with a keen eye.
“Everything’s good,” she says, nodding like she’s trying to convince herself.
“There’s a seat here,” Ezra yells, bunching up with Coxey and Ferdinand to make room. Odd behaviour, considering he doesn’t usually give a damn about his teammates, but I dismiss it and turn back to Francesca.
“Protection only applies if you’re my girlfriend.” I keep my voice low so Aidan can’t overhear. “And you made it perfectly clear on Monday you weren’t.” I shrug, hiding my amusement as her forehead flushes as red as her cheeks. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“And what does that entail?”
“Oh, the usual.” I pointedly glance at the jersey. “Like wearing my shirt when I’m kind enough to give it to you.”
“Fine.” She snatches it off the table, stuffing it into her bag before crossing her arms. “I’ll wear it at home.”
“You’ll wear it now or I’ll call Alice over. Your choice.”
With a theatrical sigh, she tugs it out of her bag, shoving her right arm through.
“Take off your blouse first.” I lean closer to her, inhaling the aroma of her skin, rich with florals from her morning shower. “I want to spend all afternoon thinking about my shirt rubbing against your skin.”
“Fine.” She stands, trying to push past me to get out but I lean back, blocking her. “Excuse me, Sir. ”
Even mocking, the word sounds good on her.
I reach out a finger and touch it to her bare wrist. “You don’t need to leave here to change. Take off your blouse.”
A shudder ripples across her shoulders, eyes brightening to turquoise. “I’m not stripping off in front of everyone.”
“Then figure out how to deal with Alice on your own.”
Her eyes travel to Aidan but he’s deep in conversation with Ezra, their body language strangely intense. With slumped shoulders, she sits again, this time with her back to the cafeteria, hands shaking.
“Would you like help again? I have my knife handy.”
“I can do it,” she snaps, releasing the first button before I can reach into my pocket.
I eat another mouthful before pushing my plate aside, the electric tang of her discomfort a far tastier treat. Her head tips forward until her bright fringe falls over her eyes and I lift it aside with one finger, not wanting any part of her to be obscured.
When she shrugs off the blouse, her hand grabs for the jersey and I put mine on top, the shivers of her skin sinking into my palm. A wave of goosebumps cascade across her skin, adding texture to her freckles. I run a finger up her forearm, and she flicks me off to drag the numbered shirt over her head.
By the time it’s in place, I’ve neatly folded her blouse and stored it in my bag.
“I need that. Otherwise, I’ll get a demerit in class, and that goes against my scholarship.” Her fingers play with the skin at the base of her throat, pinching it as red as her flushing cheeks. “Please can I have it back?”
“No.” Although hearing her plead is almost enough to make me waver. “Sit down. Eat your lunch. You’re drawing attention.”
She sits with a thump, crossing her arms.
“You’re not eating?”
The set of her jaw hardens. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“You still need to eat.” I pull at her arm until she unfolds them, and hold her hand in mine, unclenching her fingers. “See this discolouration on your fingernails? That’s likely from vitamin and mineral deficiencies. You’re too malnourished to skip meals and whoever’s taking care of you isn’t doing a great job.”
Her gaze turns icy. “Sorry I don’t meet your standards, but the meal plan isn’t included in my scholarship, and the cost is outrageous, even for haute cuisine.”
“Which it definitely isn’t.”
I gesture to the girl behind the counter who quickly puts a plate together, bringing it across while ignoring the students still in line. The tray is loaded with a sample from each dish on offer.
After thanking the server, I slide it next to me. “Anytime you eat here from now on, it’ll go on my tab.” When she still hesitates, I growl, “Eat or I’ll feed you every bite.”
Francesca’s thigh briefly touches against mine as she leans forward, unwrapping the bamboo cutlery. And it’s a lucky thing they opted for the disposables rather than stainless steel because her knuckles turn white as she grips the knife, eyes flicking down to my leg.
My manspread widens, enjoying the warmth as she runs out of room to shuffle clear and is forced to endure the press of my thigh against hers.
She swaps to the fork, sighing happily at the options, then starting with a healthy mac and cheese containing more broccoli than pasta. After clearing half the tray, she stops, pinching the rugby jersey away from her, nose wrinkling. “Why are there wet patches?”
I’m hardly going to tell her about busting a nut between morning classes. Or how I used the jersey to clean the mess.
“Not sure. Must’ve spilled something in my bag.”
With my palm against her lower back, I find a damp spot and rub it in small circles, imagining the cum soaking into her skin like moisturiser, becoming part of her. It hits at a need buried deep inside me. A need I didn’t know existed until this moment. Marking her as my possession, my family.
The meal is over too soon and the instant I give permission, Francesca flees from the table, Aidan racing to catch her. There is more I want from her, but at this early stage, I’m happy to loosen the leash. She’ll find out soon enough the other end is welded to my hand.
Fourth period is history, an easy subject for me, and I daydream, letting my eyes defocus as I stare out the window.
Then I sit up straight, teeth snapping together as Francesca walks past, head down like she’s trudging through a gale. When she pushes into the admin building, I stand to follow her. The teacher says something as I walk past, but my attention is elsewhere.
Francesca is deep in conversation with the school secretary when I approach, talking through the slide window.
“But it’s part of the uniform,” she argues loudly enough for me to hear. And softer, “I don’t have another blouse.”
It could be true. I haven’t checked to see if she redeemed the credit I gave her.
I sidle closer.
“While I have you here,” the secretary adds, “there’s a discrepancy with your paperwork.” She shuffles through a haphazard stack of pages, messy enough to give me hives. “Your mother missed a signature on the proof of income form and the board of trustees rejected your funding application.”
“What?” Francesca straightens, her voice sharp. “What does that mean?”
“Honestly, I’ve texted half a dozen times and got no response.” She clicks her tongue. “It’s here somewhere.”
“I didn’t receive any texts.”
The secretary’s eyes widen. “Because they were sent to your mother. Here!” She pushes across a few stapled pages, tapping a neon sticker. “If you could pass on the message, that’d be great. Honestly, it’ll only take five minutes to get it sorted.”
“My mum lost her phone. Can you change the number in the system to mine? Until she buys a replacement.”
“Not unless she makes the request herself. Does she have a work number I could try?”
Francesca ignores the question. “Can’t I sign these? I’m eighteen.”
“No, it’s your mother’s income, not yours.” The woman looks one second away from a breakdown. “Have her drop in anytime during the day. I’ll leave these in the urgent cubbyhole so anyone can help.”
“I could take them home.”
“The signature needs to be witnessed.”
I step forward, clearing my throat. “What happens if she can’t sign them?”
“That won’t happen,” the woman assures me. “Really, it’s not a big deal. One signature and everything’ll be sorted for the year.”
Given how tightly Francesca’s arms are wrapped around her torso, the secretary’s assessment of it not being a big deal seems well misplaced.
“But if she can’t?”
The woman sighs. “Without the government funding, the annual school fees will immediately come due.” She taps the page again. “None of us want that.”
“How much?”
“Don’t tell him,” Francesca snaps, showing her irritation. “That’s my private business.”
“The school fees are the same for everyone,” the woman counters. Then to me, “It’s eighteen thousand each half year, but since we demand payment in advance and we’re already in term three, that’ll be the full thirty-six thousand for the year.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
“As I said, five minutes for a signature and it’ll be sorted.”
“Otherwise… How many times does five thousand go into that? Would it be—”
Francesca pushes past me, but the secretary waves a red card. “You forgot your demerit.”
“Oh, come on,” I wheedle. “You’re not really going to put her on fatigues for wearing a sports jersey on competition day. Where’s your school spirit?” The woman shakes her head, and I lean forward, dropping my voice lower. “Issue her a uniform pass.” When she doesn’t immediately respond. “Now!”
“Of course.” She plucks a card from a different tray and holds it out the window. I snatch it, passing it across to Francesca, smiling at the static spark as our fingertips touch.
“Glad that’s sorted. Now if you—”
But she’s gone, storming through the double doors and into the quad, her body drawn with tense lines.