12. Knox
CHAPTER 12
KNOX
F uck me.
I want to shove the tip of my pencil through the paper when I fuck up my drawing once again.
It’s not because of my shaky hands or the fact that I can hear Quinn giggling through the wall with Reid, who Slate and I had conveniently run into after falling back into the hallway following the incident of catching her unaware while she was half naked.
All I needed was one look at the brunet haired boy she invited over, well dressed in his olive slacks and gray sweater vest, to know that I don’t like him. The collar of his button-down white shirt popped dramatically against the colors, and with each of his eyes a different splash of butterscotch and sky, it was entirely too much for me to handle. Especially when I noticed the bottle of wine loosely hanging from his grasp, even though he tried to tuck it behind his leg like he was trying to hide his intentions going to Quinn’s apartment.
I’d turned on my heel, something hot and heavy slicing through my veins and settling in my stomach like a boulder. I walked right into my own apartment while Slate extended niceties with Reid in the hall. Into my room I went, snatching the dark bound sketchbook from the shelf above my desk and the pack of my favorite pencils. I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling with the familiar book clutched to my chest.
“Who was that?” I ignored Slate’s question when he stuck his head into my room, demanding I play a round of Call of Duty with him.
“That was Reid. He’s in Quinn and Rory’s drawing class. Architecture major, I think. Seems like a decent guy.”
Architecture major? How pretentious.
I declined the game and Slate huffed, leaving my room grumbling something about how Ace would’ve accepted, which is why I’m currently sitting in my bed, attempting to draw while my mind keeps wandering back to Quinn.
If we hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, I probably would’ve pursued her.
She had a bra on, a rather nice, maraschino colored one that matched those rosy cheeks of hers. The body that she hides under those clothes… my fucking God, I hadn’t expected her to look like that. The perfect handful of plump, round breasts, the tease of her stomach between her bra and the waistband of her pants.
I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of her.
Those gorgeous hazel eyes blazed with the heat of a thousand fires when I was finally able to make my way back up to them, and the intensity of her harsh glare made my heart stutter in my chest like I was a kid with a crush. I watched the way that look in her eyes faltered, and I swear I saw something raw, like she was feeling the same thing I was experiencing: a hot, unyielding need coursing through my veins. But those walls were back up as quickly as they dropped and I was shoved out the door by Slate .
I find myself wanting to hear those foul words rolling off her tongue as she cusses me out. I want her to fight with me again.
It’s not difficult to picture the way she stood there. My artist’s memory keeps that image fresh and my cock rouses when I draw it back to mind. How Quinn’s shoulders curled in on herself with her surprise. The color of her bra stuck in my head like it’s tattooed there forever. I saw entirely too much of her: the creamy skin of the tops of her breasts, spilling from her bra, the curves of her sides, rounding out at her hips.
Fuck, do I feel like a pervert right now, thinking about her body—how she’d move under me. What shapes I’d be able to fold her into as I feed her my cock. Would she look at me in that way that makes my stomach tight? Would she fight me every step of the way, vying for control?
Charcoal clings to my fingertips. My kneaded eraser is dark with use, the number of times I’ve had to go back in and erase is unusual for me. I’ve always prided myself on being able to put on paper exactly what is in my head, but with the noises on the other side of the wall distracting me, I’m feeling more than frustrated.
Quinn laughs again and I desperately want to shove my headphones over my ears so that I don’t have to hear her so happy. Her laughter is a beautiful sound, one I think she should make more often, but I’ve only known her sour mood, thanks to my actions toward her.
I don’t wear my headphones because as much as I’d like to drown out the low rumble of her date’s voice, I don’t want to miss out on any of the noises slipping past her lips.
I hate that I want to listen in.
Teeth clenched, I force myself to go back in with my charcoal for a third time, and finally, I perfect the line I’ve been working on. The touch of the chalk is a comforting weight in my palm, and when I smear the medium into the paper, I can almost picture my hands tracing the curves of her body, leaving darkness in their wake.
Something causes Quinn to gasp dramatically and I have to squeeze my eyes shut. My mind wanders back to the time when she was in there all alone and the noises that she made. Pleas of desperation, as if she wasn’t the one doing it to herself.
Fuck. I shouldn’t be here. I should go see if Slate still wants to play that game, or get out of the house, maybe go to a local bar or have dinner at the diner. Ace is nowhere to be seen lately, so he’s out of the question.
Slate’s likely to see right through my ploy because I don’t usually want to go out and do things. I prefer being in my own space. I never was one to want to get wasted off my ass like the other drunken college kids our age. Working on my art and tattooing— oh, I bet I can convince Slate to let me practice on him.
I get up from my bed, and when I leave my room to knock on his door, a neon sticky note plastered to the front stops me.
Gone to get laid. brB. Love you Knoxie!
P.S. You should think about getting some yourself ;)
As if I wasn’t just thinking the same thing.
Deflating, a noise from the other side of the wall tears my attention away from Slate’s note. I frown because I don’t know if it’s a noise of pleasure or pain, or perhaps a bit of both. I only know that I need to get out of here before the sounds Quinn is making drive me completely insane, or before I barge into her apartment and rip that fluffy-haired fuck right off of her.
They’re so fucking annoying, these thoughts that are clogging my head. I don’t even like her, and yet, here I am, wondering what she’s doing with the guy who’d been standing outside of her door.
Fucking whatever.
I snag my jacket on my way out. The worn leather is a comfort in my hands as I stride to the elevator. It’s time to take a ride because if anything, I know that the wind against my body and the open road will wipe the thoughts from my mind.
I don’t see Quinn for the rest of the weekend, and her side of the wall is suspiciously silent.
I know this, of course, because I’ve been listening.
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t doing it on purpose. My fingers haven’t itched for the button on my speaker nor the app on my phone for the songs I play on repeat because it’s the only thing that keeps me from spiraling.
It bothers me, I find, not seeing Quinn.
And it isn’t until late in the week one night that I do.
It’s pouring buckets outside when I finish my classes for the day. I curse because of course I hadn’t checked the weather this morning. It’s fucking California for fuck’s sake; it hardly ever rains here.
Slate and Ace are probably both at the apartment by now and I know that they’ll be reluctant to pick me up when lightning flashes brightly across the dark sky. There’s a hole in the floorboard of Slate’s rusted-as-fuck Bronco, and water will get in it if he drives it in the rain, so that’s not an option. Ace’s parents said he’s not allowed to have his car on campus until he’s either a senior or has all straight A’s, even though they’re rich as hell and his Beemer is collecting dust down in Colorado.
And, well, I’m also stubborn as fuck.
Thankfully, I don’t have any of my drawing materials with me, having stored them in the classroom for the night since I’m ahead on most of my projects.
With a sigh, I run to where I parked my motorcycle, two buildings away.
I’m drenched by the time I reach it, but probably not as wet as the girl I see with her head hung, trekking down the block like a drenched campus squirrel. Squinting hard against the rain, I can just make out Quinn’s face when she lifts her head, seemingly to curse the skies above.
Fuck. My heart thuds heavily in my chest. Her blonde hair is plastered to her head and she has her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s trying to keep warm. She’s not dressed for the rain either, in her jean shorts and soaked-through t-shirt.
I’m a prick, but I’m not that much of an asshole. My conscience won’t let me sleep for the rest of my measly days if I don’t offer her a ride, no matter how much I fear she’s going to say no.
“Princess,” I call, and want to bite my tongue off for the stupid pet name that rolls out of my mouth so easily. I started calling her that because she was acting like an entitled princess, parking her moving truck where she did and ordering me around right after. Plus, I know it gets on her nerves. But right now, I don’t want to fight her, I want to get her back to her place where I know she’ll be safe and warm. When those familiar hazel eyes lift to mine, I add, “Need a ride?”
I see the moment she wants to bite and I have to swallow my smirk. After all of this trying to be civil, here she is, continuing to go to bat with me. “No, thanks,” she says, although her teeth are chattering. “I’m all set.”
I can’t help the way my eyes trail down the length of her. Yeah, she looks all set alright, standing here soaked to the bone. “I see that,” I say, drily. “Come on, Princess, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. It’s just a ride. Get on.”
Convincing, Knox.
Her mouth falls open as if I’ve just said something totally obscene, and I start to think about the way her lips are parted so perfectly. Before I can delve further into that thought, her voice pitches and she’s shrieking. “Just a ride? Are you kidding me? That thing is a death trap and it’s pouring out!”
Ah, so she’s scared. I can work with that.
“Is it really?” I mock, veins lighting up with the harsh glare she’s sending me now. It’s too much fun, teasing her like this, but I’d rather get her out of the rain. “I noticed. Now, come on. I’ll drive safe.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes, wincing when rain sluices into them. I watch with a carefully straight face as she blinks rapidly, dispelling the water. “Yeah, knowing you, I doubt it.”
Something preens in my chest at her words, knowing that I have her attention. But she doesn’t know a thing about me, yet.
“Do you really think you know me, Princess?” I ask, amused. Quinn’s lips part again but nothing comes out.
I win.
“I know you well enough,” she huffs, but I can see that she’s slowly giving up the fight. Her gaze flicks between me and the motorcycle at my back.
I jerk my chin, gesturing for her to get on.
Her feet betray her, taking a single step in my direction, and that’s two points for me.
I do something that I’ve never done for another girl in my life. I shed my leather jacket, ignoring the chill of the rain that causes goosebumps to break out across my flesh. The rain soaks through my black shirt within seconds, but I don’t give a fuck when I catch Quinn’s eyes raking the length of my body. That’s the look that always makes me shiver.
Helping her with her bag, I hold the coat so she can slip her arms through the sleeves. It should keep her somewhat protected from the rain and wind while we’re driving.
It hangs long on her body, across her thighs. She looks good in it. A little too good.
I help Quinn slide her backpack across her shoulders and give her my helmet. My heart thunders in my chest like the storm raging around us, but my hands don’t tremble as I tighten the buckle beneath her chin. She looks pained, almost, avoiding my eyes the entire time. I swear I hear her sharp inhale of breath when my fingers brush her skin, but I’m not sure.
“Thank you,” she says quietly when I step back. I don’t answer because I can’t, the words cling to my throat as I turn and swing my leg over the seat of the bike, trying to let the familiar feeling soothe me.
Extending a hand to Quinn, I watch her examine my scarred skin. Well, I assume she’s looking at my scars but it’s difficult to tell with the visor pulled down. My hand doesn’t shake, and I allow her to take her fill, helping her onto the seat behind me when she finally grasps it. She rests her feet on the pegs and I’m suddenly all too aware of how her body is pressed against mine. I can tell she’s experiencing something similar in the way that she tries to sit back as far as she can but as soon as the motorcycle roars to life beneath my fingers she’s squeaking, winding her hands around my waist and holding onto me for dear life.
Quinn’s touch sets me on fucking fire.
Fuck, I can feel each and every single one of her fingers where they’re pressing into my abdomen, the hot feeling of her thighs flanking me is like a brand to my sides. I peer at her over my shoulder and all I can think is shit, shit shit…I am so fucked.
The visor prevents me from looking into those perfect hazel eyes that I’m suddenly yearning to see. Her body is rigid with tension, probably because of our close proximity. We aren’t friends, I have to remind myself, turning back around and shoving the kickstand up. It’s only a ride home and then we’ll go back to hating each other, just like it’s supposed to be.
My motorcycle jerks into motion and the jolt sends Quinn’s body sliding closer to mine. Every inch of her is wet, but she’s incredibly warm. Her arms tighten around my waist as I pull into the street, taking it at a slow pace since the rain is hitting me directly in the eyes.
I haven’t ridden in these conditions since I got my first bike and was stupid enough to drive it everywhere, all the time. I thought I was invincible, and I was addicted to the feeling of the wind against my body, like I was flying down roads without a care in the world. Thankfully, I smartened up before the accident.
I shove the harrowing night from my mind, focusing on the road ahead. I don’t accelerate too fast, avoiding the puddles gathering in the roads so we don’t slip. I know the way to the apartment like the back of my hand and I’m careful with the precious cargo holding onto me for dear life. It’s hard to focus when Quinn’s hips are pressed against mine like this, clenching when I take a turn. It’s hard not to think about her thighs squeezing around me, making me wonder how hard she’d hold onto me if I was plowing my cock into her.
Rain beats down on the both of us but the warmth of her body keeps me from completely freezing my ass off. I’m soaked through, but it doesn’t register, especially not when her fingers accidentally skate under the hem of my shirt when I take the last turn to our apartments, dancing against the skin of my stomach.
My entire world fucking flips.
The rear tire skids, slipping on the wet asphalt. Quinn gasps, clutching onto me for dear life. My heart spikes painfully in my chest as I act quickly to right the bike, shifting with it and keeping it from falling over. My heart hammers in my chest and my breathing turns ragged as I’m transported back two years ago when I had been going at much faster speeds but hadn’t been able to control my motorcycle, resulting in the worst accident of my life.
I sense the tension in Quinn’s body and it keeps me from reliving that nightmare. Her thighs are trembling around me and I know this has given her a good scare. Now that the bike is one again steady, I slow down even more, slipping one hand down to give her thigh a quick pat and a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance for her as much as it is for me.
Her arms locked around my waist tighten in response.
I roll to a stop in my usual spot, the same one where I’d blocked her moving truck in the first day we met. The tree offers little cover, but the rain is lighter than it was when we left campus.
Right now, Quinn doesn’t seem to care about anything other than getting out of the blasted weather. I cut the engine and swing off the motorcycle, helping her next. I drop her hand as soon as she has her footing and we’re racing toward the building, ducking inside as I hold the door open for her.
She grunts, trying to pry the helmet from her drenched head. I laugh softly, helping her undo the straps. When she slips from the helmet, poor Quinn looks like a soaked cat.
Her blonde hair is plastered to her head. Her skin is rosy and there’s mascara running down her cheeks but I refrain from mentioning it because of the way she’s looking up at me. I don’t want to break whatever this peace is right now. I want to revel in it.
“Thank you,” Quinn says softly. She wrings her fingers together and I offer a nod in response. She looks like she wants to say more but she doesn’t, so I lead her toward the elevator. She needs a warm shower for sure.
For once, the elevator is on the floor I need it to be on and it opens with a screech. Quinn and I cringe before stepping inside. I punch the button to the fourth floor with my knuckle and the doors slide shut, encapsulating us in silence once again.
Until the elevator starts climbing upwards with a jarring groan, at least.
It sounds horrendous, like the ghosts of tenants past screeching for help. There’s a chill inside that isn’t because of the silence between us, prickling the hairs at the nape of my neck. It’s awkward, and even if we were verbally sparring right now, I think it would be better than the complete silence we’re standing here in.
The ascent to the fourth floor is a long one, but neither of us break the quiet. The events of the day hit me full force: the lack of time I’ve had to practice my tattooing lately is catching up to me, my schedule is quickly filling up with assignments and artwork for an exhibition I’m preparing for at a local gallery. I have a few more pieces to finish up for that in the next coming weeks as well, which will put my search for an apprenticeship on hold.
The soft protest of Quinn’s stomach rumbling gathers my attention. She’s blushing hard but refuses to look my way, content with staring at the glowing floor button as we rise.
I bet she’s silently cursing the elevator to hurry up right now.
Finally, the doors open and Quinn almost sprints to her door. I catch up within strides because my legs are longer than hers, but I keep a few feet behind because whatever magical tension from the metal box from hell has followed the us into the hall.
She shoves her key into the lock before turning to face me, speaking hastily as she twists. “Thank you again, Knox.”
Before I can respond, she’s shoving her shoulder into the door. It gives easily, but the loud moan that fills the hall as soon as it cracks has the both of our eyes widening.
“Oh God, Ace!”
“Holyfuckingshit,” Quinn exhales in a single breath, and I thought that the elevator ride up was the most awkward part of tonight.
Seeing Rory and Ace going at it on her couch is definitely not something I was prepared for.
They don’t seem to notice us, I don’t think, and Quinn shuts the door as quickly as she opened it, wincing as it slams loudly. If they didn’t know we saw anything then, they sure do now.
Quinn locks it once more, jolting away from it like it’s on fucking fire, and she stares at me, her eyes wide in disbelief.
“Was that?—”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes it was. ”
Quinn runs her fingers through her hair as if she can’t believe what we just saw. It tangles easily from the rain and she frowns, ripping her hands from the knots. “That’s my couch!”
I try to hold it in, I really do, but my laughter bubbles out of me without permission.
Quinn looks more shocked at my laughter than she did at the explicit porno she just walked in on.
After a second, she joins in.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I wheeze. “Your couch?”
“Hey,” she scowls, the smile still lighting her face even as she glares at me. “I paid good money for that! Half of it is mine!”
I shake my head, more than amused.
A noise from the other side of the door startles her and she stumbles back a step. Apparently, Rory and Ace aren’t letting our interruption affect their night.
“Come on,” I tell her. “You can hang out at our place until they’re done.”
Quinn looks reluctant, but she has no other choice, so she follows, muttering, “Who knows how long that will be.”
“You’ll know it’s safe when you can’t hear them through the walls anymore.”
An entertained smile curves Quinn’s lips but falls when she finds me staring. She turns away but I still catch the way her cheeks go pink. “Right.”
I open the door to my apartment and it’s all I can do to pray that Slate isn’t here for once, enjoying the easy laughter between us. I don’t want a buffer. The apartment is dark and silent when we enter and I mentally cheer knowing that I get to have more of Quinn’s attention on me. Maybe I can finally right the entire mess from the day we met .
I duck into Slate’s room, double checking to see that he hasn’t just fallen asleep. When I find his bed empty and the blankets a crumpled mess as always, I know he hasn’t arrived back from class yet, either.
Drifting over to the hall closet, I pull out two towels, tossing one to Quinn where she’s still standing awkwardly inside of the threshold, clutching the fabric as tightly as he can.
“Slate isn’t here, yet,” I explain, sliding my phone from my pocket. I shoot off a text to my friend and set it on the counter. “You can take a shower here, if you want to warm up. I can get you some clothes. I don’t know if we have any of that fruity scented shampoo that you probably use, but I know Slate has a three-in-one mix you should stay away from.”
Laughter spills from her lips and she looks almost affronted that she wasn’t able to hold it in. “Knox, did you just make a joke?”
“I don’t know, did you just laugh at my joke, Princess?” I retort, amusement filling my tone.
Quinn can’t hide her smile now. For the first time, she seems to actually be enjoying my presence, and I’m not about to take that for granted.
“Yeah, I think I did.”