17. Maddox
Maddox
O kay, so.
If you told me weeks ago that I’d ever be in Killian’s bed, with him shirtless and me holding him and threading my fingers through his hair, I’d probably laugh in your face.
Yet here we are, and nobody’s laughing.
Instead, there’s an ache in my ribcage. My chest is tight and my throat feels dry, but there’s also a warmth that radiates through my entire body. A strange combination of happiness and frustration has my heart racing. I can’t decide which feeling to latch onto.
I hate seeing Killian defeated like this, but I’m also happy that he’s showing me this vulnerable side of him. It makes me want to stay with him all night… makes me want to do anything to soothe him and to bring back that loud and incorrigible flirting I pretend to be grumpy about.
There’s something wrong with me because, at this moment, I think I’d do anything he asks. I hope this doesn’t occur to him because even if I know he wouldn’t take advantage of it, that’s still a frightening thought.
He’s falling asleep, I think, but trying to fight it.
His breathing’s slowing down, and he’s clutching at the back of my clothes—his jersey—and running his knuckles against the ridges of my spine.
I’m wearing a shirt and a hoodie under his jersey, and I can still feel his hand on me as if there’s nothing between us.
I continue to play with his hair, and I’m doing everything in my power to not let my fingers drift anywhere else.
I’ve got a hot, half-naked Killian in bed next to me, and the temptation is unreal.
I want to press my lips over every inch of his warm skin.
“Tell me about you,” he mumbles, voice all soft and sleepy and muffled against my chest.
“Go to sleep.” I try to sound bossy, but it comes out all soft. Damn it.
Killian ignores that. “Favorite color?”
Sighing, I decide to give him a break. “Blue. You?”
“Gold, like your eyes.”
“My eyes are brown.”
“Yeah, they’re a lighter shade of brown, but they look gold sometimes.
Amber, if you want to be specific. Googled the exact color and everything, so don’t argue.
Amber eyes are apparently really rare, though, and yours only look that way in a certain light, but I want to call it that anyway.
” Before I can call him out on his bullshit and remind him he should rest, not talk a million words a second, he quickly tacks on, “Favorite movie?”
“Say Anything.”
He lets out a tiny snort, and I pinch his arm in retaliation. Snickering, Killian says, “You’re a romantic.”
“I’m not. I like romantic songs and shows. That doesn’t make me romantic.”
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s cute, especially because you’re bossy, sometimes grumpy, and often snarky. Can’t imagine you standing outside someone’s window blaring a boombox.”
“I wouldn’t be the one holding the boombox.”
Killian whistles. “So you like being wooed? I can do that.”
Well, yes, but he doesn’t need to know that. I can’t give him any ideas. “No.”
He shifts his chin up, leaning it against my chest and getting a good look at me.
Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I can see his face so much more clearly.
He’s so close and his breath comes in warm puffs against my cheek, and all my willpower goes to not pressing my lips against the scar on his eyebrow.
“What is it about romance that you like? The push and pull? The grand gestures? That there’s a person out there for each of us? ”
For a long moment, I hesitate, trying to gauge just how honest I should be.
But then I once again come to the very real truth that at this moment, Killian could ask me for anything and I would give it to him.
“I like the sweet little things people do when they’re in love, like every time my dad sees flowers that are pink—that’s Mom’s favorite color—he buys them for her, no questions asked. ”
“Really? So if I showed up at your door with blue flowers, would I win you over?”
“No,” I say sharply, though that would be…
nice. Really sweet. Okay, fine, I’d fold.
Killian smirks, clearly unconvinced. And because I’ve apparently lost all sense, I continue talking.
“I enjoy watching people fall in love. It’s fascinating to see the small changes.
That’s why I enjoy rom-coms. It’s fun watching the main characters fall in love…
how the insignificant things become significant. All that shit.”
“All that shit,” he echoes, grinning. “Give me examples.”
I can’t tell if he’s seriously interested.
I also can’t tell if he’s casting some strange spell on me, but I respond without even thinking twice.
“The day my sister brought her now-husband home for the first time, she was a completely different person. She wasn’t giggly or sappy…
honestly, she was her usual grumpy self, but then I caught her looking at him in a way I’ve never seen her look at anyone else before.
It was odd… and very interesting. She looked content. And happy.”
He rubs the small of my back, pulling me in just a little closer so that it’s barely noticeable. “What else?”
“Caleb hated Nick at first. Did you know that?”
A snort. “I did.”
“He used to say Nick’s name with so much spite and make up all these stupid nicknames to rile him up.
Then one day he just started calling him Nicky out of nowhere, and he’d get this wide grin I don’t think he even knew he was making.
When Nick went from fake-ass golden boy to baby , that’s when I knew Caleb was truly, genuinely fucked. ”
Killian snickers. “Yeah.”
I’m about to give him even more examples when the fingers on my back still against the base of my spine. The way Killian eyes me makes me still, too. There’s something in his gaze that I can’t even begin to explain.
He makes me feel seen.
“What?” I ask, my voice shaky.
The corner of his lips quirk up. Killian murmurs, “I wonder what you’d look like if you were in love.”
My chest thrums. Suddenly, I can’t bear to hold his gaze. I let out a weak laugh and push my face into his pillow, closing my eyes. Killian’s hand drifts from my back to my hip, and he rubs against the small sliver of skin where my clothes have ridden up.
I tease, going for nonchalance, “I can give you my ex-boyfriend’s name and you can ask him.”
“You can give me his name, but for another reason.”
“Why, then?”
“To kill him. Duh.”
That makes me laugh again. It’s a throaty sound that can’t seem to decide between alarmed and endeared.
He asks, “So, how many guys have you dated?”
“Only one serious boyfriend, and it was a few years ago. Some flings here and there, but they never last.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m dull,” I say without hesitation.
“What?” Killian pulls away and grabs me by the jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because it’s true? Most guys aren’t looking for commitment, and if they are, they’re not interested in getting it from someone who spends most of his time glued to academics. So after they get what they want, they move along.”
“What do they want? ”
“Sex,” I say pointedly, not sure why it wouldn’t be more obvious. “Guys only like me for my pretty face. They say the right things and once we’ve been in bed together, I don’t hear from them again. I get it, though. Nothing else about me is remotely interesting.”
Killian’s eyebrows crunch together and his jaw clenches. The grip he has on me tightens, but then he seems to remember himself and lets go. “That’s not true. Everything about you is interesting.”
I shrug. “Eh. It’s fine. I want a serious relationship, but I really am way too focused on my studies. Can’t blame guys for not putting in the effort to woo someone who chooses books over date nights… It simply makes little sense, and I can’t have it both ways.”
Smirking, I give in a bit to temptation and rub the pad of my thumb over the scar on his eyebrow.
Killian lets me, and he says nothing when I drift my fingers between his eyes, over the crook of his nose, and against his cheek.
The way he’s rubbing my back slows down until he’s clutching the jersey I’m wearing. It’s a gentle pressure that grounds me.
“I guess it makes sense why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length, then,” he says.
Another startled laugh escapes me. “Uh. Yeah,” I say, not pointing out that I’d probably unbutton his pants right now if he so much as asked.
“I’m really glad you’ve let your guard down, though,” he says. A wide grin spreads across his face. “You know I could do the whole serious dating thing too, right?”
“Right.”
“Really. I haven’t even hooked up with anyone for… what, more than a month now?”
“Okay. If you say so.”
“Haven’t even looked at anyone else since January 22.”
I don’t respond.
“Ask me what happened on that day,” he says.
“Don’t need to.” Oh, this man. This goddamn man. I already know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. It’d disarm me completely .
Killian grins. “Ask me anyway.”
“Fine. What happened on January 22?”
“Glad you asked,” he says sweetly. “That’s the day I first spoke to you.”
Keeping my voice as level as possible, I say, “You expect me to believe you actually remembered that exact date?”
“So did you, apparently,” he says, and I press my lips tightly together because I don’t even have an answer for that. “I’m good at remembering things when they’re important. Ask me about September 28.”
“What happened on September 28?”
“Well, Maddox, that’s the day I first saw you.
You were studying, and your hair was a mess as if you’d been running your hands through it all day, and you were reading a book titled Advanced Theoretical Mathematics .
I think it was an old library book because the pages were yellow and the corners were tattered. ”
Is… is he serious? “How would you even remember a date from last year?”