Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
KAI
I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.
I slam the door to Camlann wide open, after stalking up the steps. Indignation, fury, coursing through every fiber of my being.
That little shit, that little baby-faced, blue-eyed twerp of an alternate, steps in for one fucking match and thinks he’s the Wilt Chamberlain of fencing?
Fuck. That.
The door gently taps itself shut behind me, and even the small, inoffensive sound pisses me off so much that I turn and crane-kick it right in the crossbar.
“Fuck him,” I say out loud.
I scrub my face with my hands. I didn’t sleep last night, couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about her here, and then realizing she wasn’t here, and waiting for her to get back from the library.
And for what? So that I could keep Lanz’s pretty little side piece all perfect and unharmed for him. Fucking Christ.
I need a gallon of coffee, a lava hot shower, and the world’s sloppiest blowjob.
Guess I’ll have to settle for two out of three, like I always do.
I storm to the kitchen and slap together the coffee maker, jabbing the on button on my way to the stairs. I pause at my bedroom to peel out of my jacket and chuck it at my bed. Spin around and bang the door to the bathroom shut too.
I strip off my jeans and T-shirt, barely even glancing at myself in the mirror. I don’t hate the way I look. Hell, I’ve basically been customizing my appearance ever since I had a good enough fake ID to get me my first tattoo.
But right now, seeing myself is a reminder of everything I’m not.
The shower in the house is a lot more spacious and accommodating than the one down in the locker room by the salle, with deep terracotta tiles, two shower heads, and a low bench that I can’t see any discernible purpose for beyond…something sex-related. Nevertheless, there it is.
I step into the water and hiss as the scalding stream hits my sore muscles. I rub at my neck, traps, as much of my lats as I can reach, roll the muscles out. I’ll recover. Didn’t push myself too far, no injuries or anything, but for now it’s gonna hurt.
Sainte-Odile bastard’s gotta feel even worse, though. And that’s what counts.
With the kinks gotten out, I stand there a second, waiting for the water to burn all the pissed-off out of me.
It doesn’t.
I close my eyes, scrub at the sockets.
He kissed her. Of course he did. Weak little moony-eyed shit. Bet she liked it, too. Girls always go for that puppy-dog thing. Swooning for him, sighing, licking those pretty little pink lips of hers…
…and now I’m hard.
Goddammit.
It’s unfair. Unfair that that soft little fuckboy got to kiss her and unfair that now that’s all I can think about.
My imagination’s overclocked on a good day, and I have too much information to feed it—too many visuals seared in my memory from the other night, when I had to get her out of that ridiculous dress.
My dick twitches as the water pounds down around me. As if to say not going anywhere. Better deal with this.
Masturbation is…kind of a gray area, from what I gather. Very don’t ask, don’t tell. Never interviewed the other guys on their schedules or anything, but I’d be shocked if they aren’t beating off at least every few days.
Anyway. If I make it quick, it barely counts, right?
I breathe out hard and brace my left hand against the shower wall so my right can get to work.
Won’t take much, I immediately realize. As soon as my eyes are closed I can see her, smell her, practically fucking taste her, and my dick throbs so hard in my hand I actually feel a little dizzy. I sink my teeth into my lip and rub faster. Harder.
Green eyes. Flushed cheeks. Dark hair flowing over all that pale skin, knotted in my fist to pull her back and?—
Knock, knock.
“ Fuck. ”
I clutch the wall, eyes open, heart pounding like fucking apoplexy.
I don’t mean to scream, but the sound actually scared the shit out of me.
“Sorry,” comes a voice.
Her voice.
Oh, fuck.
I clear my throat, drop my traitorous idiot dick, pinch the bridge of my nose and beg for the shower to drown me somehow.
“I was just…I left my hairbrush in there, and Morgan’s coming to pick me up in a few minutes?—”
“I’m…” My voice sounds weirdly strangled. Fuck. I clear my throat another dozen times. “Yeah. Gimme a sec.”
I wrench the water all the way to cold and stand there until it’s…done its job. Then I shake myself like a dog, smack myself in the face, and yank a towel from the stack.
When I open the door, she looks…
Goddammit. She looks so nice.
“Oh,” Gwenna says. “You didn’t have to…I could’ve waited for you to finish.”
For. Fuck’s. Sake.
She had to say that.
I grip the towel in my fist so hard I’m going to break a finger.
“S’all good,” I manage. “Just not, uh…used to close quarters with a lady.”
I step aside, stupidly, to let her slip in and grab the hairbrush. Good thing I didn’t know it was in there or I might have tried to smell it or something like the absolute pervert that I am.
“Thanks.” She ducks back out.
“Mi bano es tu bano,” I say. “Literally.”
I’m antsy to get back in, shut the bathroom door and shove a washcloth in my mouth so I can rage scream at how fucking stupid I am, when?—
“Hey, Kai?”
I skid to a stop, door ajar. “Mm?”
“I, uh…” Gwenna looks at the floor. Then up at me. “I never said thank you for the dresses. They were…” She blinks a few times, and I wait, mentally filling in the adjective: expensive, over the top, indulgent, expensive, impressive, expensive…
But she doesn’t go with any of those.
“…really thoughtful.” She shakes her head. “I mean, you were.”
I just stand there, clutching my towel. “Oh. Uh.”
Thoughtful enough for you to end up getting poisoned , I think. But I know what she means.
And it’s nice.
Kind .
Too kind.
“I think the words you’re looking for,” Gwenna says, with just the hint of a smile, “are you’re welcome. ”
I swallow. “You’re welcome.”
Anytime , I add silently. You are welcome anytime, Gwenna Vale.