Chapter 7
Molly
Kyle’s thick hand wraps around my wrist, twisting it up to the sky, as he peers at the tiny scrawling tattoo that’s etched just below where my hand joins my arm.
His eyebrows scrunch. “You have a tattoo?”
“Yeah, got it when I was 18.” I murmur, watching his piercing eyes trace the lines of the word that’s lightly scrawled across my skin. “My mum was so pissed.”
“What does it mean?” He says quietly, twisting my wrist this way and that, as if he’ll somehow be able to see my blood running under my skin if he looks hard enough.
“Can you read?” I tease and his gaze hovers on mine for a beat, then the stuttering starts again, the nerves back with full force, even though he had his lips on mine only a few minutes ago.
“Yeah I erm…I just meant erm…like, does it—”
I press my finger to his rambling mouth, silencing him and leaning closer. “I was messing with you Davis.” He breathes a silent sigh of relief against my finger, his still wet lips drawing me in for another stomach flipping kiss. But I resist and drop back into my seat.
“It just reminds me that I'm wanted.” I shrug, watching his thumb follow the letters on my skin. “I’m adopted, so I sometimes have a hard time believing people actually want me.” My eyes land on his face and his solemn expression is already studying me. “My parents are great though, I could never repay them for the life they’ve given me.” I try to soften the blow that my words have caused. The deep dents along his forehead, the concerned crease of his eyebrows and the tilted frown that drags the corners of his lips down. I don’t like it.
“Woah, that’s deep,” he whispers, rubbing a comforting thumb across the word ‘wanted’ that he’s still holding lightly in his grip.
“I know, sorry.”
“No,” he shakes his head, a empathetic smile ghosting his mouth. “It’s ok.” There’s a flutter in my stomach that spreads like a wildfire to my chest, tightening it, and for a moment I feel like I can’t breathe. Kyle’s eyes hold mine, the kind, softness of his nature exploding out of him as he stares at me, like he wants to say something to make me feel better. I don’t need him to feel sorry for me though, that’s my past and I'm grateful for the people I have in my life now, I don’t play the victim card.
“Anyway,” I shake his hand off my wrist, grabbing my handbag from under my feet. “I better go, Callie is waiting inside for a ‘Friends’ marathon. Then I’ll probably play with my pocket rocket for a while, before I collapse from exhaustion.”
“Pocket rocket?” Kyle tips his head in question, but a knowing smirk cracks his face in two.
I nod, mirroring his expression. “Yeah, you know, my battery powered boyfriend?”
“You know I can, help with…with that.” He stammers again, his gaze bouncing around the car and landing anywhere but my amused grin, as I watch him flounder.
I bop his nose and his eyes spring back to mine. “Uh, uh, uh,” I taunt, “you know the rules, I'm Ollie’s.” I clamber out of his car, dipping my head back through the open window. “For now,” Kyle gulps, scrubbing a hand down his handsome face. “You know, all this energy you’re putting into me, could be easily redirected into getting some other bimbo into your bed.” I lean my elbows on the window, inhaling the last drops of his heavenly smell. It’s equal parts sweet cinnamon and raw masculine spice, like my very own sex potion, tailored to lure me into his lair and let him fuck me, until I can’t remember my own name.
Kyle lifts his shoulders and drops them softly. “Yeah, that’s true. But I want to get you into my bed, not some random bimbo.”
“You don’t want me specifically Kyle, you just want to get your dick wet.” I laugh, gathering my wild mane of blonde in one hand, as the wind whips it around my face.
Kyle looks down at his lap, hiding his panty dropping smile. “Well, yeah I do, but I want you to do the honours.”
I snort a loud laugh, planting my hands against the window frame and standing straight. “Has anyone told you how much of a gentleman you are?”
His grin widens slowly, my pussy dancing in response. “You’re the first.” I take a step back from his sex mobile, jersey tucked under my arm, Kyle’s eyes hooking me on him. “Bye Davis,”
His window whirs up as he murmurs, “Bye Barbie.”
“You kissed him, didn’t you?” Callie accuses me the second I walk through the front door of our dorm, hands fisting her hips.
“Nooo,” I start, but she holds up an unamused hand at me, her eyes overflowing with sass.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me Crawford, I swear to god.”
I huff a laugh, paired with a nonchalant shrug. “Ok fine, I kissed him.” “You—” she says, pinching two fingers to the bridge of her nose and then flapping her arms once with a sigh. “You know what? I'm not saying anything, you’re a big girl, you can do whatever or whoever you want.” “Damn right I can Cal and you want to know something?” I grin, wrapping an arm around her stomach as she tries to walk away. “I really fucking want to do Kyle Davis.”
Callie mumbles something I don’t hear, the words ‘horny bitch’ and ‘hockey dick’ scattered colourfully throughout. Before she ducks away from me and into her bedroom, grabbing her spare blanket and launching it onto the sofa. Her hand lands against my ass cheek with a slap as she passes me and I know that’s her way of telling me she loves me, even though I do stupid shit sometimes. I watch her gather the snacks from the kitchen cupboards as I turn on the TV, flicking through to our favourite season of ‘Friends’ and pressing play. Callie snuggles in beside me and I try to focus on the screen, but my lips are tingling at the memory of that kiss. I’ve kissed a shit ton of guys in my life, but my god that kiss was spine tinglingly good. The way Kyle’s lips moulded against mine so effortlessly, his tongue gliding between my teeth and exploring my mouth, like a kingdom he’d been dying to visit. His hands were everywhere all at once, slipping up the back of my jersey, knotting at the nape of my neck, bracketing my jaw firmly as he swept his tongue against mine and took my breath away.
Callie falls asleep pretty quickly and I take the opportunity to check my phone, scrolling through Instagram and checking my notifications. There are a few new follower requests from some guys I’ve seen around campus, whose eyes have all followed my ass like a magnet as I pass them. But there’s only one name my eyes zoom in on, when I scroll the list of fuck boys that want my attention. Kyle Davis, of course is the only one I notice on that list and I instantly click accept, requesting to follow him back and biting my fingernails, as I wait for him to accept. My stomach flutters when his account invites me in, rewarding me with a glimpse into his life. I scroll through his pictures, most of which are dedicated to his hockey career, his teammates and a select few of him with an older man. He looks the happiest in those, his eyes bright and loving as he embraces the man from behind, his face tainted with wrinkles and laughter lines from a life of love and happiness.
“Are you stalking him now?” Callie’s groggy voice almost makes my heart burst out of my ribcage and I land a light slap against her leg. I lock my phone and pocket it. “Jesus Cal, no need to give a girl a heart attack.”
Callie sits up straight, palms rubbing at her tired eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No need to, you know what I was doing.”
“Yeah, stalking,” She laughs, dragging her feet on her way to her bedroom. I follow behind her, throwing her a sleepy wave and collapsing onto my bed.
I’m dreading tomorrow, having to show myself at the track and face the wrath of Mike, as he points his metaphorical gun at me and makes me run until my knees crack. He’s a tough guy, but deep down he cares more than he’d be willing to ever admit out loud. His team are like his family, I know that because he tells me. We’re like his adopted children and he treats us as such, as long as we respect him and work hard. He pushes us to our limits, but that’s why we’re continually smashing records when we race other universities, earning more trophies than any other track team has at Redwood. An even bigger downside to training tomorrow, is that Harvey is back from his lavish holiday to Cancun, Mexico. The guy is a great runner and I’ll give him credit where credit is due. He’s like a bullet through the air, his legs moving so fast beneath him, your eyes can barely keep up to stop him looking like a hazy blur. The only problem is, he likes to believe he’s a hotshot that can have any woman he wants. He most definitely can’t, because who he’s had his beady green eyes on lately is me and I'm certainly not up for grabs…not for him anyway. He’s kind of handsy sometimes too, trailing a finger down my arm and ruffling his raven coloured curls, like he’s some sort of runway model. He’s far from it, being only five-foot-five — although he’ll insist he’s at least six-foot — and strutting around the track, flexing his almost non existent muscles at the freshmen as they try to warm up in peace. I can’t lie, he kind of makes my skin crawl and I won’t say it out loud to him, but there’s not a chance in hell of him ever finding himself between my sheets. I try to keep the peace though, hold my big mouth at gun point, to stop it from spouting all of my real opinions onto him during our training sessions together. He’s part of my team and there’s nothing I can do about that, but the guy gets right on my tits and one day, he’s likely to earn himself a hard slap across his freckled face.