Chapter 12
Twelve
HANNAH
Kane Haverhill kisses like he plays when he stops overthinking.
Direct. Controlled. Certain he’ll get where he wants to go.
His hand slides behind my neck, fingers catching beneath my hair as his mouth moves over mine.
For one stunned second, I forget every reason this is a terrible idea.
Then his thumb brushes my jaw.
Heat races down my throat and settles low in my stomach.
I kiss him back.
One mistake.
A very good one.
His breath changes. The restraint in his hand tightens, and he angles closer across the console.
The kiss deepens.
I taste mint, rain, and the Twizzler he stole from me.
That snaps something back into place.
I press one hand against his chest.
Kane pulls away, breathing harder than before.
His eyes stay on my mouth.
“What was that?” I ask.
His brows lift. “A kiss.”
“I know what a kiss is.”
“Good. I was worried archaeology kept you isolated.”
I grab my glasses from the dashboard and put them on.
The frames sit crooked. I straighten them with more force than necessary.
“Don’t try to butter me up and seduce me for coaching points, Haverhill.”
His expression changes.
“What?”
“You follow me to practice, discover I can help your game, then kiss me in the car.”
“You think those things are connected?”
“They happened within two hours.”
“The kiss happened because I wanted it to.”
I laugh.
Not because he’s funny.
Because believing him would be worse.
“Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“King Haverhill, Stanford’s star point guard, kisses Cortez and Krista, then suddenly wants Sandy from the beach?”
“My name is Kane.”
“Your reputation wears a crown.”
“You kissed me back.”
“That doesn’t mean I trust your motive.”
His gaze sharpens.
“You think I need to seduce you for basketball advice?”
“I think you hate needing anything from me.”
“That part may be true.”
“And you use charm when control fails.”
“I didn’t charm you.”
“You took off my glasses and called me a liar.”
“It worked.”
“Cheap, even for you.”
I reach for the door.
His hand closes around my wrist, then releases the instant I look down.
“Hannah.”
I face him.
“I wanted to kiss you between the shelves.”
The bluntness catches me.
He continues before I recover.
“I wanted to kiss you in that parking lot before I knew you were Bookworm. I wanted it tonight when you stood behind me correcting my shoulder. The coaching didn’t create this.”
“That proves you’re impulsive.”
“It proves I wanted you before I knew you could help me.”
“Or you want me to believe that.”
Frustration cuts across his face.
“Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I’m attracted to you?”
I stare at him.
He sounds serious.
That does not make him safe.
“Because men like you don’t suddenly want women like me unless there’s something in it for them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve met athletes before.”
“I’m not every athlete you’ve met.”
“You’re arrogant, suspicious, and accustomed to people handing you what you want.”
“And you’re determined to turn everything I do into evidence against me.”
“I won’t be used.”
The words come out sharper than intended.
Silence fills the car.
Kane studies my face.
Not my glasses.
Not my mouth.
Me.
“Who used you?”
My fingers tighten around the door handle.
“No one.”
“That answer was too fast.”
“You don’t get to ask.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“You’re trying to solve me because you can’t stand unanswered questions.”
His gaze doesn’t move.
Maybe I’m right.
Maybe it lands somewhere tender.
I open the door.
Cold rain blows into the car.
“Hannah.”
I step onto the curb and look back.
“I’m a lot of things, Haverhill.”
Water dots my lenses.
“But stupid isn’t one of them.”
I shut the door and cross toward Briar Hall.
He doesn’t drive away.
I feel his eyes on me until I disappear inside.
I make it through Briar Hall’s front door before the first breath catches up with me.
By the second-floor landing, my heart is hammering.
By the third, I’m gripping the railing and wondering whether Kane Haverhill somehow damaged my lungs with his mouth.
I push into our room.
Lila looks up from her bed.
Noor spins around in her desk chair.
Both stare.
“What happened?” Lila asks. “Did someone follow you?”
“Were you mugged?” Noor says.
I drop my bag beside the door.
“Kane Haverhill kissed me.”
Silence.
Then the rest tumbles out.
“And I liked it.”
Lila screams.
Not a normal scream.
A glass-shattering, hands-over-her-mouth shriek that sends Noor’s pen rolling off the desk.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Kane Haverhill?”
“There’s only one.”
“The basketball player?”
“How many Kane Haverhills do you think attend Stanford?”
Lila launches herself off the bed and grabs my arms.
“You kissed the king of campus.”
“He kissed me.”
“And you liked it.”
“That part is becoming less enjoyable every time you repeat it.”
She starts bouncing.
Actually bouncing.
Noor doesn’t move.
Her expression has gone still in a way that makes the excitement drain out of the room.
“Oh, no,” she says.
I point at her.
“Exactly.”
Lila stops. “Why are we saying no? This is excellent.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
“He plays basketball.”
“That is most of the problem.”
“He wants you.”
“That may be the biggest problem.”
Lila looks between us. “I’m missing something.”
I pull off my wet coat and toss it over the chair. My fingers shake when I reach for my glasses, so I leave them alone.
Noor knows.
She understands what this new life has cost me. The transfer away from the athlete quad. The hours I spend building something that doesn’t belong to my father. The youth team I keep separate from Stanford because I need basketball contained inside one small, manageable box.
Kane could smash through every wall I built.
Noor folds her arms.
“You crossed the country to get away from athletes.”
“I know.”
“You moved dorms to get away from them.”
“I know.”
“You gave him a fake name.”
“I panicked.”
“You made him chase you through old campus.”
“He was annoying.”
“You hated him.”
“I still do.”
Lila lifts one eyebrow. “Do you usually kiss people you hate?”
“I didn’t start it.”
“Did you stop it?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing useful comes out.
Lila’s face lights up again.
“You kissed him back.”
“For a few seconds.”
“How many?”
“I didn’t time it.”
“Long enough to know you liked it.”
I sink onto the edge of my bed and cover my face.
“No, no, no.”
Lila sits beside me. “You’re reacting like you discovered mold.”
“This is worse.”
“Than mold?”
“Some kinds.”
Noor swivels toward us.
“What happened before the kiss?”
I peek through my fingers.
“Professor Aldridge paired us for the seminar project.”
“We know that part.”
“We met at the library. He stole my Twizzlers.”
Lila nods gravely. “Unforgivable.”
“Then we started working.”
“And?”
“And it was…”
I lower my hands.
I don’t know how to explain it without making the entire situation sound more dangerous.
“Easy.”
Noor’s expression tightens.
“Easy how?”
“Our arguments kept fitting together. He would find a flaw in mine, I’d tear apart his response, then he’d come back with something better. He actually read all my notes. Twice.”
Lila presses a hand to her chest. “Academic foreplay.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Keep going.”
“We watched game film.”
“Basketball film?” Noor asks.
“He challenged me.”
“And you took the bait.”
“I corrected one possession.”
Noor waits.
“Several possessions.”
“There she is.”
“He was making the same mistake.”
“So you fixed it.”
“I explained it.”
“To Stanford’s star point guard.”
“He was rushing his left-side reads after bad calls. Anyone paying attention could see it.”
“No one else did,” Noor says.
I look down at my hands.
That is the part I don’t want to examine too closely.
“He listened,” I say.
The words come quieter than the rest.
Lila stops smiling.
“He didn’t brush you off?”
“No. He argued, but he listened.”
That mattered more than it should have.
The boys I grew up around wanted my answers, not my opinions. They smiled when they needed an essay repaired and laughed when I pointed out something wrong on the court.
Kane fought me on every point.
Then changed the play when I proved mine.
“Our minds do this strange thing,” I say. “They crackle against each other.”
Lila leans closer.
“Crackle?”
“Push and pull. Like magnets. One second we’re trying to get as far apart as possible, then something flips and we’re right back in each other’s space.”
Noor studies me.
I keep talking because stopping would mean thinking.
“I’ve never been this stimulated by a man before.”
Lila’s mouth falls open.
“Not like that.”
Her smile spreads.
“I meant intellectually.”
“Sure.”
“I did.”
My skin feels overheated despite the rain cooling my clothes.
Then I become painfully aware of my body.
My lips still tingle.
My pulse hasn’t settled.
And beneath my sweater, my nipples are tight enough to betray every argument I’m trying to make.
I fold my arms across my chest.
“I need this like I need a hole in my head.”
Lila collapses backward across my bed, laughing.
Noor remains serious.
“What did he say after?”
“That he wanted to kiss me.”
“That’s promising,” Lila says.
“I accused him of trying to seduce me for basketball advice.”
Her laughter stops.
“You said what?”
“It made sense at the time.”
“No,” Noor says. “It made sense based on your history.”
The room quiets.
I stare at the rain streaking the window.
Kane said he wanted to kiss me in the library.
Before he saw the team.
Before he knew what I could do for his game.
I still didn’t believe him.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Believing Kane wants me creates more problems than assuming he wants information.
Lila sits up.
“You need to play this carefully.”
“No playing,” Noor says. “That’s how people get hurt.”
“Everyone gets hurt. She might as well enjoy the opening acts.”
I look between them.
“What does playing carefully involve?”
Lila counts on her fingers.
“Do not text first. Do not be instantly available. Make him work.”
Noor shakes her head.
“Or act like a normal person. Tell him you’re interested but cautious.”
“I’m not telling Kane Haverhill I’m interested.”
“You kissed him back.”
“That information is classified.”
Lila takes my phone from the bed.