3. Konnor
CHAPTER THREE
konnor
Pemberton’s a lightweight; a few drinks in and she can hardly keep her feet.
By the time we make it back to her dorm, she is ready to crash. I can tell. So, I won’t get my cock sucked, but that’s actually okay, because I’m not feeling it.
Which is… weird.
I fill her hot water bottle while she changes, and when I get back to the room she’s already half-asleep, bundled under her comforter.
I set down a glass of water and two painkillers for the morning, then pause at the door.
Her face looks different in sleep—softer, without all her usual walls up, without the performances. Just Pem, unguarded and peaceful.
I sigh.
Then I leave.
I wander to Boe’s Kebabs, which is so close to The Grill I can see the concrete steps from here.
Bozo slides a kebab across the counter, winking as he taps the “Free Range Chicken” sticker on his menu. Our little ritual. No living thing should be caged for its entire life. I won’t touch anything that isn’t free-range.
I nod back, pulling out my wallet. Mid-transaction, something catches my eye in the window, golden hair reflected in the glass. Erik’s sister is sitting on the bar steps with her arms hugging her bare knees.
My feet pivot before my brain registers the action, the kebab forgotten on the counter as I drift towards her.
“Hey, Slater! Your kebab!” Bozo calls out.
I spin around and jog back. “Sorry, mate.”
“All good. You need me to call you a cab again?”
“Nah, I’m actually all good.” When I’m sober, I can make it home in thirty minutes on foot. If I’m running, fifteen. But most nights I’m weaving my way back, turning a simple journey into an hour-long trek, ‘cause why not?
Tonight, though, I feel relatively on my game, having spaced my intake like the professional I am.
“Thanks for this.” I gesture to the world’s greatest kebab, now proudly in my hand.
Turning, I walk towards her—Erik’s fucking sister, approaching her slowly in case I spook her. She is gazing through the gravel path, distant. My heart drops. When I get within a metre of her, she raises her gaze, and as her big brown eyes meet mine, my breath catches.
Crazy beautiful.
“And here we see a musician in her natural habitat,” I say, and should shut the fuck up but don’t.
“Post-performance. Slightly tearful. Beautiful.” I pause.
“Sorry. I’ve never said anything that corny to a stranger.
Or anyone.” I run my free hand through my hair. “I’m Erik’s mate. You… Are you okay?”
Pull yourself together.
She blinks at me. Her arms tighten around her knees.
Fuck. I edge away from her. “Do you want me to go?”
“No!” she blurts out, a sound that jumps and stops me mid-stride. “I’m Blesk.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m Konnor.”
“Yeah.” She smiles faintly. “I know.”
I raise an eyebrow but don’t press her on how she knows my name. Erik must have mentioned me.
I lower myself onto the step beside her, the concrete cool through my jeans.
The streetlamps cast light over us. She peers at me; the contours of her face are partially hidden behind a blind of golden hair.
I’m usually the epitome of a witty conversationalist, but there is something about her that blocks my thoughts. No words come. None feel right.
I exhale hard. “What’s wrong?”
She gives me an unconvincing grin, sheepishly wiping a tear from her cheek. “I just don’t like playing that song.”
“Which one?”
She blinks at me. “Hero Boy.”
“That’s an awesome song. I don't know who the hero boy is, but I think he's lucky."
“He isn’t,” she sighs.
Fuck—I don’t know why she’s so upset. I don’t know why I care why she’s so upset, but I feel like it’s my responsibility to make her feel better.
Her voice trembles a little. “I just don’t usually play with other people. I’m a soloist, and I like it that way.”
“The harmonica sounded great… honestly.” Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, I study her profile. She’s a sad little thing. I care. Not sure why, but I care.
“Yeah, maybe. I just don’t want anyone else playing it. It’s mine, ya know?”
“Sure.” I don’t fully understand, but I feel I should… somehow. “Want me to talk to Marcus?”
What are you doing, Konnor?
Marcus would kick my arse for interfering with his staff, but for some reason, I’m more than happy to piss him off for this girl’s smile.
“No, thank you,” she mutters.
“Okay.” Words dissolve on my tongue; I’ve got nothing. I should just eat this kebab—I’m sitting here, clutching it like it’s my last meal. The juice from the tomatoes is making the Turkish wrap wet; I should really just eat it.
Pretty girl... kebab... Pretty girl... kebab.
“The musician in her natural habitat thing was stupid… Want to go for a walk?” I hear myself ask.
Girl: One.
Kebab: Zero.
“It wasn’t stupid.” Her sadness slips. “And yes.”
We stand and walk awkwardly, soon finding a pace, half-turned towards each other, waiting for the other to do something. Neither of us speaks.
Then we face forwards, and I listen to her shoes tapping in time with mine. I would usually fill these moments with quips and commentary, but this is strangely comfortable now. I step off the footpath to bin my now soggy kebab—possibly the best kebab ever created.
Shame.
I know these paths like the back of my hand, having walked them many times with Pemberton, with Jax, with countless girls. Tonight, though, they seem a little different.
Blesk sniffles every now and then. My chest aches each time. I hate that she’s crying. As she wipes her tears, I resist the urge to brush them away for her. The wind swirls her hair around her face, so she collects it and pulls it down one shoulder.
Cheer her up, Konnor.
“Ah… Let’s do this again,” I suggest.
She frowns suspiciously. “O…kay.” She pauses. “Do what again exactly?”
“Wait right here.”
I spin and walk away from her. Ten steps later, I turn back around. She’s still rooted to the spot, chin lifted slightly, eyes questioning what I’m doing—not thinking about the hero boy, and that’s the point.
I pause, caught in this moment of… her. Can a person be a moment? She shifts her weight, one hand fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, the other dangling beside her. When she blinks up at me through the darkness, I forget what game I was playing.
Oh, yeah.
A meet-cute.
I break eye contact and stroll toward her, shoulders back, hips loose. A little strut that is entirely embarrassing, but when she giggles—just a small sound in the night air—it makes it worth it.
I reach her side and extend my hand for her to shake. "Konnor Slater. Grad student, functional alcoholic. I hate harmonica players. I'm told I'm a decent human being, but I have only one source for that, and she's biased because she's my mum."
She smiles. “I’m Blesk Bellamy, and I don’t hate harmonica players.”
“Really? Huh. Maybe I just haven’t met a harmonica player I like.”
“You should get out more. I meet a new harmonica player I like every day.”
I laugh and start strolling again, glancing at her as I go. “Are you asking me out?”
Her jaw drops. “What?” She follows me down the path, hero boy a distant memory. “No!”
“Oh, I just thought…” I frown, feigning confusion. “You don’t have to be shy. I’m pretty sure you just told me I should go out with you. I don’t usually do these things, but I will ’cause you’re pretty cute.”
Her smile grows.
Her smile... That smile.
“You’re so corny, Konnor,” she says through that smile.
“Oh, I know. Corny Konnor Slater. Don’t tell anyone—that would totally ruin my street cred.”
She bats her lashes at me, and my heart skips a beat. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“So, what are you studying?” I ask.
“Music.” She says it with love.
“Cool. What are your electives?”
We wander past a spot we’d passed fifteen minutes ago, and I try not to notice.
I wish the campus was bigger.
“I’m doing Child Development 123 and Beginners Education to Music 103,” she answers.
“BEM 103 is one of mine!” I say, with more enthusiasm than I should show.
She giggles again; my level of cool dwindles. It’s those fucking brown eyes that are doing it.
“What do you mean ‘one of mine’?”
“I’m a grad student. That’s one of my classes, so you may have me as a tutor.”
“Really?” She sounds happy about that.
“Yeah, there’s a one-in-three chance you’ll get me.”
She tucks a lone blonde strand behind her ear. “Will you go easy on me?”
Ah, shit.
Is she flirting with me?
I wish I wasn’t smiling so damn hard, but my cheeks actually hurt. “If I get you as a student then…” I pause on the ‘yes’ I’d planned to say. “No.”
She sucks in a quick breath, then turns to face me with a grin so wide I can see her tongue poking out between her teeth. “And why not?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Because someone like you would see right through me if I went easy on you.” My heart hammers against my ribs.
Bold move, Slater.
She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes searching mine. “You think you’ve got me figured out already?” she finally asks, blushing. “I don’t plan on disappointing you.”
I chuckle, shuffle-walking while facing her. “Look, I know your brother pretty well, so I haven’t set the bar very high for you. You should be fine.”
“Oh, that’s thoughtful.” She playfully knocks me with her elbow, and it’s easy as fuck.
“Custom coaching.” I laugh smugly. “It’s what sets me apart from all the other graduates.”
“I thought it was the long pointless walks around campus with your female students,” she teases.
“Ouch.” I chuckle. “That too.”
We stop and grin at each other, and every part of me feels light, but it’s also uncomfortable in a way that I’m not quite sure how to define.
It's like that split second before a tackle when you realise the guy coming at you is bigger than you thought, exhilarating and completely fucked at the same time. I turn and keep walking. “So, you’re not seventeen, right? You’re working at the bar so how old are you? ”
She strolls beside me. “Twenty.”
I glance at her sideways. Twenty? She keeps getting better and better, only a year younger than me.