25. Konnor #3
“You recruited them,” I say, wringing out my shirt.
She shrugs. “Kids are very agreeable.”
She catches a pole and pulls herself up in one motion, swings a leg over a unicorn like she’s done it a hundred times. Maybe she has. Maybe she’s been on one of these before—but not with me. She hasn’t been on one of these with Deakon.
The children climb up around her. I find the centaur at her side and pull myself up as the platform moves. She turns to look at me. My ribs feel too small for my heart.
I mouth, “You’re beautiful.”
She is…
She blushes. “So are you.”
Promise #2: Hotdogs and dancing.
Afterward, we grab hotdogs from a vendor down by Storm River. I wanted to take Blesk somewhere with a view, where a server would pull out her seat and treat her like a duchess, but we promised each other we would eat hotdogs, so here we are…
And thank fuck for that.
Because I would have never guessed that Liz eats hotdogs with two hands, not one, and that she tries to get a bit of everything in her mouth all at once, having to cover her lips while she chews because her bite was a tad bigger than there is room for.
“Good?”
She just nods, hand shielding her chewing mouth.
With our stomachs satiated, and a tiny bit of tomato sauce on her nose that I don’t tell her about because I fucking love it there, we stroll down the boardwalk.
She starts to half-skip ahead of me, her long blonde hair catching the last of the afternoon sun. I let her pull me along by the hand.
I never want this to end.
At the sound of a guitar, I know we are getting close. The busker should be just up here… This takes me back to a time when I was first adopted by the Slaters. Flick and Cassidy, my new sisters, shook me awake in the dark so we could sneak out through my bedroom window.
Just like that.
We were in the wild.
I was the middle child, but I moved like the youngest. Four lost years will do that.
It blew my mind that we could just leave, like that.
Climb from a window—there was a window to escape from, and to me, it was a portal.
A way into the world that no one could take from me.
I used it often after that night. As often as I could.
Not running, chasing, nor escaping anything, but just because... I could.
I could leave and come back.
That night, Flick’s friend was busking down at the docks. My sisters had always come here together—but this time it was about me. To bring me in. Part of the Slaters siblings.
Flick led the way with a straight back and steady gait, showing the confidence of a fourteen-year-old who knew she had already figured everything out.
That she was responsible and wise and could be counted on.
Cassidy couldn’t stop moving, laughing, ricocheting off park benches and into me and back again.
She is like a loose wire with a smile that could cut through any dark. I fucking love my sisters.
I had never seen anything so free in my life as them that night, and I had never felt anything so wonderful as that fresh air on my face and that wide vast world. It wasn’t just freedom, or rebellion, but family.
And so today, I brought Blesk here. To show her the exact spot I first remember feeling true freedom and hopefulness.
When I spot the busker, some Bohemian dude playing a guitar, I sit on the edge of a concrete planter and pull Liz—Blesk—down with me. I explain my memory to her and she smiles.
She says, “Your sisters sound wonderful.”
Goosebumps rush down her throat, so I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
She turns to watch the busker play, and I gaze at her profile.
She studies the movement of the guitarist’s hands, each finger plucking and strumming as if she understands something I do not about this language they both speak.
I glance down to see her fingers copying his, playing the crisp air, as if she can’t stop them.
I don’t even know if she realises she is doing it.
I grab her hand and stand, attempting to pull her out in front of the small group of spectators. She tries to dig her heels into the ground and tugs away in a gentle protest.
“Trust me,” I whisper.
She sighs but relents to me, allowing me to pull her against my chest and sway with her.
And, yeah, we’re terrible. The rhythm is wrong, but we are right, so I don’t care that our feet keep catching each other.
I don’t think she does either. I can dance a little, best when I’m helping Cassidy practice ballet, but that’s because she is exceptional and can make a llama look like a dancer.
I pull Blesk closer when she stumbles and laughs into my shoulder. When she lifts her face to look at me, I catch something moving through her eyes. Affection? I am pretty sure. Not regret. Not disappointment that I’m Deakon.
So, I just hold her a little tighter and hope the song never ends and that her expression stays the same forever.
We watch the sun sink below the horizon before heading back to my apartment.
While she’s in the bathroom, I pour myself a bourbon and try not to think about how the lads might behave tonight—what they know about my reputation, what they might say to Blesk.
I can’t exactly blame them. I have a rep with perpetual women.
I just have to show them that this is different.
Take no hostages, kind of thing. She isn’t just Blesk.
She’s the little girl I thought was dead, accepted that deep loss without ever looking…
Should I have tried? Have I failed her? Liz risked everything to get me out, and I let her die in a ditch.
I take a swig of bourbon.
The bathroom door opens. I look up. Well, fuck. There she is in a black dress with pink ribbons, her hair swept up. I can see her pulse at the base of her throat, and I want to press my lips against it, feel it flutter.
“Wow… Fuck, Duch.” I exhale animatedly. “How am I supposed to be a gentleman when you look like that?”
She giggles, shrugging a shoulder as her cheeks redden.
“I’m serious.”
I’m not.
I push to my feet and circle her, trying to memorize every line.
I want to peel that dress off, reveal each inch of skin, taste every dimple, then make love to her right here in those heels.
I force a steady exhale, dragging my thoughts to my coach and the whiskered barista to keep my cock under control.
“Should I change?” she asks, laughing.
“No! Well… yes. Actually, no. You look stunning.”
She beams. “Like a duchess?”
“Spitting image.”
She tilts up and brushes her lips against my cheek. I don’t move. I want that kiss—her soft, warm lips linger.
She steps back.
I exhale.
She quirks a smile. “You look gorgeous, too, Konnor.”
I clear my throat, shove aside every filthy thought about her curves and those heels, slip my hand through hers, and we leave. She takes the elevator; I take the stairs. Meeting at the bottom, Adolf greets us in the foyer with a polite nod.
“Mr Slater, Miss Bellamy,” he says, lifting his hat. “Enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you, Adolf, and you, too,” Blesk replies, beaming.
I love how polite she is.
The thud of music reaches us a block away. The hall is off-campus but close enough to walk from my apartment. The night’s gotten colder. I can feel the chill on my face, so I look at Blesk to make sure she isn’t shivering.
She smiles at me.
Cheeks pink with warmth.
By the time we arrive, the lads are already well into it—a few of them visibly pre-partied, which probably means they started around lunch.
I’m not one to talk. I have a flask in my jacket right now.
Blesk knows this and hasn’t said a word about it.
My drinking habits are usually something girls like to poke at, but Blesk doesn’t.
We move through the crowd, fingers threaded together. The room smells like a typical party. Cologne and perfume fighting with alcohol and body sweat.
The first sign of trouble hits me square in the face.
Pemberton.
She scowls at us from across the hall with a look that would crush most men into tiny pieces.
She’s wearing a red halter dress that hugs every curve, the neckline plunging, slit cutting to the seam of her underwear.
She looks hot. But Blesk is hotter—curvier, softer, with an endearing kind of energy that Pemberton has never managed and never will.
“Why the hell is she even here?” I mutter.
Blesk frowns. “Because she’s in love with you, Konnor. And she knew you would be here.”
I splutter on a laugh. “She doesn’t love me. She hates me. I was an accessory.”
She rolls her eyes. Sassy Blesk; I like Sassy Blesk. “Sometimes girls don’t know how to show you that. She does. I can tell. Be nice to her, please.”
I want to tell Blesk about all the horrible things Pemberton said about her—but I want more than anything for her to smile, so I never will. Even if it makes me the bad guy.
“Alright, I’ll be nice, Duch,” I say, running my knuckles down her pink cheek.
She blinks at me. "Boys just don't get girls.”
I shrug. “You should just say what you mean for once.”
“We literally do, and boys don’t listen.”
“Sorry, what was that? I wasn’t listening.”
She giggles at me.
I plan on listening, is all I can think of now. I plan on hearing you, Duch.
We meet the lads at the back and the night rolls by easily. Blesk laughs at something Jax says, and I watch his whole posture peacock, shoulders back, chest forwards, suddenly considering himself funnier than he is. Fucker.
She makes people feel good. She does that without trying. She doesn’t even seem to notice she’s doing it. She is just… soft. Warm…
Fuck, I’m in trouble.
I swig on my bourbon.
She hasn’t moved far from me all night. Every time someone pulls her into a new conversation, she drifts back after a few minutes, her shoulder finding the same spot pressed to mine.
Her wine glass is still mostly full. She sips it as if she’s driving or something…
I watch her fingers on the stem, nursing it. I stare. They talk.
Stop staring, Slater.
“—so I said to him, mate, that’s not even— Are you listening, Slater!”