Chapter 18 – Kev
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KEV
I could have tapped her shoulder. I could have just whispered her name. But no, I had to hook my fucking finger in her fucking belt loop. I had to pull her against me. Why the hell did I tug on her like that? Why did I grab her hip? Why am I hard right now when this is supposed to be an innocent, friendly walk? An innocent, friendly walk where she looks and smells so good that the need to kiss her is actually ruining my life.
While he tried to shift himself in his jeans as covertly as possible, Kev wondered if this walk had been a mistake. She hadn’t said a single word since the moose. She’d only stared straight ahead, looking a little like someone who’d just stepped off a roller coaster they didn’t even know they were on. He needed to lighten the mood or he was going to blow this whole friends thing before he’d even had the chance to convince her he was worth the effort. You don’t mind if I’m hard as a rock around you all the time, do you? I mean, friends do that, don’t they? After a lengthy inward groan, he forced himself to get a grip.
“Can you believe we actually saw a moose?” he asked, because what else do you ask someone you just saw a moose with while fighting an erection? Shoving his hands back into the safety of his pockets—where he’d been trying to keep them through the whole damn walk so they wouldn’t do anything monumentally stupid like tug on her fucking belt loop—he said, “Pretty cool.”
“So cool,” she agreed, her cheeks flushed as she gathered her hair over her shoulder and fanned her neck.
Was she hot? Was it possible that she was as turned on as he was right now? How could he find out? He had to know. Maybe he could sneak a glance at her shirt, so quickly she wouldn’t notice. Just to see if her— Lock it down , he warned himself when his cock gave another twitch at the thought of Davis all worked up, her chest heaving, her nipples hard, their pointed tips barely hidden under the white cotton of her shirt.
He bit down, flexing his jaw at the need to shift himself in his jeans again. This was worse than high school. Friends. Friends. Friends, he chanted, fighting to get a hold of himself.
While he imagined the least boner-inducing things he could come up with—rotten cheese, wet cardboard, toenail splinters—they walked in silence again and he inhaled deeply, letting the distinctly sharp and piney Bluebird scent he’d missed so much while he was gone clear his head.
After a few minutes, she went from fanning her neck to rubbing her arms. It was getting cold. And the soft white shirt hugging all the curves he was dying to mold his palms around wasn’t possibly warm enough to keep out the chill.
“Here,” he said, untying his flannel from around his waist. The one he’d brought along for the express purpose of giving to her if she needed it. Settling the flannel over her shoulders in the friendliest way possible, he explained, “You look cold.”
“A little,” she said, sliding her arms through his sleeves, buttoning the top few buttons. “Thanks.”
She looked so good wearing his shirt that he was half tempted to tell her to keep it, that it was hers now. Just like his heart. But he only said, “No problem.” Then added, “It’s so great that you’re helping the guys get their GEDs. It’s all they can talk about. I think Stanley might come to the next training too.”
“Really?” Her face lit up in the rising moonlight, then she frowned. “Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully. “We’re going to need a bigger space. And more computers,” she said, thinking out loud. “I’ll have to talk to Madigan about it. You guys deserve a dedicated space for learning.”
A shot of warmth swirled through his bloodstream. He never felt like he deserved anything, and he knew a lot of the guys felt the same way. This was huge, what she was doing, the way she was helping and supporting them, believing in them. At least for now. At least until she left.
“That would be amazing.” He bit his cheek. “This kind of thing will help them, I mean us,” he corrected even though he wasn’t the school type, “more than you know. It’ll help the men who stay at Little Timber in the future too.”
The word future landed between them like a piano plummeting from a skyscraper, with a vibration he felt in his chest, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Would there be a future for her here? For them?
He wondered if she felt it too, because her pace slowed, her chin dipping toward her chest.
In a desperate attempt to fix the vibes, he asked out of nowhere, “What’s your favorite color?” then groaned internally. Favorite color? Jesus, Kev.
“Uh, green,” she answered, probably grateful enough for the shift in mood to humor him. “You?”
He set his jaw, because this was going to sound so pathetic. “Believe it or not.” He smiled weakly. “It’s also green.”
She scoffed, giving him a dubious side-eye. “Be serious.”
“I almost lied and answered blue just so I didn’t sound like I was trying too hard. But”—he raised a shoulder—“it’s green.”
“Okay, but what shade of green?” she asked. “Like, leaf green? Or lime green? Or baby-shit green? ”
He barked a laugh. “What on earth is baby-shit green?”
Grinning up at him, she said, “You don’t know?”
He shook his head, looking down at her, wanting to stay there, locked with her in an infinity mirror of matching smiles.
“It’s like a yellowish green,” she said. “Almost neon. Mustardy.”
“How much baby shit have you seen in your life?”
“Tons,” she replied. “I used to babysit all the time.”
“I’ve never been around a baby, so I’ve never seen it. But maybe baby-shit green would be my favorite.” He raised a shoulder. “Impossible to say. Maybe I’ll come google it in the computer lab.”
“Oh my god, no,” she said. And now she was laughing. Like, really laughing. He’d missed this, laughing with her, joking around about stupid shit. It was like a shot to the arm. Like that first sip of water after walking for days with a canteen full of sand. It was so much better than any high he’d ever had.
The thought struck him, so fist-like he nearly grunted. And it reminded him of something Rick had said to him in rehab. Something about the way addiction makes people blind to all the good things in their lives. How once they see it, once they see all the good things they’d sacrificed to their addiction, they’d never unsee it. He thought he saw it now. He never wanted to unsee it again.
“Do not google show me baby shit. ” She was still laughing. “You’ll end up on a list somewhere.”
“Noted.” He pressed his lingering smile between his lips, trying like hell to play it cool. “Actually, it’s spring-grass green. You know, when it finally gets warm, and the grass just starts to sprout. It’s like…new. It’s new green. That’s my favorite.”
“Kev,” she said, and he turned back to find her standing still, her eyes wide. “I’m not lying.” She raised her hand, like she was taking an oath. “I swear. But that is my favorite green too. Exactly that.”
Click. He took a mental snapshot of her like that, glowing in the moonlight, and saved it in the Davis photo album in his mind. “What a coincidence.”
They weren’t far from the cabins now. He could see the porch lights in the distance. Right then, he hated those lights, hated how close they were. Because it was almost over, their friendly walk. Because if this had been a date, if he’d never left and they’d still been together, she wouldn’t be about to drop him off, say goodnight, and go on her merry way. He would have walked her back to the lodge like a gentleman. Or he would have at least pretended to be one just so he could press her up against her door, thread his fingers through her hair, and kiss her so thoroughly she’d melt against him, making those needy little noises he still couldn’t look at her without hearing.
But since this wasn’t a date. Since he had left. Since they were only friends, his lonely little cabin would be his last stop tonight.
“But speaking of kids,” she said, reeling his focus back in while they started walking again. “Isn’t it so weird getting older? I have friends who already have kids. I’m still eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast, and my friends are raising literal humans.”
“It’s so weird,” he agreed. “I have to borrow most of my clothes, and they’re literally responsible for another life.”
“Right? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you want kids?” he asked for some absurd reason. Why couldn’t he ever break his habit of always saying the first random thing that popped into his head? Would thinking before you speak just once actually kill you?
“I don’t know,” she said, her steps slowing in time with his heart rate because at least she didn’t seem completely shocked by the question. “Maybe? What about you?”
“Oh yeah. I want tons of kids.” His eyes flew wide, because he’d done it again. And not only had he said this without thinking, he’d also imagined it. Imagined a daughter with Davis’s clever blue eyes. A son with her infectious laughter.
And when she asked, “Tons?” he faked a laugh.
“Not tons, obviously,” he said. “I mean, not, like, a herd of them or anything.”
“How many, then?” she asked, amused.
Enough that they never felt alone. “Two could be good,” he said. “ As long as they got along. But three might be better. Although an odd number just seems like one would always be singled out. So, four?”
She’d stopped walking again, so he had too. When he turned to face her, he did it slowly, a little worried about what kind of expression he might find on her face. This was a wild conversation to be having on their first friends walk. It was a topic they’d never discussed even before everything had gone sideways. But when he met her stare, she only looked thoughtful.
“I can see it,” she said, her eyes sparkling, a smile playing at her lips. “Kids crawling all over you, waiting in line for you to hold them up with your feet and turn them into airplanes, crowding around you for bedtime stories. You’d make a good dad.”
He didn’t respond. Partly because he had no idea what to say. Because there were no words to describe what it meant for someone like him to hear something like that. But mostly because his throat was closing up so tightly he knew he’d sound weird if he tried.
Luckily, she took mercy on him. “And then you can finally learn all the wondrously subtle shades of baby-shit green.”
“The ultimate upside,” he said, laughing to cover for all the ways she’d cracked him wide open with five simple words: You’d make a good dad.
While he hoped that she was right, hoping even harder that someday he’d have the chance to find out, they started walking. And before he was even close to ready, his cabin appeared between the trees. The guys had abandoned the firepit, leaving the clearing dim and cold. When they reached his cabin and she started to unbutton his flannel, he couldn’t stop himself from covering her hands with his, stilling them.
“Keep it,” he said. “For the walk back to the lodge. I’ll get it from you later.” Or never.
Staring down at his hands, she said, “Okay.” But when he tried to pull away, she trapped his fingers under her thumbs, keeping him close. “Wait.”
He’d wait. He’d stand there all night. He’d stand there forever if she wanted him to. “Davis? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” She cleared her throat, still looking at his hands. “It’s your nails. You’ve stopped biting them.”
Curling his fingers around hers, he said, “Surprisingly hard habit to break. But I think I’ve kicked it.” Actually, it had been pretty easy. He’d stopped the first night he’d run into her on these same trails. When he’d caught her after she’d tripped. When he’d decided that if he ever got lucky enough to hold her hand again, touch her skin, run one of her curls through his fingers, he wasn’t going to do it with jagged, bitten nails.
“That’s good,” she said. “This was nice. This walk. Talking to you. I’ve”—she glanced down at her feet—“missed it.”
“I’ve missed it too,” he said, edging a hair closer. He’d been following her lead, keeping himself in check, trying to stay friendly. But she was holding his hands now. She was gazing into his eyes. Fuck it.
Giving her a lopsided grin, the lopsided grin, the one he practiced in the mirror when nobody was looking, the one that showcased his dimple, he said, “Best night I’ve had in a long time.”
While she stared at his lips, hers parted slowly, her pupils dilating, eyelids sinking. Her fingers closed around his, and when she asked, “Kev? Do friends do this?” his heart made a mad dash for his throat.
“D-do what?” he stuttered out. Fuck. Was she thinking about kissing him? Had he lopsided-grinned too close to the sun? He wanted to kiss her the way River wanted mints, bad enough to tear a hole in his jeans. Which—if she kissed him right now in his current, riled-up state—might actually happen. And that was the problem. It was too soon. He wanted her too badly. He wouldn’t be able to stop once they got started. Not if she didn’t want him to.
Panic gripped him, freezing him into a wide-eyed statue of what the fuck do I even do right now? So when she let go of his hands and leaned in close, when she said, “this,” while resting her cheek against his chest and looping her arms around his waist, he was almost too in his head to register the breathless, soul-shaking relief of having her in his arms again. But he snapped out of it, his panic melting away, releasing him, leaving him loose and warm. Because there it was, the sense of rightness when he had her wrapped in his arms, when he buried his nose into her hair and filled his lungs with her sweet, herbal scent.
Happiness. Joy. Love. Relief. So much relief. It was all there, and he let himself feel it. Because this was what he was fighting for. This connection. This rightness. This hug was the reason. This hug that he thought he might never get again. Holding this beautiful, kind, caring person who noticed he’d stopped biting his nails. Who was willing to pull him close again. Willing to let him sway her from side to side while she pressed her palms into his back. Willing to let him close his eyes and just be with her. So, yes. The answer to her question was yes.
“Friends definitely do this,” he said. “All the time.”
She breathed a laugh that he felt everywhere her body pressed against his.
When she pulled back, not all the way, just enough to meet his eyes, he asked, “Wanna do it again?”
“What?” Her smile was knee-buckling. “Hug?”
Because he couldn’t help himself, he tucked the one curl that insisted on springing free to brush against her cheek behind her ear and said, “Sure. Whenever you want. But I meant meet up for another walk.”
“Oh, right.” Color filtered into her cheeks. “Um, yeah. Yes. I do.”
Sliding his hands back into his pockets, locking them up tight as he took a step away from her, he suggested, “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow sounds good,” she answered with a nervous little wobble in her voice he’d replay in his head a million times once he was alone in his cabin.
Grinning at her, he said, “Good night, Davis. ”
She stepped back, said, “Good night, Kev.” Then she turned around, heading for the lodge.
Watching her go, trying and failing not to stare at her ass—perfect in every way, even if it was mostly covered by his flannel—he finally blew out the breath that had been trapped in his lungs for the last hour, day, month…
That had gone well. Really well. Maybe he’d be better at this friends thing than he thought. Although he doubted that friends needed to jerk off after hanging out with each other as badly as he did.
Oh well , he thought, climbing the stairs back up to his cabin. Baby steps.