Fighting Fate (Fighting Series) (Fighting #6)(13)

My hand absently rubs my lower abdomen. “No, I don’t think you do.”

He looks confused until his eyes track my hand. I expect irritation, maybe even anger, but he simply grabs his keys and turns back to the door. “Take a shower. Help yourself to a T-shirt. I’ll be back.”

“Kill—”

The door closes behind him, and the telltale click of the lock tells me he’s locked me inside for my safety.

My heart practically melts. God, this guy, he’s too perfect, too good. I can’t believe he’s stayed by me as long as he has. I haven’t always been the best friend to him, and yet, he’s never once made me feel like the burden I so clearly am.

I click on the kitchen light and down a big glass of water before heading to the tiny bathroom that smells like soap and bleach. I swear the guy must clean his pad twice a week. I’ve never even seen water spots on his mirror for crying out loud. Mindy and I are pretty clean as far as college students go, our dirty dishes and laundry pile up, and we could probably mop more than we do. Kill is borderline obsessive.

I hit the water on and strip off my clothes, folding them and placing them in a tidy pile on the small counter space. I take care of business on the toilet before stepping under the hot spray, and immediately the scent of liquor and smoke rushes to my nose before it dissipates. I grab the fancy sports-themed shower gel and lather up my body, thinking about how differently tonight could’ve gone had Kill not shown up. I wash my hair with his two-in-one shampoo, and every time I close my eyes, I almost fall over. Those drinks Ryder made me were stronger than I thought.

After rinsing, I stand there and let the water beat down on me. Finally, after my body is pruned and exhaustion weighs me down, there’s a soft knock on the door before it cracks open and Kill places a paper bag onto the counter.

I turn the shower off. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, but closes the door. Ripping a clean towel off the rack, I wrap up, peek into the bag and almost burst out laughing.

Inside are small boxes of almost every size tampon in every brand available. I imagine what he must’ve looked like in the tampon aisle, fingering each box into the basket. Even as the visual makes me laugh, my chest warms with the same heat that his attentiveness has always evoked.

Picking up my brand of choice, I brush my teeth, comb out my hair and—fuck. I forgot to grab something to wear. I pick through my old clothes and cringe at the smell. No, I can’t put those back on.

I check out my reflection. None of my girlie parts are showing. Hell, Killian’s seen more of my body in my bathing suit. I shrug and head out into the studio to find him sitting at the end of his bed with his head in his hands.

“You okay?”

He turns and something flashes in his eyes, but I don’t have time to catch it as he points his eyes to his feet in front of him. “Fine. Um…do you need a—?”

“Shirt, yeah. I’ll just—”

“I got it.” He reaches forward, his dresser about a foot from his face in the cramped space.

A T-shirt flies toward me, quickly followed by a pair of plaid flannel boxers. I scoop them off the floor.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” He snags a pair of sweatpants and keeps his eyes down while walking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

I exhale hard. He’ll never see me as anything more than the pathetic girl with abandonment issues. After all, I’m the girl who had two dads and they both walked away without looking back.

I’ve always been Killian’s charity case.

No matter how badly I’ve wanted him to see me differently.

*





Killian





I’m staring at my distorted reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, willing myself to calm the fuck down. Doesn’t help that the limited space of my studio has been infiltrated by her presence. Her naked presence. The shower only liquefied her essence, so now I’m not only breathing in her delicate sweet scent, but it lies upon my skin, coating my body with a sheen of moisture that I consider licking to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

I slam my eyes closed as my dick punches the zipper of my jeans. Calm, breathe, don’t fuck this up.

Thing is I’ve had Axelle over to my place more than any of my friends. We’ve hung out, watched movies, studied, even had dinner a few times. I had a spare toothbrush she used once when she ate a Caesar salad and was worried about her breath, and she even showered here a few times after we’d hung out at the pool. We’ve even fallen asleep while watching TV, but she always ends up going home.

Tonight she’ll be in my bed until morning.

Wearing my tee.

My boxers.

I groan as my hard-on jumps at the visual of her bare body covered in my clothes.

I turn my head to see her outfit from tonight in a folded pile by my right hand, her bra placed on top, the tag sticking out displaying a proud 32C. I try not to imagine the way her breasts looked spilling out of that bra and, for a split second, contemplate how far down in the pile her panties are. I wonder if they match her bra, if they’re the kind that cut up the crack of her ass.

Sick bastard!

Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I brush my teeth and pop out my contacts, making sure to take my time to avoid walking in on Axelle naked. I don’t know how long it takes for a girl to slide on a T-shirt and a pair of boxers, but by some rare chance, if it takes more than ten minutes, I want to give her the time she needs, because one flash of her naked body and I’ll probably hump her like a dog.