Broken Knight (All Saints High, #2)(11)

Luna had worn thin sports bras. You noticed those things about a girl when you hung out with her all the time. My brain had short-circuited, refusing to come up with words to describe what was happening inside my body. I mean…

My.

Hand.

Was.

On.

Her.

Breast.

Why’d it feel so fantastic? In my mind, we were already fucking three times a day at that point. My morning jerk-off in the shower before practice, the rub-in after I got back from practice in the afternoon, and of course, the whack before bedtime to take the edge off prior to slipping through her window. I’d imagined us doing filthy things I was pretty sure Luna would never even think about, let alone do.

Meanwhile, in real life, I’d just nearly come from touching her tit. I’d been worried for my man card. Also: for my sanity when it came to this girl.

“Do you feel it?” she’d signed.

I’d squeezed my eyes shut and breathed slowly through my nose. Opened my eyes.

“I never unfeel it, Moonshine.” The words had come out laced with pain.

“Promise not to break it?”

Even my dumb teenage brain understood the magnitude of the situation. Never breaking our gaze, I’d put her hand on my own heart, so she’d know, without a doubt, she wasn’t the only one whose heart had a chunk missing.

“Promise.”

Luna had tipped her chin up, giving me the okayest-okay in the history of the goddamn word, and I’d gone for it, still half-expecting to wake up from the dream. And that was it. My lips were on hers. Finally. Consensually. This time, she didn’t pull away.

A low, guttural moan tore from my throat when our mouths met and molded. She’d poured magic into that kiss, and it had depressed me to know, after kissing dozens of girls before her, that I’d been right all along. My mom had said there were a lot of lids for every pot. But there was only one lid for this pothead. Luna.

Her lips had been soft, sweet, giving—like her. She’d smelled like coconut and ocean salt and pencil shavings. Like heaven. Her wild curls had framed both our faces. I’d wrapped a lock around my finger, and it had gripped me like a live wire. I loved her hair the most, because that’s how I recognized her in the hallways. Everyone else either had flat-ironed, thin hair or a tired, in-between mane that wasn’t straight or curly. Some wore theirs in doll-like, perfect ringlets held by hairspray that made them look like fancy divorcées. But Luna looked like nature. It was like kissing the entire fucking forest from our spot in the treehouse.

“Knight. Jameson. Cole!” A loud whine had cut through the air, jerking Luna’s body away from mine.

I’d twisted my head, still drunk from that kiss. Noei had been standing in front of my door, mouth agape, a hand on her hip, one foot tapping on the wide step to my door.

“I knew it! I just knew it! And with the school’s freak no less! I should’ve listened to Emma and Jacquie when they said so. You’re such a cheater.”

No. No. No. Just…no.

Pretty sure I voiced that aloud, because Noei had shouted, “Oh, hell yes!” and “I can’t believe you,” and “I thought you were the one.”

Which, honestly, would have been laughable if it hadn’t been for the unfortunate situation.

I didn’t even entertain the idea of explaining myself to Noei. We’d never been steady. I’d never called or texted her, though I had messed around with her in public every now and again. I’d explained to Noei that my situation was complicated. That I didn’t do relationships. That I had an endgame, and it didn’t include her.

“Moonshine, wait…”

I’d chased my best friend through the snaking, cobbled pavement leading to her doorstep. She’d moved quickly between the green hedges, ducking her head down so I wouldn’t see her face. She’d asked me not to break her heart, and I’d gone and done it, even before our kiss had ended. Frantic, I’d grabbed her wrist. She’d spun around, her waterfall gray eyes breathing fire I knew would leave blisters on my memory. I’d let go of her immediately. She’d raised her finger between us, warning me not to get closer, before launching into the longest speech I’d ever seen her sign:

“I love you, Knight Cole. More than anything. Maybe even more than myself. But I don’t trust you with my heart. And when you hurt me like this, I feel little and vindictive. So vindictive, you shouldn’t trust me with yours. Whatever it is, we need to kill it before it kills us, you understand? We can’t be together.”

“But…”

“Friends.”

She’d mouthed the word. I almost heard it.

“Listen, Luna, it’s not what you think.” I’d tugged at my hair so hard, it occurred to me I might pull it out completely. This was bullshit. I wanted to rip something apart. Maybe my own skin.

“Knight, no. Promise me.”

I’d turned around and stalked back home, and that had been that.

Then, I’d thought I couldn’t handle less than everything.

Now, I knew that when you’re left with no choice—you can handle it. It just hurts like a thousand bitches in heat.

“Moonshine. Can I get you a beer?” I blocked her way to the other girls in Vaughn’s kitchen with my huge frame, rolling my pierced tongue along my lower lip. Long gone were my five-eleven days. I was a little shy of six-three now, with the width of an industrial washing machine, hard and muscled head to toe.