Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(20)
“You want me…” Keira’s eyebrows rose, but Kona stopped her protest before she could make it “you want me to do anything else?” He liked how expressive her face was, how slow she blinked, when his fingertips brushed against her back.
She shook her head, worried the inside of her mouth as though she was thinking of other things Kona could do to help her out. He didn’t think those thoughts included changing a light bulb or stopping the slow drip he heard from the bathroom sink. Keira hadn’t moved, hadn’t slapped his hand away from her neck and he realized, with that open, eager expression on her face that Keira had no clue the power she could have. That expressive face and sumptuous body made him, would make any man, stuttering idiots if she chose to use her attributes to her advantage. Given a bit more confidence, Keira could rule the f*cking world.
The tension in the room had grown too thick, too intense and so Kona dropped his hand, knew that he needed to put distance between them before he did something Keira wasn’t ready for.
“I should go.” He let her leave the bed first, didn’t say anything about how fast she got to her feet. When he picked up his bag and leaned against the door, Keira took to biting the inside of her cheek again and Kona tried not to smile. “You sure I can’t do anything else?”
Keira’s hair moved against her shoulder when she shook her head. “No, I’m good.” Kona had to jump back as she took hold of the door handle, dismissing him. “Thank you, though.”
The awkwardness was back, but Kona didn’t think the time was right for another stupid joke. “I’ll see you in class.” Keira nodded, staring down at the floor and Kona breathed a little easier, a little clearer when he walked into the hallway. Then, she called him back, stopped him with a throaty whisper of his name. “Yeah?” he said, turning to face her.
He knew she was debating what she wanted to say. She shuffled her feet in a nervous step before she opened her mouth again. “Um… good luck tomorrow.”
When Kona smiled, the gesture was sincere because he knew she didn’t care how he played, how well they performed. Keira wanted to say something, he could tell, but he let his assumption die on his tongue and only offered her a wink before he left down the hall.
Keira liked the feel of the keys under her fingertips and the low, steady hum of motherboards working in the sterile lab. Here, in the library’s small computer room, Keira could think, had access to those large databases that would open up the past. There were articles and papers older than her country; collected microfiche data all nestled together and accessible with the click of her fingers on the keyboard.
Professor Miller sat in the corner of the room reading, occasionally frowning at the probable typos in the student newspaper. Everyone worked in silence, looking through the library’s databases or sending ages old articles to the printer. It was peaceful; an easy cluster of silent space where Keira could think without distraction.
“I don’t see why this project is such a big deal.” There goes the silence, she thought and rolled her eyes at Kona when he waved off the librarian who shushed him.
The big linebacker sat next to her in front of a computer with the screensaver flashing the CPU logo. Despite how often she jabbed him with her elbow, Kona had done little more than play a game of solitaire or cast quick, not subtle looks in her direction.
Keira didn’t know how to respond to these lengthy stares. That night in her room when Kona tended to her scratches had caused something to shift between them. Neither of them mentioned it and they’d spent most of their time together either talking about their paper or not speaking at all. It had gone on for a few days now and every time they met, at the library or in the cafeteria, the tension only grew.
Next to her he sighed and the exhale was so forced that Keira was obliged to look at him. A quick eye shift from her face to her computer screen and she guessed that this was one of those moments where Kona actually wanted to kill the quiet.
“The Legends can be tied into just about any story you can think of.”
“Bullshit.” He nodded once when Miller cleared his throat and rumpled the paper in his hand, a clear reprimand that Kona should shut the hell up.
Keira lowered her voice so low that Kona had to lean next to her to hear her. “There’s an old theory that dictates only seven archetypes, or seven basic plots, exist in the world. I’d add that if there are only seven, then there are billion variations of those stories.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Keira leaned against her chair, pulled her hands away from the keyboard so she could give Kona her full attention. He gave her the same stare he’d been wearing for a days now, like he wasn’t quite sure what to think about her, but she had gotten through their meetings by not wondering what that expression meant.
“The Legends started as folk tales, parables and lessons on what you should and shouldn’t do. For the most part they are morality tales. Where do you think that sort of morality comes from?” Keira felt like a teacher, feeding bits of knowledge to a first grader. Kona was smart, she knew that, but literature and grammar weren’t exactly topics of choice for the mathematically minded linebacker. Kona had quoted figures and tallies to her when they discussed how much money someone would lose if they’d bet against CPU in a game like his brain was a calculator. He could tick off statistic after statistic and the tackling efficiency of every linebacker in the NFL for the past twenty years. But he just didn’t care enough to be interested in the Legends or Shakespeare, or Chaucer or any of the other poets and scribes she’d asked him if he’d read during their meetings.