Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(25)
“The quality in this one isn’t the best.” Keira leaned against the cushion and kept rambling. Kona didn’t care, he liked how excited she seemed to be as the music started growing louder. “The librarian told me they had to convert it from a VHS because the company doesn’t sell the ’85 London original cast version, which sucks because aside from seeing it live…” she trailed off, stopping when she looked up at Kona. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m good.” He tried for casualness, not wanting Keira to know how she was affecting him, how just the excitement in her voice had him fighting back the smile that threatened to split across his face. He rested back, slid down on his elbow and moved his long legs in front of him. They nearly touched the TV.
As the musical began, Keira sat up, lifted the remote to increase the volume. Eyes wide, she started to explain the premise, her smile growing and Kona didn’t stop his grin this time. “So Valjean is prisoner 24601. He’s been in prison for nineteen years and is being paroled by Javert, who is a total bastard. But he’s going to have to display a ticket of leave, which means he’ll be shunned because he’s an ex-con.”
“How’s he supposed to eat or work if no one will help him?”
“The Bishop of Digne offers him food and shelter.”
And then, despite the completely lame idea that Kona is sitting in a girl’s dorm room, not touching her, having her seemingly more interested in a bunch of stuffy singing actors on a stage, Kona lets the music pull his attention and then, just as Keira said, the story, and the girl, completely infected him.
“That was the saddest f*cking thing I have ever seen in my life.”
Kona’s face had lost all expression and if Keira didn’t know better, she’d swear the huge linebacker had tears in his eyes. She tried not to laugh, but then Kona rubbed his neck and moved his face against his shoulder. She felt almost sorry for him.
“Hey, it’s okay, you know. It’s just a story.”
When he nodded, still not looking at her, she touched his shoulder and Kona covered his face between his large fingers. “I hope to God I never have to hear that ‘Dreamed a Dream’ song again.” That time, Keira did laugh and Kona joined her. “Seriously, that shit is depressing.”
Keira noticed how relaxed he seemed, how being in her space had taken away the bite from his voice, how his wide shoulders weren’t set as rigid as he normally kept them. It made her hope for things she had no business giving any thought to. “Well, it was set after the French Revolution. Not exactly a love fest.”
“I guess not.” Kona’s face had gone slack, stern and Keira noticed his forehead was lined with tension. When he rubbed his fingers into his temples, she was reminded of her father’s migraines and how they crippled him.
“Headache?”
“Yeah. My eyes aren’t great and squinting to see the TV didn’t help.” Kona looked at her, shrugging his shoulder, dismissing his pain. “You got an aspirin?”
“No, sorry. I’m not big on pills.”
“Aspirin isn’t a pill. Not that kind anyway.”
Keira had heard it before. Her mother practically lived off pills, but she didn’t like depending on something unnatural to make her feel better. It was something her father always preached against, though considering his hobbies that made him a huge hypocrite, but just then, an idea came to her. Despite her fear that she would be sending Kona the wrong message, she couldn’t help herself. He pulled his eyes nearly closed and took to rubbing his temples again.
“Would you like me to help you?” Keira didn’t trust the flirty smirk on his face. She’d been around Kona enough by then to understand when he was having lewd, typical boy thoughts, but she dismissed the expression with a quick eye roll. “Not like that, jackass. Come here,” she said, motioning for Kona to lay his head in her lap. He hesitated, but only for a moment and then quickly obeyed her.
“Damn, Keira, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask.”
“Be quiet and close your eyes.”
Keira looked down at Kona, trying not to focus on the precise features of his face. His frown was steady, severe, the pain clearly visible. It was eerily similar to the hard scowl her father used to make. She couldn’t stomach that expression either and so she rubbed Kona’s temples with her soft, firm fingertips. How often had she watched her mother do the same thing for her father? Hundreds of times perhaps, when the woman still loved him, when she still cared about the constant pain that filled her father’s body.
“That’s good.” Kona’s voice was low, light and after only a few quick strokes, the tension began to fade from his forehead. His skin was smooth and Keira liked how the dark, barely distinguishable freckles peppered across his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. Another rub, this one deeper, and Keira looked away from his face, tried not to count all those delicious brown spots.
“What did you think of Les Mis?” she asked. He responded with a grunt that Keira thought was noncommittal at best, but she then clarified. “Aside from it being depressing.”
“It was okay. Sad as hell, but a good story. Messed up, for sure.” Kona’s large shoulders felt heavy against Keira’s lap but she didn’t mind the weight. He was solid and his body gave off a delicious heat that Keira tried not to enjoy. She was always cold-natured, perpetually had a chill, but Kona poured warmth into her skin, comforted her more than she’d like to admit.