Ohana Legacy: The Thin Love Series Bundle: Thin Love

By Eden Butler

Eden Butler bids a final farewell to her Thin Love series, with the Ohana Legacy: The Thin Love Series Bundle.

This bundle begins with Keira and Kona's long journey to their HEA, to Ransom and Aly and the struggle to keep their family intact. This bundle includes all three full-length Thin Love novels, the My Beloved novella, and My Always, a deleted scene story, all of which encompass the Thin Love series.

Love is constant and real love, thick love, only happens once in a lifetime.

THIN LOVE (Book 1)

Love isn't supposed to be an addiction. It isn't supposed to leave you bleeding. Kona pushed, Keira pulled, and in their wake, they left behind destruction. She sacrificed everything for him. It wasn't enough. But the wounds of the past can never be completely forgotten and still the flame remains, slumbers between the pleasure of yesterday and the thought of what might have been.

MY BELOVED (Book 1.2)

Kona Hale was a blinding flame that Keira Riley gladly burned inside—his touch, his kiss, his overwhelming love, all made her desperate and desired, made her believe in a love worth bleeding for. But when you fall in love with an NFL darling who can't seem to let go of the spotlight, sometimes even that flame can be lost behind the brilliant flash of fame.

THICK LOVE (Book 2)

Ransom Riley-Hale's friends think his life is charmed, but that brilliant shine on the surface hides the darkness beneath. Aly King surges into his life threatening to pull him from the darkness. But the shadows are relentless, resurfacing when he thinks he is safe and Ransom knows he must keep Aly from them too before he pulls her down into the darkness with him.

THICK & THIN (Book 3)

My love was thick. Her faith was thin. Somewhere in the middle is where life found us. She was my first thought every morning, my last smile at night, and a million memories in between. Then Aly King walked away from me, from us, from our life.

MY ALWAYS (Book 3.5)

Every marriage has a moment—it defines the future, it settles doubt. That moment comes for Keira Riley-Hale when her marriage is threatened and she forgets how to find her way back to her husband. Will a brief getaway to the Tennessee mountains bring Keira and Kona to the moment that changes everything in their marriage? Or will that moment never come?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eden Butler
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386953562

Book preview

SERIES

Chasing Serenity, (The Serenity Series Book 1)

Behind the Pitch, (A Serenity Series Novella)

Finding Serenity, (The Serenity Series Book 2)

Claiming Serenity, (The Serenity Series Book 3)

Catching Serenity, (The Serenity Series Book 4)

Thin Love, (Thin Love Book 1)

My Beloved, (A Thin Love Novella)

Thick Love, (Thin Love Book 2)

Thick & Thin, (Thin Love Book 3)

My Always, (A Thin Love Novella)

Swimming in Shadows, (A Shadows Series Novella)

Shadows and Lies, (The Shadows Series Book #1)

STANDALONE NOVELS

Crimson Cove

Platform Four—A Legacy Falls Romance

I’ve Seen You Naked and Didn’t Laugh: A Geeky Love Story

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THIN LOVE

MY BELOVED – A THIN LOVE NOVELLA

THICK LOVE

THICK & THIN

MY ALWAYS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For Kona’s nani wildcats.

Your love is the sweetest song.

THIN LOVE

BY EDEN BUTLER

Copyright © 2014 Eden Butler

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author Publisher.

Edited by Sharon B. Browning

Cover Design by Steven Novack

Cover Image by ShutterShock

Section Headers by Chelle Bliss

Formatting by AB Formatting

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word-marks and references mentioned in this work of fiction:

Music: You’re All I Need To Get By Method Man featuring Mary J. Blige; Crash Into Me The Dave Matthews Band; Notorious The Notorious B.I.G.; The Freshman The Verve Pipe; Feenin’ Jodeci; Free Phish; Tiptoe Through the Tulips Tiny Tim; Stay by Rihanna featuring Mikky Ekko - The Island Def Jam Music Group; Dark End of the Street; Not Gonna Cry" by Mary J. Blige. Theater: Les Mis, Music Theater International; Television: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Warner Brothers, Created by Joss Whedon; ESPN; Sports: The National Football League; NFC Championship; The NFL Draft; The Baltimore Ravens; The Denver Broncos; Louisiana State University football; Tulane University; Locales: The City of New Orleans, LA; The City of Nashville, TN; Miscellaneous: Nokia Phones; Gibson Guitars;

Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t love at all."

―Toni Morrison, Beloved

April, 2013

There were ghosts in the lake house.

Keira felt them breathing on her skin. They were filaments of memory, echoes behind the words of the woman she buried yesterday; disappointment and dread, fear, pain, tear-soaked pillows, impossible expectations required of the teenage girl she used to be. In the crevices and alcoves of this old place, Keira saw her younger self—awkward, curious, broken—filling days of neglect with imaginary friends. 

The lake loomed in front of her and the cool patio stone under her feet chilled her skin, had her moving her fingers up her arm in a futile attempt at warming herself. The slide of slow currents, the slip of each wave against the dark sand, brought peace, relief, neither of which Keira had ever known in this place. Fireflies skidded along the surface and the heavy limbs of cypress trees brushed against the water. In the distance, toward the cityscape she couldn’t see, she knew there were beacons of activity that she might touch if she were brave enough to venture beyond these haunting walls. With each flick of her eyes, Keira called more ghosts from the past, pulled them into her mind—unseen creatures lined on a hook.

Behind her closed lids, Keira saw the priest’s face, the quick nod of his head that confirmed the woman in the coffin had been her mother. She’d have never believed it otherwise. The protruding collarbone and pallid skin on the woman’s small frame had been a shadow of the domineering mother Keira had left behind. 

Sixteen years ago, in the city hospital with Keira’s bruised limbs throbbing like a burn, her mother had insisted she kill the baby growing in her belly. 

Eighteen, the woman had said, was too young to be a mother.

She hadn’t been wrong, but Keira had tired of her mother’s commands, her quick temper, those sharp slaps, and the insistences that had been drummed into her ears since childhood, and so, at least that one time, a small rebellion changed her life.

It brought her son into this world. 

The ghosts, the heartache of the past, had kept her from New Orleans. She’d been determined to never resurrect them, but her mother’s death called her back, forced her to return and when their plane touched tires on the tarmac, Keira felt the ghosts remerge—the pain of what she’d been forced into, the disappointment of what she set free, and the unbending betrayal of the boy she loved.

The past was a slippery vine of regret. It was a reminder of what Keira had given up. And now that she was back home, her mother buried behind the walls of the old family crypt, Keira felt that vine tightening around her neck like a noose. 

The click of the television in the room just beyond the open patio doors and the slick squeak of Ransom’s sneakers on the leather sofa pulled Keira from her thoughts and the mesmerizing current of the lake.

Mom, Ransom called to her. The draft starts in ten minutes. You watching? 

A chill had set in the home, carried through the broken seals of the windows with the spring rain and Keira pulled her cardigan tight around her as she followed the noise of the television into the den. Of course. Ransom’s drink left a wet ring on the mahogany coffee table and as habit, as conditioning, she placed a coaster onto the wood surface. Here. 

Her son grinned, brought into focus a dimple that carried in more echoes of the past. She’s gone, you know. Why do you care about coasters? She knew he was right, knew that her mother’s presence was the largest ghost, the one she thought she exorcised years before. But this place was too familiar, too reminiscent of her. When she didn’t answer him, ignored his comment with eyes on the screen in front of them, Ransom replaced his drink onto the coaster, letting the comment lie. These jackasses are yammering about the Steamers’ rankings. We win the Super Bowl and still get no respect. He nodded at the television and Keira could only grin that he said we and not they as though he grew up in New Orleans and not Nashville.

Ransom’s gaze ran over the commentators’ too-tanned faces, their receding hairlines, small hints of the handsome men they’d been when they took the field. Her son soaked in each detail of the teams being discussed, the bodies running, scoring in the file footage, and for the millionth time Keira was reminded that he looks nothing like her.

There were no traces of her in his features, no hints of her French ancestors.  His eyes were dark pools that scream of a knowledge and a struggle far beyond his nearly sixteen years. They were not blue like hers, but inky black, narrow with the smallest slant and bottomless. His cheeks were high, sloped, far more distinguished than her own. His skin was heavily tanned, near caramel, face peppered with faint freckles.

He was his father in duplicate. Just as imposing, just as beautiful.

Sometimes her son grinned a certain way, laughed with a tone that was placating and sarcastic, and both gestures bring her back to the boy she loved; another ghost of the past reflected in her son’s gait, in his pleased, happy laugh.

Elam went to the Ravens. He’s good. Not as good as Vasquez. That dude will help land us in the NFC Championship.

That’s months away, son.

But Ransom ignored her, lifted the remote to the screen when the commentary shifted from the players waiting to be selected, to NFL gossip and speculation and the name she’d tried to forget she knew for all of Ransom’s life.

Kona Hale enters the 2013 season as a free agent... the sports caster began, but Keira didn’t hear the rest of his monologue. She only saw the picture flash on the screen. The hooded eyes, black and penetrating, the familiar grin, the scar across his cheek that Keira knew wasn’t from a football game. And then, Ransom sat up straight as a video of Kona moved over the screen, reporters surrounding him, microphones pointed at his face as he left an airport.

Ransom’s gaze slipped to her and she thought there was a question there; the same question she’s waited for him to ask since the first time he became obsessed with Kona Hale, NFL darling. She knew Ransom saw the similarities. How could he not? But he didn’t ask. He never asked.

Rumor is Hale is going to practice with the Steamers this summer. Ransom flashed a grin identical to the one on the television set and Keira repressed a shudder. It would be cool if he came back home, right? Played with them? I mean, he’s getting up there, kinda old for a long contract.

He’s around my age, you know. She was unable to resist a smirk when her son’s eyes went wide.

I mean, you’re not old, Mom. But for a linebacker, well, thirty-six is pushing it.

Nice save, little man.

Keira’s elbow moved off the sofa when Ransom nudged it. She didn’t look at the screen, tried to ignore the voice, his voice, as he answered the reporters’ endless questions. She’d spent years doing that; blocking out an article online or him on a late night talk show. Keira learned to blind herself to the sports figure, reminding herself he was no longer the boy she loved. That face, that name, was something unreal to her. He was no longer the boy who shredded her heart.

Ransom stopped asking about his father when he was thirteen; when what’s my father’s name? had Keira’s hands shaking until she had to shove her fingers under her thighs to keep them still. She’d meant to answer him then. She’d meant to answer all of his questions over the years. But her boy stopped questioning, seemed to stop wondering out loud who had given him his wide stature, the small cleft in his chin.

He stopped asking and Keira believed he no longer cared.

What an idiot she’d been.

Kona, is it true you’re tapped for spring training with the Steamers? a reporter asked and his laugh returned Keira’s attention back to the screen.

You never know, Bryan. We haven’t decided...

Still beautiful. Still charming and when Keira’s heart clenched, vibrated like a baseline drumming from a speaker, she couldn’t listen anymore.

Want some popcorn? She didn’t wait for her son to respond before she moved into the kitchen. Keira took a moment to herself, to push away the ghost that has lingered the longest.

On the counter she saw her mother’s cookbook. It was red and white, Betty Crocker and opened on the stand to a recipe for Chicken and Dumplings. It was rarely used and never by her mother, but the sight of it had Keira looking around the room. The counters still shined,  even though they were unused by her mother who never learned more about cooking than picking up the phone to have someone else prepare it.  Still, those shadows of her mother’s ghost could not block other things she remembered about this room.

Keira attempting French toast and Kona’s successful efforts at distraction. Kona leaning her against the counter, shirtless, his jeans lowered; her legs around that thin, tight waist, her open to him, giving, taking; her fingers hanging onto the edge as he worked inside her. Keira could still hear her own moans bounce into her ears across the wood floors. He filled this place and sometimes, Keira thought, he filled too much of her head, too much of her heart.

She had pushed back those memories, those sensations that Kona always worked in her, but being home had allowed her to remember how much he had consumed her. To her, then, he was life. He was breath. He was the searing part of her soul that burned her from the inside. With him, she couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t move past the way his mouth felt on her skin. He had been that all—life, death, breath—all those impossible things you aren’t supposed to feel at eighteen. A first love so real, so tempting that sometimes she was sure he was a figment of her imagination.

She blinked away that memory and pulled out an empty bowl when the volume on the television increased. Kona’s voice was louder then, clearer, and Keira moved to the pantry, fetched a small bag of popcorn and slammed it into the microwave. The cadence of his voice had grown deeper, heavier with a rasp and there were no vestiges of his Uptown roots in the inflection. He belonged to the world now, not the city, not their university, certainly not to her. Keira’s heart skipped double time, throbbing with each word she managed to hear from Kona’s interview.

Sixteen years and she still couldn’t manage to forget him.

Sixteen years and the heavy weight of his words to her still rendered her dumb.

Walk away, Keira. Walk away from me and don’t look back.

She did. He could hardly blame her for listening.

Mom, it’s starting, Ransom called.

She took a breath, then another and opened the microwave when it sounded. Just a second, son. I’ll be just a second.

Kona

The woman had looked older than her sixty-four years when she died. The picture accompanying the obituary told him that much. 

Kona pulled the newspaper closer to his face examining the hollow cheeks, the thin nose. He hadn’t thought of her in years. Not the dead woman. She’d always been an uptight, cruel bitch and he felt nothing save surprise at her passing. He had been convinced she was simply too mean to die. 

Cora Michaels (nee Marquette) died peacefully in her home April 29th after a lengthy illness. 

Peaceful was something Kona believed she didn’t deserve. Painful, kicking and screaming, he thought, befit her better. He skimmed the obituary until his eyes found the name he was looking for.

She is survived by her daughter Keira Riley, and her niece Leann Marquette-Bankston.

Keira Riley.

Not Keira Riley hyphenated with another name. No husband? He knew not to get his hopes up. Keira was a bridge he burned long ago. His indifference had been the kindling, his words the bright spark that set flame to them both.

But he couldn’t stop himself from lingering on the memory of her. The laugh he released caught him off guard. He didn’t know where it came from or why it had come so quickly. Absently, Kona rubbed his thumb along the smooth scar on his cheek. A beer bottle in the alleyway of a bar they were too young to frequent, had left its mark and still reminded him of her every day.

Of them.

Keira’s temper had been quick and sharp. His face was marked because he’d fallen in love with a girl who hadn’t liked him touching a flirty waitress. God, how she’d raged that night. He’d loved every second of it.

Wildcat, he said to himself, a small chuckle moved out of his mouth at the memory. She swore she hated the nickname, but he caught her blush each time he said it.

Kona left the newspaper behind on the table, took in the bustle below him in the city. Street cars gliding by, packed with tourists. Horns blaring, fingers lifted in the city’s greatest tribute to assholes, cops parked in the medians, itching to pull anyone over and in the distance, the river—the great old girl that breathed the pulse of half the country’s struggle right into the Gulf. This city, his hometown, reminded him of years past, of her. His eyes glanced back down at the paper and Kona retrieved Keira’s face, the dip in her cupid’s bow, the memory of her skin.

Was she there now? Had she finally returned to say goodbye to the mother she hated? Was it even possible that fate would bring them both back home? Now, at the same time?

Had she forgiven him?

I will haunt you, Kona. When you think of me, see my face, hear my name, you’ll only remember that I loved you. You’ll remember that my love for you was never thin. You’ll remember this moment because it will be the biggest regret of your life.

She’d cursed him. 

He could still see the pain in her eyes, the hollow shock that had transformed her features that day. He’d told her to leave. He’d told her he never loved her. All the grief he’d felt at that moment, Kona laid at Keira’s feet. Blame was a dagger he sliced into her heart, his own sorrow, his own pain, directed at the only girl he’d ever loved. He’d told her to walk away, he told her so many lies that went against everything he felt. But she’d had a future. At the time, he thought his was over. She deserved better than him, better than the uncertain fate he’d fallen into at twenty. 

Keira’s curse stayed with him. There had been women; sometimes he cannot remember even one of their faces, but with her, the image was clear. Her soft, pale skin. Eyes like the sky, like the ocean trapped in a hurricane. That long, thick chestnut hair. There was no erasing her from his memory.

But now? No. It was too late. That bridge was ash by now, not even the splinters of its remains could be felt. She’d been gone from him for too long. But some nights, when the games were too rough, when his body ached from damage, from age, from too many years of exertion; he remembered how she would hold him, how every rake of her fingernails on his scalp brought him calm, how good it felt to protect her, love her completely. How she’d hum, her low, beautiful voice strong, comforting, as he lay on her chest finding the only real relief he’d ever felt, in the arms of the girl he loved.

No woman could erase her completely and nothing would ever compare to the sight and feel of his Wildcat. 

The phone in Kona’s pocket chirped twice. The messages were endless, all saying much the same meeting with the Steamers coaching staff at noon tomorrow, or interview with ESPN at five. His manager was relentless. His fans were enthusiastic. His mother refused to be rebuffed about him spending the morning with her.

They all wanted something. They said they were trying to help. But it had been a long time since he’d believed that anyone truly needed him. Still longer since he was convinced anyone wanted him.

Not since her.

August, 1997

Claiborne-Prosper University, New Orleans

If you insist on being stubborn, Keira, then perhaps your father and I will rethink you living on campus.

Keira tried to withhold her temper, fingers tight on her phone as her mother’s biting voice whined sharp. She withheld the small wish that her mother had never bought the damn thing for her. Everyone else had beepers. But Keira, and the well-funded sports teams at her private university, all got phones. She hated hers. Especially when her mother used it to pick a fight with her at eight a.m.

"Mother, Steven is your husband, not my father. She heard the heavy sigh and knew by the clicking of her mother’s tongue, that her comment wouldn’t be overlooked. And I didn’t say no...exactly, she hurried to say, hoping to forego a truly heated fight so early in the morning. You don’t need to threaten me."

Surely you see that I am only trying to look after you.

Keira walked past two girls standing in the middle of the hallway and tried to bite back the sarcastic retort itching to leave her mouth. Her mother always thought she knew what was best for Keira and if the girl didn’t agree, a quick slap changed her mind. Her mother picked out Keira’s clothes, had final approval over the classes she took, hell, she’d even insisted that Keira major in something "less frivolous" than music. Keira had agreed. She always agreed because that’s what good daughters did. She would not, however, easily agree to a date with Mark Burke.

I don’t see how dating your canasta partner’s son is for my own good. The same hall-blocking girls barged in front of Keira like she wasn’t there at all. She had to step back quick when one of them flung her purse over her shoulder, narrowly missing Keira. Keira managed to avoid her, maneuvering around the blonde, who still glared at her when Keira apparently came too close.

Still, her mother yammered in her ear. ...decent boy from a good family and you’re eighteen now, Keira. It’s time you begin thinking about settling down.

That insane little pronouncement had her coming to a stop just three doors from her English classroom. Are you serious? I’m a freshman, Mother. Behind her, Keira heard the two girls’ laughter moving along the dull beige walls, straight toward her. She stared right at their too perfect, overly made up faces, but they just rolled their eyes, dismissing her. Her gaze still trained on their retreating forms, Keira continued her argument. She felt pathetic. She could mean mug some stupid sorority bitches but she couldn’t stand up to her mother. I’ve been in college a total of two months and you’re already nagging about me settling down?

Her mother’s voice was tense and Keira could hear the exaggerated sigh she blew right into the phone. I just believe it would behoove you to make smart connections now. Mark is pre-med at Tulane. He’s mature and has a bright future ahead of him. You’ll want to snag him up before someone else does.

Keira wanted to scream. Her mother had antiquated, ancient ideas about how Keira should live her life. Cora Michaels had managed at least one successful marriage, to a heart surgeon no less, and had considered that some great accomplishment. The woman liked to pretend she’d never been married to Keira’s father—a handsome musician with stage fright. She expected Keira to marry well. She expected Keira to be her clone. She expected a lot of things from Keira that the girl would never manage to live up to. 

Taking a breath, Keira leaned against the wall, her attention distracted by a janitor mopping up a spill someone had discarded on the gray tile floors. I don’t want to snag anyone, Mother.

But Keira, he’s so fit and handsome and his parents...

She knew all about Mark Burke’s parents and ignored her mother’s recap. They were the same as all her mother’s friends—wealthy, connected and the height of proper North Shore society. They fit among the elite, the disgustingly rich, the groups and gaggles of the affluent that looked down their noses at anyone who wasn’t just like them. She didn’t know Mark, but if he was anything like his parents, Keira knew they’d only clash. As her mother always said, usually when she was angry at Keira, she was too much like her father. The woman had never known that Keira didn’t consider that an insult. 

Already tired of her nagging, Keira interrupted her mother and whatever ridiculous thing she was saying. Mother, I have to go. My class is about to start. She didn’t wait for a dismissal. She knew the rudeness bothered her mother, she’d mentioned once or twice that Keira had changed since she began living on campus. Since her move, the bullying had become particularly venomous. But the idle threat of making Keira return to their lake house forty-five minutes from the city was weak at best.

Keira deposited her red Nokia in her pocket, glaring at the backs of the two girls who’d walked in front of her, when she noticed one of them intentionally bumping the janitor’s full mop bucket. The dirty yellow contraption tittered on its wheels before it toppled over, spilling murky, brown water over the floor.

Stupid bitch, Keira said to the girl’s back before she stepped next to the janitor to set the bucket right. Can I help?

The old man blinked at her, a wry smile pulling across his face when he registered her offer.  "No, cher, don’t you trouble yourself."

She squatted down next to him, caught the mop before it fell to the floor. I feel like I should apologize. She nodded toward the end of the hallway where the blonde had disappeared. I don’t hold out much hope for my generation. There are too many like her running around campus like they own it.

The old man laughed and the sound had Keira returning his grin.

I’ll give you that, darlin’. Not many good sort that I’ve seen. He took the mop from Keira and they both stood straight. But pretty little things like you give me hope. At his wink, Keira felt her cheeks warm. Thank you for the offer, but I think you best be off to your studies.

Yes, sir, she said, wiping her damp hands on the leg of her jeans.

She put her mother and the janitor out of her mind as walked into the classroom. Keira loved this room. She loved the large wooden desks, lined in a semi-circle around Professor Miller’s larger, cherry table. It felt homey, almost cozy and entered the room, feeling content, taking her seat right at the front.

Arthurian Studies.

Just the roll of the class name off her tongue made Keira giddy. She loved the legends; she loved the melodrama, the purpose behind each journey, every damn Campbell cliché that was born from the study of a might-have-been-real King who reigned centuries before. She loved this class and Keira suspected that her classmates did as well. For the most part, anyway.

There were, however, three exceptions:  Skylar Williams and her boyfriend Dylan Collins were two. Skylar seemed unable to release high school habits and spent a huge portion of the class doodling over her notebook. She wasn’t an artist. Keira thought she was vapid. She thought anyone who drew Skylar loves Dylan a hundred times on perfectly usable paper, was vapid. Skylar loves Dylan or Mrs. Dylan Collins covered today’s page alongside hearts and clouds and geometric shapes. Dylan slept through every class. 

The third exception was the tall linebacker who sat two rows away from her, hiding in the back of the classroom. Keira knew him. Not personally, but certainly by reputation. Kona Hale and his twin brother Luka were the proverbial golden duo. Their presence on the football team assured that CPU was headed straight to the Sugar Bowl.

Keira had never been to a single football game. She didn’t care about football. She didn’t care about vapid girls and their snoring boyfriends. She especially did not care about massive football players with wide shoulders and dark eyes who tuned out Professor Miller for fifty minutes straight.

Today, though, she cared a little about all three of them.

Her cousin Leann had missed another class. That was two in a row and since Professor Miller was handing out partner assignments—and Leann was the only other person in the class Keira ever felt comfortable enough talking to—she was worried about those three exceptions.

She hated group projects. They seemed so pointless. There was never a measure of real participation because despite the number in each group, there was always one person that did the majority of the work. Usually, it ended up being her, even if Leann was in her group. Blood didn’t overrule her cousin’s incessant need to slack.

This was an early class, eight a.m. on the nose and so Keira didn’t bother with fixing herself up; she was always too pressed for time, coming straight from her early morning cross country practice. If her mother saw her today, or any day really that she didn’t bother with more than a hoodie and a ball cap with her long ponytail sticking out the back, Keira knew she’d get a lecture. But her mother was forty-five minutes away, in Mandeville, so Keira dressed how she wanted in New Orleans. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress anyone, anyway.

Besides, she had no one to impress.

She was always the girl in the front of the class that teachers seemed to call on. Her hand usually shot up first and there was generally a book in front of her face before class started. It was natural that the others in a group project would gravitate toward her because they knew she’d take on most of the work.

A group, she could handle.

A group, she didn’t mind.

But partners? Well. No.

Skylar and Dylan were isolated near the door; him drooling on his desk, her drawing hearts and I love Skylar in looping script on the back of his hand. There may have been a few bubbles, possibly a 4-eva. Skylar seemed like the 4-eva type.

Keira’s gaze landed on Kona Hale. 

He had his ball cap lowered over his eyes and the hood of his sweatshirt covering his head. Occasionally, he’d bob to whatever funneled through his headphones, but mostly he sat upright with his eyes closed as though Professor Miller couldn’t tell he was completely tuned out.

Kona was massive, even at twenty, and Keira would be a liar and a blind idiot if she denied how beautiful he was. She’d heard rumors, mostly from the girls on the cross country team and a few in her dorm who had screamed like banshees when she casually mentioned she had a class with him. Kona Hale was a stereotypical jock—hot tempered, eager to party, ready for a good time. Mostly, the rumors Keira had heard trailed along the will screw anything variety.

They acted like he was a rock star. Of course, this was southeast Louisiana. Football players, even college football players, were treated like gods. Especially if their performances produced bowl trophies and good SEC rankings.

She could see the appeal. He was exactly the kind of guy most girls her age fell over themselves for. Keira guessed he was inching toward 6’4 and he had a typical linebacker’s frame: large, wide shoulders, thick, sculpted arms like a marble statue and thighs that reminded her of tree trunks. It was bad enough that his body looked like something out of a Muscle and Fitness magazine, that certainly would give him reason enough to strut around campus like he usually did with a cluster of stupid groupies chasing after him. But no, to make matters worse, Kona had a flawless, exotic face. A dark, gorgeous complexion that reflected his Hawaiian heritage; strong, high cheekbones that offset his deep, penetrating black eyes and a small cleft in his chin that saved his face from being too perfect. He carried himself with a confidence and swagger and that made him that more intimidating. Not that Keira had ever tried approaching him. 

Of course, his good looks didn’t make up for his arrogant, full of himself attitude. She’d seen that firsthand in his indifferent presence during class—and that time during the first week of the semester when the girls on her cross country team thought it would be funny to push Keira into the football locker room.

She hadn’t expected anyone to be there, maybe a coach or two, maybe a water boy, but as she banged on the door and then walked away from it trying to find another exit, Keira heard a low grunt spilling out from the showers. Instinct told her to ignore it. She knew better than to walk around the lockers and peek into the open shower. But the room was fogging, and she had Poli Sci homework; she needed out of that locker room. And so she followed the groan, the billowing steam and stopped short to find Kona Hale standing in the middle of the shower, water pouring over his head, down his large shoulders, onto those massive arms, and the fist that was threaded in the wet blonde hair of the girl on her knees in front of him as she sucked him off.

Keira’s little yelp of surprise had his eyes open and staring right at her. The jackass didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. An easy smirk and lick of his lips, and then Kona muttered, Come get wet with us or fuck off and Keira darted through the locker room until she found an open door.

The boosters and coaching staff and the rest of the entire university might have adored Kona. Keira thought he was an egotistical jackass. An egotistical jackass that she’d probably be partnered with in her favorite class.

Keira stared a bit longer than she had intended and Kona’s gaze slid to the right, directly at her face. Before a full blush could completely take over her face, Professor Miller called her name and she spun around in her seat to answer him.

Yes, sir? She said a small prayer under her breath that Kona’s name wouldn’t leave Miller’s mouth. Please not him, she thought. Please, please not Kona Hale.

You and Mr. Hale will be partnered together since Ms. Marquette has dropped the class.

What?! When had her cousin decided that? She was going to kill Leann. Murder her between snores tonight after lights out.

Um...oaky. Keira dismissed Miller’s smile and shifted her eyes across the classroom again, back to Kona. He wasn’t even paying attention. She could see his profile, eyes closed once again, head still bobbing. She didn’t understand why he was even in this class. Keira assumed since he was first string on the football team that Kona’s major was something soft like basket weaving or Studies in Pigskin. She was sure that Arthurian Legends wasn’t a requirement for his major.

She didn’t need this. She already had a full plate with her track practices and the double load of classes she was taking. Besides, this project was a big one; one she knew she couldn’t handle on her own.

Okay, guys, I’d like you to meet with your partners. Set up your schedules and delegate tasks. I expect a full outline by next week so use your time wisely.

The class broke apart after Miller’s instructions, desks sliding against the tile floor, backpacks falling down in thumps.

Kona didn’t move.

Keira hated this; the approach, the awkward dance of silence that always followed speaking to someone she didn’t know. She was introverted by nature, kept to herself because most of her peers thought she was a music nerd who spent way too much time writing songs or playing her Gibson Hummingbird behind her closed dorm door. Maybe she was. But being an introvert didn’t mean she’d cower under whatever glare Kona gave her when she spoke to him. Being introverted was one thing. Being a doormat was something altogether different and Keira had no intention of letting this human Volkswagen walk all over her. Mainly, she prayed he didn’t recognize her from the locker room.

When Keira approached him, Kona’s eyes remained closed, his head still in that stupid bob. She stood in front of him and waited. A full minute passed and he still hadn’t moved before Keira bumped his desk.

Kona’s eyes opened slowly, and he exhaled, as though annoyed by the disturbance. What? His voice was loud as he spoke over the music still working in his ears.

She only glared at him, expectant, nodded to his headphones. Professor Miller walked up the row of desks and finally Kona silenced the music.

You need something?

You and I are partnered for the Elements in Modern Versions presentation.

He looked around the classroom as though trying to confirm Keira’s claim. Why?

Um...I don’t... She couldn’t even finish, instead she offered him a weak shrug. She swallowed down her nerves, reminded herself about this class, how badly she wanted to excel in it, and tried to settle the annoyance bubbling in her stomach at Kona’s flippant attitude before she pulled a desk next to him and brought out her notebook and black pen. Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not doing this by myself. It’s going to be a hard project and it requires a lot of research.

I got practice.

So do I.

For what?

Cross country. We’ve got four meets in the next month.

Kona’s lips bounced against each other when he tutted. Track? Come on. I’m sure running doesn’t require a lot of effort. He sat up, pushing his book sack under his large chest before he rested on it. We do five miles a day and that’s just a warm up. Besides, we’ve got two away games. That requires more work than your little meets.

Keira closed her eyes, trying to tamp back the instant desire to knock Kona across his head, hoping that she could hold her temper in check. Bitch. That was another name she’d earned in her short first semester at CPU. She knew she could be bitchy. She knew that her buttons were easy to push, but she hadn’t meant to make enemies. The girls in her dorm had labeled her a bitch when she refused to join in with them every Tuesday night to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and again when she claimed no interest in pledging a sorority. Looking at Kona Hale, seeing the way his eyes slipped over her face, dismissing any interest at all, told Keira he was probably going to think the same thing about her. Nerdy Bitch. She was fine with that, but she didn’t need Professor Miller to see it. If college was the afterlife, then the professors were gods and the eternal reward was a high GPA. She wasn’t going to let Kona threaten her 4.0 glory.

When do you practice?

Every damn day.

Yes, well me too. She looked across the classroom, trying to think of the best time to work Kona and this stupid project into her schedule. I’m through by seven. Can you meet after that?

I guess. Except for Wednesday nights. I got shit on Wednesdays.

It’s just for a month. You can do your shit another time?

Kona’s gaze moved over Keira’s face then down, making her lean back against her desk. She didn’t know what he was looking at or why she felt underdressed in her jeans and oversized hoodie, but the way Kona’s gaze took her in had Keira feeling the sudden urge to shower.

Listen, sweetheart, maybe there’s something we can work out.

What do you mean?

Kona scooted closer to her and pulled on the ties of her hoodie. Keira felt instantly hot, as though the temperature in the classroom had increased by twenty degrees. She didn’t like the way Kona stared at her mouth, or how he kept running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

I know this project is going to be a pain in the ass, and I’ve been watching you in here. This is your kind of thing. He pulled on the string again, wrapping it around his large finger. There were ridges on his clean fingernails and so Keira stared at them, trying to avoid the intensity of Kona’s gaze, trying to ignore the deep lull of his voice. You’re always answering Miller’s questions, always debating him about all this shit. He wrapped the tie tighter around his finger, pulling Keira toward him. You get off on this stuff.

And? Keira cleared her throat before she pulled the string from Kona’s hand and tugged on the ends of her hair, trying her best to keep the warm flush on her face out of his view. 

"And, Guinevere, I told you. I got practice and other shit I need to take care of. You help me out on this project and, well, I can help you out too."

When his tongue flicked out again and his eyes went back to Keira’s mouth, she felt her entire neck heat and knew her face had colored close to pink, as always. She wanted to kick him, hard. The insinuation was there, right in the smug grin on his face and the warm blaze of his eyes. He can’t be serious, she thought.

She didn’t mean for her laugh to echo around the classroom. She didn’t mean to draw the attention of Professor Miller, who frowned at her like she was some sort of thug, but Kona Hale was more of an entitled asshole than she thought if he expected her to take his bait.

Let me see if I get you. You want me to work on this project, a project that’s worth 40 percent of our grade in exchange for what? You lowering yourself to fuck me?

Kona seemed surprised by her crude language. He even looked around the classroom, a small chink in his cool composure fracturing just a bit. Knew you wouldn’t be down.

Yeah, you got that right. Her awkwardness vanished under the weight of her anger—something that tended to happen when Keira’s temper flared. She inched forward to invade Kona’s personal space. He didn’t flinch at all. It might shock you, but not every girl on campus is impressed by you. She was unsurprised when Kona lifted his eyebrows. And not all of us want to fuck you.

Oh...okay. If you say so.

I do and I don’t care what you offer. I’m not doing this on my own. Keira scribbled down a time and date and shoved it at Kona’s chest. Be at the library tomorrow night at eight.

He didn’t bother to look at the paper she’d given him. Kona just pulled his headphones back on, acting as though Keira wasn’t there at all. But as she packed her bag and moved her desk back, she felt him watching her.

Kona

That bitch is nasty. Stay away from her.

Luka’s smile disappeared and Kona knew he’d dashed his twin’s hopes of seeing more of Amber Thomas. Luka sat back in his chair, pushed his plate away and let his gaze move over Kona’s face. He recognized the look. That was Luka sizing him up, trying to guess if Kona was lying. How do you know? You didn’t hit that. He looked behind him before he whispered to Kona. Did you?

"Brah, please."

When Kona shrugged like he wasn’t confirming anything, Luka hit him on the shoulder. Shut up, man. His brother tried to deflect his unease, dropping his shoulder once when their teammates Nathan and Brian slammed into the seats across from them. You think I don’t know what’s up with her?

You don’t, Nathan said, throwing a French fry at Luka.

Mind your business. Luka returned the fry and it landed in Nathan’s shirt. You don’t even know what we’re talking about, asshole.

Ha. Amber Thomas. Nathan’s laugh was low and it came out around the nuggets in his mouth. You’ve been whining about her for two days.

More like a week, Brian said.

Kona thought Luka really was a dumbass sometimes. Everyone with eyes and a small attention span knew Amber Thomas’ game. She liked players, specifically first string players. Both Lu and Kona were linebackers, sophomores, sure, but they’d been courted by the CPU scouts since they dominated the sport in middle school and were signed by high school. They worked hard and earned their time on the field.

The girls on campus were pretty much the same to Kona. Beautiful, yeah, sure; he’d discovered a long time ago that southern girls were something special, but most had one agenda: find a man with potential. And Amber saw a lot of potential in Kona two weeks back. She potentialed him hard right after practice one night and then gave Nathan the same treatment just two days later. He didn’t want his brother messed up with her. Lu was too soft, still hanging on to the fat kid he’d been at ten. He was always surprised when girls wanted to get with him, despite how he’d grown, despite the fact that the weight he carried now was all muscle. That fat kid was long gone and Luka still hadn’t realized it.

Whatever. Kona hoped his insult would make his brother disinterested, at least make him second guess the attention Amber gave him. If you want your dick to fall off then that’s on you.

Across the table Nathan and Brian laughed between bites of French fries. When Luka didn’t join in with the laughter, Kona tried to defuse his temper, scanning the dining hall for an easy target. He nodded at Bethany Johnson, sitting next to her friends, just two tables over. Hey. He knocked his knuckles against Luka’s arm and moved his chin in Bethany’s direction. Sophomore. Chem major. She likes big boys. Luka moved his eyes, gave a long look at Bethany and then returned Kona’s smile. See? That one’s clean, trust me.

You do her too?

"No, brah. He shrugged, leaning back against his chair. Brian tried to at the KA party, but she turned him down flat. Said she doesn’t like horny blondes." Luka laughed, his mouth curling in a half grin when Brian shot him a middle finger and Kona knew why. It wasn’t often that Brian got turned down and when he did, it was usually by good girls. Kona thought that was what Lu needed. A good girl.

He was convinced his brother was going to make his move. He thought the quick looks he’d exchanged with Bethany had been encouragement enough to get Luka on his feet to walk over to her table, but then his twin’s face lost all expression and he frowned at something behind Kona. You piss off anybody lately?

Not today, I don’t think, Kona said to his brother.

What about you two? Luka asked Nathan and Brian, getting quick head shakes from both of them. Well, head’s up. Some girl is coming this way and she’s glaring at you like you pissed in her coffee or something.

Instantly, Kona bent his knees, tried to make his body relax. He ran through his interactions, the girls he’d talked to lately and the last time he pissed off anyone. 

Three weeks ago Susan Decker got mad at him because he didn’t want to take her to her family’s barbeque out in Covington. But Kona, ever the peacemaker, sent Dougie Michaels to her dorm with a dozen roses and made sure the guy told Susan how much he liked barbeque and being out of the city. Dougie thanked him two days later for the hook up. He didn’t know who the girl behind him could be. Most of the girls he was with knew how he rolled. Casual hookups and nothing more. He just didn’t have time for the bullshit games that came along with being with a girl more than twice.

Luka’s eyes went wide, slipped up and down before Kona looked to his right and up at the girl that glared down at him.

Kona had to squint, look at the smooth contours of her face, the bright blue eyes, the high cheekbones and the creamy skin before realization hit him. This was the girl from his English class.

Kona remembered, as she stared down at him—looking like she wanted those slim fingers of hers choking his neck—that he’d missed their meeting for the project. She wasn’t dressed in her usual hide-me-from-the-world clothes. She mentioned being on the track team and so the tight running shorts she wore and a CPU track t-shirt tied at the hem made sense to him. But he’d never seen her when she wasn’t huddled under jackets and hoodies that were too big for her. Moving his gaze down her body, over those nice, high tits and flat stomach, that plump, luscious ass, Kona realized she’d been way under his radar. Her hair was pulled up in one of those high messy buns girls always seem to make look good and sweat dotted along her collarbone. It was her expression, though, that had Kona trying to keep the smile off his face.

She was pissed.

Those big, bright eyes of hers were stern, shining with anger as she glared at him and her thick, pink lips were curled up. God, he couldn’t remember her name but if she’d looked like that in class, he’d have paid more attention to her.

You, she said, voice little more than a growl.

Me. He earned a nudge and laughs from his friends around him.

You’re an asshole, you know that, right?

Hey, calm down. I missed one meeting.

It was the first, dumbass.

Kona would put up with most of the shit girls gave him. He took their whining, their constant complaints of him being a player. Hell, he could even handle the teasing his friends gave him when he couldn’t shake an attached female following after him. He could even handle his mother’s bitching about working harder on his GPA. What he wouldn’t take, not from anyone, was being called dumb. That was below the belt.

This girl didn’t know him and she made assumptions. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her treat him like shit in the middle of the cafeteria. Not when his classmates and friends were all watching. He looked down at her when he stood, hands relaxed at his side, but he widened his stance, just in case this girl was the dramatic sort and thought she could get away with slapping him.

You might wanna watch what you say.

She didn’t blink, didn’t move back like most would do when they heard that hint of warning in his voice. Normally, people found him imposing and a little intimidating. Especially girls. But this chick didn’t seem bothered by his height or size. She seemed, in fact, too pissed off to care about anything but insulting him.

Don’t you threaten me, Kona Hale. I don’t give a shit if you’re on the football team or weigh as much as a Volkswagen. You’re messing with my grade. She took a step closer and jabbed her finger into Kona’s chest and suddenly he wasn’t so relaxed. No one screws with my grades.

Around them, people were staring, leaning back and over each other to watch the small outburst, so Kona attempted calm, to keep things light, to keep this uptight chick from making more of a deal about him missing their meeting than she already had. I’m not threatening anything. You just need to calm down.

The girl closed her eyes, rubbed her fingers over the bridge of her nose as though she needed a moment to cool her simmering fury. Finally, she looked back at him, but the anger was still there and her expression remained tense. Let me make this as simple as possible... and you’ll have to forgive me since it’s been a long damn time since I had to speak idiot.

He took a step toward her, not threatening really, but just on the edge of a notice that he knew would seem like a warning. 

Carry your ass to the library tomorrow night at eight or I tell Miller about what a slacker you are and you’ll fail. You need to keep a certain GPA to play, don’t you?

He didn’t know why she was asking and he didn’t like that she was. What of it?

The girl—Kona wished he could remember her name— lost the tension in her face and looked smug, calculating. My cousin works in the office of the Dean of the English Department and she has no problem changing grades.

You wouldn’t, he said, crossing his arms. You don’t have it in you.

That seemed to set her off. She mirrored his stance, moved her arms together over her chest before she stepped right up to him. You have no idea what I have in me and I promise you, you don’t want to find out.

The way her cheeks colored, from anger, maybe from the run she clearly taken, had Kona’s mind reeling. He liked her anger, it did something to him he didn’t recognize, something that had his stomach clenching. I don’t know, sweetheart, I think I might.

Tough shit. You’re not going to. Next to them, Luka laughed, joined by the smart assed little comments Nathan made about this girl kicking Kona’s ass. She was put off by both of them, whipped her gaze to the table and leveled a frown at Kona’s brother. Something funny? They were immediately quiet, eyes on anything but the scowling face on the girl in front of them. I mean it, she told Kona, returning her attention to him. Tomorrow night. Library. Eight o’clock.

He couldn’t even manage a response or to open his mouth before she walked away, arms swinging as she disregarded the stares she drew as she slammed open the dining hall door. When she marched away from him, Kona’s eyes trained onto her long, muscular legs and that lush, round ass that bounced with each stomp she made. He had to adjust himself just watching her body move.

Who the hell was that? Luka asked, standing next to Kona.

Dude, I have no clue, but I’m sure as hell gonna find out.

The woman was unreasonable. Keira slammed Professor Alana’s door not caring that the she might be annoyed by the rattle of the wood on the hinges.

Ms. Riley, the deadline cannot be extended, she’d said.

Ridiculous. Keira marched down the hallway before she came to the large wooden staircase that led into the Kenner Hall lobby. Two hours. I asked for two freaking hours.

Her History professor had changed the assignment and with Keira’s practice schedule doubling in preparation for that weekend’s meet against Loyola, she had forgotten about her journal entry on The War of 1812.

The tile lobby floor was wet with slick puddles of water collecting around the entrance as students ran inside, trying to avoid the storm. Keira looked through the glass doors, toward the dark clouds, the quick strikes of lightening as it broke across the sky and she thought the murky look of the dark day matched her mood. It hadn’t been a good week so far; not with her late run the night before, being so angry that Kona Hale had skipped their meeting that a few laps around the track seemed the only way to cool her anger. Not that it helped much. 

That morning, she’d forgotten her umbrella, something she knew better than to do. No kid raised in Louisiana should ever be without their umbrella during hurricane season and she was thinking of making a dash through the torrential weather, possibly hide out in the library just across the street when she heard someone behind her whistle. It was a sloppy rendition of Hypnotize by The Notorious B.I.G., and the way the guy’s whistle was a beat too quick only made Keira’s already gray mood darken.

You could probably make it across the street, the guy behind her said, but you’re gonna get soaked.

She hadn’t mentally prepared to see him yet. The hours between now and their planned meeting would have given her time enough to calm her frayed nerves. But there Kona was, leaning next to her on the window, backpack thrown over one shoulder and a ridiculous smile on his face.

What do you want? She didn’t care that she sounded angry. She didn’t care that Kona’s smile faltered or that his eyes slipped nearly closed at her attitude.

Again he whistled, but this time it wasn’t a song. He was mocking her. Are you always so bitchy?

No. She turned back, eyes drifting up the stairs to glare at Professor Alana’s door. That witch pissed me off.

Kona turned, gaze shooting up in the direction of Alana’s office. She does that. The grin returned and he shrugged.

Keira ignored him for a moment, directing her attention back to the clouds outside, to the way sheets of water were now flooding the sidewalk. She doesn’t like me for some ungodly reason. I can’t get her to give me an extension on my assignment.

She won’t do that. She isn’t into tardiness. She’s kind of a Nazi about it.

You had her before?

No, thank God.

Then how do you know?

That grin was dangerous now, stretching so wide that the deep, deep dimples in his cheeks were the only things she noticed on his tan face. She’s my mom.

Oh. Keira saw the blush on her face in the window and she tried to make her voice softer, to par back her harsh tone. I...I didn’t know. Sorry I called her a witch.

With that, Kona laughed, two small chuckles before he followed Keira’s gaze and stared out of the window, watching the stream of rain as it slid against the glass. "Don’t be. She is a witch. She’s tough, but she’s good. And she’s always right."

It didn’t seem logical to her. How could Alana have a son who was so flippant about his classes? She didn’t seem like the type of woman who tolerated anything but perfection. So where had she failed Kona? You know, that doesn’t make any sense.

What doesn’t?

Keira let her gaze inch to the side, then right into Kona’s face. You being her son. I’d think her son wouldn’t be such a slacker.

He exhaled, pulled his backpack further up his shoulder as though he was tired of hearing that insult. I’m not. Not really. And you really need to let that shit go. I forgot about our meeting. I didn’t do it on purpose. Practice ran over.

Excuses. Keira hated them and she wasn’t surprised that Kona had one readily available. Whatever. Are you going to make it tonight?

I’ll be there. She couldn’t see her own expression in the window, but she knew something in it told Kona that she didn’t believe him. When she frowned at him, he rolled his eyes. Jesus, I’ll be there. Don’t worry.

Keira was done listening to him. Kona Hale was an obnoxious jackass and she had no idea why he was standing next to her a little too close, smelling too good. Head against the cool glass, Keira closed her eyes. If she concentrated, wished hard enough, maybe she’d open her eyes and he’d be gone. Maybe she would. Positive projection, Leann had told her, would manifest whatever she wanted. Right then, with Kona Hale’s thick, distracting scent fanning down against her, Keira decided to let the day go. There were no bitchy professors being unreasonable. There was no drenching