Page 2 of The Wrong Side of Kai
Harrison cracks into laughter and reaches for my wrist, tugging me toward him. My chest presses against his, while his gaze mirrors mine and his mouth remains inches from my own. He places my hand on his neck, and I can feel the warm energy of his skin. “Have you been avoiding me for the past few hours?” he murmurs, his voice so low I hardly hear him over the music.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I skim my lips over his, teasing. I’m trying to be seductive, so I bat my eyelashes a little more than usual. I can sense Noah and Anthony shifting away, giving us some privacy despite the fact that we’re surrounded by other partygoers. No one cares, though. Parties weremadefor this. Hell, I’m pretty sure Matt Peterson and Ally Forde were groping each other on the couch a second ago.
“Okay,” Harrison says abruptly. He cups my face in his hand, his thumb on my chin, firmly holding me. “Let’s cut the crap,” he murmurs softly, but I recoil a little from the smell of beer on his breath. His smile is lazy, cocksure, as he narrows his eyes. “Am I leading the way upstairs, or are you?”
I don’t hesitate. I’ve been bored all night and I’m dying to spice things up. My hand is in Harrison’s and I’m spinning around, pulling him across the living room with me. He tucks his other hand into the waistband of my skirt, his skin hot against mine. I spot Noah’s eyes following us across the room. Other people’s too.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Harrison says suddenly, his voice gruff as he pulls his hand free from mine. He pushes past me and storms ahead.
I stare after him, growing agitated as I wonder what could have possibly grabbed his attention more than me, and then I spot the fight brewing over in the kitchen. From what I can make out through the wave of people pulsing toward the commotion, some guys from our school’s rival football team have decided to turn up. And clearly, they weren’t invited, nor wanted.
The rivalry between Westerville North, Central, and South is all too real. Especially between North – us – and Central. Last weekend, we played against Central. Usually, I don’t care for football much, but I went to that game only because I knew I was meeting Harrison afterward. We lost – no surprise; our team sucks – but the real highlight of the game, the only burst of energy, was the brawl that broke out on the field during the third quarter.
And it looks like that fight isn’t quite over yet.
I elbow my way through everyone toward the kitchen, toward Harrison, but Chyna pops up by my side again. Her braids swing around so fast they slap me in the face.
“I will never understand why high school boys act like they’re in the NFL,” she says, but I’m only half listening to her. I’m on my tiptoes, trying to see the confrontation. “It’s not that serious, but all these bruised egos sure do make for good entertainment.”
“It’s the Central guys, right?”
“Yep. Am I allowed to say that their team is hotter than ours?” She dramatically fans her face with her hand. “Russell Frederick, though. Phwoar. I wouldn’t say no to that red hair.”
Speaking of Russell Frederick, he’s squaring up to Noah Diaz. Because it just wouldn’t be high school football if the quarterbacks from rival teams weren’t the two fighting. I’m convinced these rules are engraved into a block of marble somewhere. Behind Russell, a handful of the Central players back him up. Behind Noah, there’s our own players. Our North players. Harrison.
“That result was. . . harsh,” I hear Russell say. He’s built of stone, I swear. His shoulders are as wide as a bridge. Russell cocks his head at Noah. “I’d have cried too.”
“You really want me to throw another dent into that nose of yours?” Noah fires back, and he’s already curling his hand into a fist, ready to swing if he’s triggered enough. There’s a lot of muttering and grunting. Players exchanging insults and taunting remarks.
Yawn.I’m so stuck in this boring routine that even all this party drama posturing can’t excite me anymore.
“Hey, Harrison, you wanna catch these hands again?” one of the Central guys calls out, and when I pinpoint the voice, I realize it’s the sweet-smelling guy with the bronze skin I encountered a couple minutes ago.That’swhy I don’t know him – he goes to Westerville Central, and he has turned up at this party in tow with the rest of the Central football team, ready to stir up trouble. And he’s calling out Harrison, of all people.
Which is a bad idea. As per usual, Harrison lurches forward, provoked and looking for a fight. He busted his lip during that brawl last weekend when one of the Central players swung at him, probably this same guy who’s antagonizing him now, but at least I got to kiss it better all night. Maybe tonight I’ll do the same.
When Harrison throws himself toward the opposing team, it sets everyone else off. I watch, unimpressed, as Noah rams his body into Russell, as Anthony propels his fist through the air, as Harrison grabs this mysterious guy who clearly has a problem with him.Boys. I hate them sometimes. Their egos are too easily wounded; they’re so desperate to prove themselves.
There’s a lot of yelling and shoving, everyone cheering on our guys to kick the crap out of the Central team, everyone pushing to get closer to the action. A couple of girls are screaming at them to stop, but no one else is even pretending to be civilized. All I can focus on is Harrison. He’s got that guy pressed up against the countertop in a headlock, but the Central player is quick and strong. He slides out of it, and he grabs the first cup he finds and slams the drink into Harrison’s chest.
Maddie Romy’s shrieking voice slices through the atmosphere, and she comes barreling into the crowded kitchen. “Stop! My parents will literally kill me if you guys smash up the house!” she screams. She’s flapping her arms around and I don’t expect anyone to actually listen to her pleas, but the brawl stops, each guy freezing on the spot. Harrison is staring down at his soaked T-shirt with rage. “Take this crap outside if you have to. This is aNorthparty. Not a South party, and definitely not a Central party.” Maddie wrinkles her nose and points to the door. I’m impressed by her sudden authority. “Leave if you aren’t supposed to be here.”
There’s a lot of shoulder barging as the Central players leave. The guy who just threw that drink at Harrison smirks as he brushes past him, smoothing a hand over his hair. He glances up for a moment and I swear his gaze locks directly on me, bold and intense, causing my stomach to flip. Just as quickly, he looks away again. I wish I knew his name so that I could mentally refer to him as something other than hot-guy-whose-drink-I-spilled.
Like a pack of wolves, he and his teammates leave, slinking away and growling under their breaths. The second they disappear out the front door, it’s like they were never here to begin with. The music bumps straight back up, the circle around the kitchen disperses, the voices and the laughter return.
“Now I have to go soothe Harrison’s ego,” I whisper to Chyna. She laughs and nudges me in his direction, wiggling her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me. I don’t need much encouragement.
“Kai Washington,” Harrison is muttering when I reach him. He motions down at his T-shirt, damp and clinging to his sculpted torso. “He’s really starting to push me.”
So that’s his name, I think. . .Kai Washington.
I try to focus on Harrison, but I couldn’t care less about his lame football rivalry, so I’m quick to cut in before he can say anything more. “Who cares? I’m taking that shirt off anyway.” As the words leave my mouth, I grab a fistful of the soaked material and tug him toward the stairs, desperate to leave the dregs of the party behind, to feel his hands on my body. We’re both buzzing with energy after the fight – Harrison because his adrenaline is pumping, and me because the powerful look Kai Washington gave me has sent an electric current through my body. I try to shake the unsettling feeling and concentrate on Harrison instead.
We stumble upstairs together. Whatever, we aren’t exactly sober, but we both like it that way. Matt Peterson and Ally Forde have moved upstairs from the couch too, and they’re making out against the wall. They’re oblivious to Harrison and me as we slide past and disappear into the first room we arrive at. I don’t even flick on the lights; don’t even care whose room we’re using.
I tighten my grip on Harrison’s shirt and pull him toward me, slamming my chest against his at the same time as his mouth finds mine. We’re off balance in the dark, bumping into furniture and stumbling over each other’s feet. I can hear music echoing around the house, muffled and distant behind closed doors.
Harrison tugs at my lower lip with his teeth. My hands are in his hair, pulling roughly on the ends. He’s squeezing my butt. I’m kissing him harder. We collapse back onto the bed and I’m straddling his hips, leaning forward to plant a row of kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
