Font of You

1

Fucking Bell.

Kol kicks her chair when the fucking raspberries waft around the room and fill his nose because it's a fucking headache, her perfume is a curse and it's going to need a fucking blood sacrifice to get it out of his head.

Fucking Bell puts her things down and sits in front of him, to the right, and Kol pops the gum in his mouth while leaning against his seat because he knows she hates the sound.

He's right. Bell turns around with a scowl, her hair that he's sure can fit in one fucking hand when he pulls it twisting around her back to follow her head.

Kol raises an eyebrow, chewing his gum, and rakes his eyes down from her own to her lips in their fucking shade of pink, to her neck begging to be choked, the line of her chest begging to be licked, and down to her bare stomach and the line of her skirt she also wore two Tuesdays ago.

The skirt is a lucky bitch because fuck those thighs. He should slap the shit out of them until they're red for offending him so early in the fucking morning.

Bell's jaw ticks at him the way it always does and Kol's fingers fist his desk the second she opens her goddamn pretty mouth—"My eyes are up here, Sandejas."

Ah, that voice. Kol's stomach fucking drops.

"Wasn't looking for them, doll." Save the best for fucking last.

He looks up to her eyes.

Big. Angry. Fucking sexy. Kol relishes the way she's staring at him because thank fuck. Look at me, too, fucking look at me, damn it.

She rolls them and huffs before she turns back around, legs moving around the seat.

Legs. What time do they fucking open?

Jesus. Kol wraps his tongue around his gum and makes a strategic plan in his head. Dinner. Video games. Fucking on the couch—

Bra first. Underwear next. Skirt stays fucking on—

Smile. Scratch against his torso. Hand in her hair, nose in her neck—

He makes nine new different versions of a date in his head before she turns around again with a scowl, shouldering her bag.

Like always, she meets his eyes. Kol takes satisfaction in the annoyance in them as she packs her things. Raspberries hit his nose again when she passes him and Kol has to turn his head to stare at her ass and legs when she leaves the room.

Fuck her for ignoring him when he can't think of anything else but her.

He's still angry about this at dinner with his family that night. Kol stabs his steak and looks at his brother from across the table and wonders how that fucktard with a stick up his ass managed to get a girlfriend.

Blaise went for an asshole.

Yvo sits on the lounge chair out on the patio with his phone in one hand and his stick on the other, and Kol drops down next to him with a stick in his mouth, too.

They don't talk. Until:

"The fuck did you do to make her like you."

Yvo blows out his smoke. "Fuck if I know."

Kol scowls.

"Taste and touch," his older brother says. "Ask her. They're the only ones fucking left."

Kol doesn't know how Yvo knows that and he's not going to fucking ask. He watches him go back inside, twirling his keys around his finger, and Kol knows that's the goodbye before he goes home to Blaise.