The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 2

"Not that I'm aware of, but I'm guessing you're familiar with more female names and numbers than I am." I eyed the back of his jeans and tried not to curl my nose. Both pockets were stuffed so full, a few pairs looked ready to fall out.

"No names, just numbers." Pulling a pair from his pocket, he held it out for my inspection.

My gaze skimmed the s.h.i.+mmery pink panties-no name, just a number. "Romance is dead."

He didn't hide his smirk as he stuffed the booty call back into his pocket. "Don't give me that look. It's not like I'm the one solely responsible for killing it."

"Maybe not solely. But you and others like you of the XY chromosome are."

He patted his back pockets then scanned the room, his eyes lingering on girls who were dancing more like strippers than students. "From the looks of it, you of the XX chromosome are just as much to blame for killing romance." He inclined his chin at a girl close by who looked to be polis.h.i.+ng a guy's crotch with her a.s.s. "If girls were fighting for romance, they wouldn't leave these things until my pockets were bursting at the seams."

My jaw tightened. I'd convinced myself I'd pity the guy who approached me tonight, but given who it was and his wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am reputation, pity wasn't registering. "Is that an excuse for your reprehensible behavior?"

"Nope. Just a fact. You know, one of those things you search for when you set out to write an article." When his eyes landed back on me, there was amus.e.m.e.nt in them.

Unbelievable. The guy was having a jolly old time while I wanted to spit nails through his amused eyes.

"Do you realize s.p.a.ce is fast becoming a shrinking commodity? Maybe you should stop wasting some of it with your presence on this planet." I waved with a raised brow, suggesting he find the edge of the planet and take a flying leap.

Knox's reaction to probably one of my top-shelf insults? Tipping his head into the wall behind him and chuckling. "d.a.m.n. You really are just like you seem from your articles."

"Charming and demure?"

"Almost as much as myself."

"Sorry to confirm your suspicions," I muttered into my cup before taking a small swig. From being trapped between my legs, the beer had warmed, making it somehow even worse.

"I'm not. It's a nice change of pace to have a girl fire words and glares at me instead of cleavage and underwear."

I let out a sharp huff. "Yeah, because having a harem of women follow your every footstep, ready to fulfill your every wish and desire, is a real inconvenience for a guy like you."

Of course that was when a raven-haired girl with dark skin and long legs sashayed up to him and gave him a smile that suggested so much, I s.h.i.+fted in my seat. Stuffing yet another pair of panties-although there was so little material involved I wasn't sure they could be cla.s.sified as such-into his pocket, she whispered something into his ear that made one side of his mouth twist up. Then she sashayed back into the crowd.

With a grunt of disbelief, I crossed my arms and looked at him.

"Oh, yeah. A real inconvenience." His eyes matched that twisted grin, almost as if he was already in the bedroom with her and performing some kind of filthy act that generated an excess of sighs and sweat.

"So the rumors are true?"

"Rumors rarely are, but which ones are you referring to specifically?" Knox diverted his attention from where the dark-haired siren had disappeared back to me.

"The one having to do with the contents of your back pockets. How at the end of the night, you sort through your take, select your favorite, then give one lucky lady a call."

The guy looked at me as though there was a joke I wasn't in on. That tilted smile, those knowing eyes, his confident stance . . . it grated on my every last nerve.

"You've left something out," he answered with a shrug.

"What have I left out?" Other than spelling out the act that followed the phone call, I was pretty sure I'd gotten the gist.

"I don't call one girl." He shook his head once, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "I call them all."

My eyebrows. .h.i.t the ceiling before I convinced myself that in order to booty call every single number in his pockets, the guy would have to clone himself at least a dozen times. "That's a joke. Good one."

Knox's face flattened, his mouth drawing into a hard line for the first time. "Sure. Because this is my 'I'm joking' face." When he crossed his arms with his stern expression, he looked every bit the kind of a guy I wouldn't want to cross paths with on a dark sidewalk.

"For real? You call every single girl who stuffs her silkies into your pocket?" I had to be missing something. There wasn't enough v.i.a.g.r.a in this county or the next one over to keep a guy "at attention" for that many girls in quick succession. Although if there was even some truth to what he'd just said, I supposed I didn't need to wonder why one of his many nicknames on campus was Hard Knox . . .

"For real."

"So what are you then? Cyborg, alien, Greek G.o.d reincarnated, vampire?" My eyes ran over him. If I'd had a proclivity toward believing in the supernatural, Knox Jagger would have been suspect. "Some kind of s.e.xual dynamo?"

"s.e.xual dynamo?" he repeated in a tone that suggested he was just that. "No. And that's my answer for the rest of your creative, yet incorrect, guesses. I'm just a twenty-one-year-old guy with average urges and appet.i.tes."

My mouth fell open a bit. "Average? If you consider average"-I tilted my head back to take an educated guess at the number of women's underwear packing his pockets-"two to three dozen 'appet.i.te suppressants' a night, you need to talk to someone. Preferably someone who specializes in s.e.xual psychology because I'm afraid, my friend, that you might have a bad case of what is known as libido-overdrive."

Slowly, Knox kneeled beside me. His amused eyes never left mine. If it weren't for the bodies packed onto the couch behind me, I would have slid back from my perch, because I didn't particularly like being at eye-level with Knox Jagger. For reasons I couldn't quite identify.

"Or maybe you're suffering from what is known as libido-underdrive." With a waggle of his brows, he nudged my leg with his elbow.

I also didn't particularly like being touched by Knox Jagger-for yet more reasons I couldn't quite identify.

"Friend," he tacked on as if it was some sort of code word shared between us.

I practically snorted. "Hate to break it to you, but that isn't exactly an earth-shattering revelation. Especially since I was the one who wrote the autobiographical article you went all Hester Prynne on me about."

He shuffled a little closer. Probably because the volume of the music had just dialed up a few hundred decibels. "Yeah, but just because you aren't partaking in urges and appet.i.tes doesn't mean you're not feeling them, right?"

What kind of conversation was I having? Appet.i.tes, libido overdrive, s.e.xual dynamos, and G.o.d knew what else would follow. I could have been reading the script from some bas.e.m.e.nt-budget p.o.r.n film. "Let's get one thing out in the open now, big guy, before you go and get any ideas about you being the one to tap into my so-called pent-up urges-"

"Too late," he interrupted with a wide smile.

My blood heated. I was trying to have a serious conversation about an awkward topic, and he was making jokes. What was it so many women saw in this guy? Other than a hot-d.a.m.n face and a hot-double-d.a.m.n body, the guy oozed so much conceit, I could almost see it puddling across the floor. "My panties, thank you very much, are not, will not, nor will they ever wind up in your back pocket for you to staple to your bedroom wall."

His smile stayed in place. Nothing seemed to affect him. "Why? Because you don't wear any?"

Moments like those, I wished I had a mantra, because I really could have benefited from a moment of Zen. "Because I wear grannie panties. Giant ones. Old giant ones that have been worn and washed so many times that the elastic's starting to fail. The kind with little white kittens batting at b.u.t.terflies and daisies. The kind that wouldn't fit in one of your back pockets. Or, even if I were to saw it open, fit inside that big head of yours." Crossing my arms, I lifted my eyebrow at him.

"Sounds like just the thing my panty collage has been missing. How much longer are you planning on keeping up the I'm-not-getting-your-panties act? Because I love kittens. And b.u.t.terflies. And daisies."

I let out a long breath and resisted the urge to dump what was left of my beer over his head. "How is it possible to hate you after five minutes of conversation?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a hateable guy."

"Does anything get to you?"

Another lift of his shoulders. "A few things, but not much."

"Mind sharing what those few things are? For future reference, because I'd really love to p.i.s.s you off as much as you've done with me. I'm a big fan of payback, grudges, and getting even."

His face ironed out, and the amus.e.m.e.nt vanished. "Well, I could tell you all of my dirty, not-so-little secrets, but I'd have to-"

"Kill me?" I guessed with an eye-roll.

His head shook. "Love you."

He said it so matter-of-factly that it took a few moments to process. Knox Jagger love someone? Other than himself and his swimming pool full of panties? Not likely.

"And since I can tell a lost cause from a hundred paces, the chances of us ever loving each other is slim to-"

"I'd rather have my fingers chopped off one at a time, then my toes, before having to love you for a single day."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "So you're saying there's a chance?"

I was just about to shove him away, and hopefully out of my life for good, when some guy who had mastered the p.i.s.sed-off expression shoved through the crowd in our direction. Knox was too busy waiting for a reaction from me to notice the guy whose glare and curled fists were aimed at him.

"Incoming," I said, tilting my head toward the guy.

Knox took his time glancing over, but even when he saw the guy stomping toward him, he didn't seem concerned. That chill, unaffected expression stayed in place, his whole body relaxed.

"You've got something that belongs to me, Jagger," the guy shouted as he stopped a few feet in front of us.

The music dimmed, and people started to circle around. Nothing like the promise of a fight to pause the party.

"And what would that be?" Knox replied, almost grinning at the guy. "Besides the last sc.r.a.p of your pride I'll take when I knock you out with my pinkie if you don't lower those fists and back the h.e.l.l off."

The crowd quieted some more, circling closer, and all I wanted to do was get out of there. If Knox Jagger was about to get into one of his legendary fights, I didn't want to be on the same block. The rumor was that the last place he'd let the rage monster loose in had to be leveled due to the damage he'd done to it.

"My girl's underwear is in your back pocket, a.s.swipe. Hand them over, then I'll lower my fists."

A combined inhale went through the crowd. Either the guy had a death wish or was suffering from delusions of grandeur if he thought he had a chance at coming out the victor in a fist-to-fist brawl with Knox Jagger.

"That's your problem. That's your girl's problem. But it isn't mine."

The guy stepped closer, his whole body shaking from the adrenaline, or the anger, or the something that was going to get him ground into college-frat-boy-marmalade that Knox would spread over his toast in the morning. "It's about to be your problem, s.h.i.+thead."

Sighing, Knox stood up nice and slow. Just when I thought he couldn't tower over the guy anymore, he straightened another inch. "Actually, I think I'm getting a clearer picture of what exactly your girl's problem is, and it definitely isn't me."

The guy's nostrils flared at Knox's words. He was clearly rethinking his plan now that they were toe-to-toe.

"And are you so sure she's your girl when she's sticking her underwear and phone number in my pocket? Because that sounds like she's my girl. My beck-and-call girl."

That was the breaking point. The point where size, muscle-ma.s.s, and fist-fighting experience just didn't matter. The seemingly-snack-sized guy charged Knox, his fist mid-swing. Knox moved so quickly, I didn't realize what had happened until the guy with no survival instinct flew through the air and crashed to the floor at the feet of dozens of open-mouthed partiers. The kid was knocked out cold. He had a fist-shaped mark on his cheek that would be a serious s.h.i.+ner tomorrow, but no blood was gus.h.i.+ng from him, and the problem had been solved. I guessed once the alcohol and unconsciousness wore off, the guy wouldn't be so eager to come at Knox again with nothing more than determination.

Some of the crowd cheered, although most were still too gape-mouthed and surprised to offer much else. One of the senior frat guys shoved through the crowd. From my frat-roster studying, I was pretty sure the guy's name was Dean. Or Dane. Something one syllable starting with a D.

"Ah, f.u.c.k, Knox. Again? The Dean said if we had another fight break out at one of the Greek parties, he was giving us party-probation for the rest of the semester."

Knox cracked the knuckles of the fist he'd just used. "Good thing this wasn't a fight then."

"Dude, there's a guy unconscious on the living room floor. If you weren't fighting him, what were you doing? Teaching him how to double Dutch?" The Dean guy toed the unconscious kid's body like he was afraid he was dead.

"I was teaching him a lesson, but not one on skipping rope," Knox replied.

Dean peaked a brow at Knox and waited.

"A lesson not to mess with me," Knox clarified and pointed at the guy on the floor. "Lesson learned."

A few guys nearby chuckled, and more than a few girls adjusted the amount of cleavage on display to the please-say-that's-a-mole-and-not-your-nipple point.

"You're an animal, Knox. Can't fault you for acting like one. Just please try to take it outside next time." Dean pointed at a few undercla.s.smen, and they scurried in his direction. Apparently body clean-up and removal was in their hazing job description.

"Sure thing. But you might want to pa.s.s that on to my future challengers as well, since it seems they're the ones in need of a take-it-outside warning."

The music was returning to its prior level when Knox kneeled back down beside me. His expression was exactly like it had been before he'd knocked out a guy with one hit. "Now. Where were we?" His eyes twinkled. "Oh, yeah. Talking about you falling in love with me."

This time, I did shove him. It was instinctual. He shuffled back a few steps, but I knew it was an act. The only way I had a chance at knocking the guy over was if I fired at him with an AK-47 at close range.

"You're insane."

"Only every other minute of my life," he replied.

I didn't know what to say other than get lost or eat s.h.i.+t and die, but I couldn't spend the night arguing with Knox Jagger. I had research to do and an article to work on. As it was, I'd wasted close to fifteen minutes of underage-binge-drinking research letting this guy infuriate me, and from the looks of it, he was willing to keep up the infuriating act for the rest of the night.

That was when a welcome distraction approached and lightly punched Knox's arm. "Hey, Hard Knox. Mind sharing the wealth?" Dean eyed Knox's back pockets as he wet his lips.

Knox brushed at the spot on his arm Dean had just slugged before he looked up with an expression that probably would have turned Dean into a pillar of salt if he hadn't been swimming in cheap beer. "Do I look like the sharing type of guy?" Knox let those words hang in the air.

Before I could count to five, Dean raised his hands and backed away. Why couldn't I have that kind of power when it came to a.s.sholes? Oh yeah, because I didn't have a d.i.c.k or muscles that looked like I'd been hooked up to a steroid drip since my second birthday.

Seeming appeased that he'd successfully scared Dean off, Knox returned his attention to me. "Sorry for the interruption."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for the interruptions," he corrected, trying and failing not to smile.

"For a guy who's such a notorious bada.s.s, it seems unlikely you'd wear the kind of thing around your neck you do."

Knox's hand lifted to the necklace hanging over his dark tee, the necklace he was never seen without. His fist curled around it so tightly, his knuckles whitened.

"So what's the deal with the crucifix?" I asked. It had always confused me, seeing a symbol of religion around Knox Jagger's neck, but maybe the confusion could be put to rest. "A ploy to attract innocent Catholic school girls? A harbinger to keep demons or vampires away? A guilty conscience at work?"

His fist tightened until his entire hand blanched white. His forehead creased as his gaze s.h.i.+fted to the floor. "I wear it to remember someone I cared about. I wear it to remember her."

I thrummed my pen against my thigh, not buying the "soft side" of Knox Jagger. I'd seen every side of him, and the only soft part Knox Jagger had was what was between his legs. You know, when it wasn't satiating his appet.i.tes and urges. "Imagine her surprise when she found out your care and concern for her had a thirty-minute expiration date."

For the shortest moment, Knox's eyes closed. When they reopened, I would have sworn he was trying to bore holes into the floorboards with his glare. Rising out of his crouched position, he let go of the crucifix and shook his head at me. "One of these days, you're going to realize you can't explain the whole d.a.m.n world and everyone in it with a few paragraphs and few minutes of observation." His voice was level, but it was evident how hard he was working to keep it that way. He was almost trembling. "The day that happens, let me know so I can be sitting in the front row." Then as quickly as he'd appeared, Knox Jagger vanished.

THERE WAS ANOTHER name for a Greek party.