This Boy

by Jenna Scott

  We kiss for a while longer, and because he moved so fast last time, I’m completely on edge. Whenever his hand shifts, I tighten with expectation, thinking he’s going to do what he did before. Then he cups my ass in both hands, and I can actually feel myself getting wet. Oh, Hunter. How are you doing this to me?

  I’m scared at how hungry his touch makes me. How I forget myself so easily when he presses his body against mine. It’s like my brain short-circuits, and all I can think about is getting more and more and more. Also, his tongue should be illegal. The way it’s moving against my neck… Even when he bites, it feels good.

  Though he told me not to overthink things, I can’t help myself. There’s too much unsaid between us for my brain to not chase answers to those questions.

  For his part—and despite how cold he’s acted for the last few weeks—Hunter seems as desperate as I feel. He kisses me like I’m air, and he’s out of breath. His hands and lips move over my skin like I’m something to be savored. But as nice as this feels, I can’t let it go on when I’m so confused about what all of this is. What I mean to him.

  Why can’t boys just make sense for once?

  And how do I even bring this up without scaring him off?

  He acts like he cares about me and then proceeds to be a total ass in front of his friends.

  He wipes my tears away, only to slip his hand down my pants and almost give me an orgasm.

  He ignores me at home, at school, and when I’m doing homework not ten feet away from him swimming laps in his pool but then offers me—no, insists on giving me—a ride home. Taking a detour to bring me to this special place. Kissing me senseless.

  I don’t want to think he’s anything like his dad, but what if he is? What if Hunter hates him not because they’re so different but because they’re exactly the same? What if he brings all the girls he can’t screw on the first try to this place, just so he can wax poetic about being in the water and missing his mom? Even if he’s being genuine right now, things are still complicated. For instance, there’s the fact that I basically live with him. If things go sour, it’ll be even worse cohabitating than it already has been.

  And regardless of whether Hunter sees me as more than just his little brother’s nanny, screwing “the help” is never a good look from an outsider’s perspective. I doubt his parents would approve. I’m not exactly country-club-date material.

  Hunter must sense that my mind is elsewhere because he pulls back gently and tucks my hair behind my ear.

  “We should go. You’re shivering.”

  He’s right. Even with his jacket on, my shoulders are hunched against the cold.

  “Okay,” I say, even though I’d be happy to stand out here all night with him.

  He dips his head down for one last kiss, his tongue tasting every corner of my mouth. Then he breaks away, stroking my soft, swollen bottom lip with his thumb and making me want to suck on it. But I stop myself.

  “We should head back,” he says.

  “You just said that,” I point out with a smile.

  He nods and ushers me inside first.

  Once we’re down the stairs and on the ground floor again, he asks, “So, how was your first B and E? You think you’ll be ready to upgrade to a felony next time?”

  “Shut your face,” I say, punching his arm lightly.

  “Ow!” he yelps, pretending my little kitten punch felt like anything at all. “I think that’s gonna bruise. You’re a real tigress under that goody-two-shoes persona.”

  “I am not a goody two-shoes,” I shoot back, my cheeks gone warm. I like dorky Hunter way more than I’ve ever liked smooth Hunter.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “But really. Did you like it?”

  Even with his casual tone, I can tell he’s being vulnerable right now. It cracks my heart right in half. “I loved it,” I say. “Really.”

  “Cool.”

  He locks up the lighthouse, and we walk back to the car. The drive back is mostly silent, with only Tamino singing between us. I can’t believe how late it is, and I find myself leaning back into the warmth of the heated seat and closing my eyes. I know this wasn’t a date or anything, but it was kind of completely perfect.

  I still wonder what exactly happened with Hunter’s mom though. Why she left. Hunter probably wonders the same thing. I can’t even imagine what it was like to grow up after being abandoned like that. I might not know who my dad is, but I can at least appreciate the fact that I don’t miss him. You can’t miss someone you’ve never met.

  It’s kind of weird. In all the months I’ve worked for the Becks, I haven’t heard Hunter’s mom mentioned once. I guess I just assumed she had passed or that a messy divorce had gone down ages ago. Now I know the real reason she’s a sore spot and why getting Hunter to talk about anything meaningful is like pulling teeth.

  Still, part of me is a little bit jealous. It’s not fair that I know literally nothing about the man responsible for putting me in this world. My mom refuses to speak of him, and although I used to pester her with questions whenever I could—trying to glean at least one solid fact that I could use to maybe, I don’t know, google him or something—I eventually gave up. Sometimes I think she doesn’t even know who he was either. Like he was some rando from a bar, or she was super wasted at a party.

  Or maybe he was a real asshole, the kind who yelled and beat her. Maybe her getting pregnant is what made him ditch her and take off, or maybe she’s the one who ran away from him. Who knows?

  Either way, the fact is in all these years, he’s never reached out to either one of us. So I guess that’s answer enough. I don’t have a father. Just an anonymous sperm donor. Maybe I’m better off not knowing.

  Which is the same reason I don’t push Hunter about what all those kisses meant, if they meant anything. I don’t want to hear him laugh or tell me I’m just a rebound or a joke or a dare. Just another piece of ass for him to lay his hands on.

  My heart doesn’t truly believe that though. We have…something. Something real. I can feel it.

  As we turn onto increasingly familiar streets, it dawns on me that each mile gets us farther from the dreamy lighthouse and closer to the real world. And that after tonight, ignoring him will no longer be possible. Once we pull into the Becks’ driveway, I have no idea how to act.

  I can feel myself tensing up as we go through the front door, and through sheer practiced instinct, I move to disable the alarm before the thirty seconds are up and it wakes up the entire house. Hunter moves to do the same, and our hands accidentally brush over the keypad.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, punching in the code.

  “No worries,” he whispers back, his warm breath caressing my ear.

  Contrary to my expectations, he doesn’t immediately go up to his room. Instead, he walks with me all the way to the pool house.

  Behind us, the pool water is calm and dark, moonlight reflecting on its surface. I pull out my keys and reach for the doorknob, but the silence between us now is so deafening that I break it in a rush of awkward chatter before I can help myself.

  “Thanks for bringing me up to the lighthouse,” I say, turning to him with a smile. “It was really great.”

  He smiles back, and not in that superior, I-know-you-want-this kind of way he has. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

  It feels awkward all over again, with us staring at each other, not speaking, probably both replaying the last few hours in our minds. I have no idea how things have changed between us, or if they’ve actually changed at all. I can never be sure when it comes to Hunter.

  “Well, then…” I clear my throat. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sweet dreams, Milla,” he whispers and walks away.

  I tiptoe into the pool house, lock the door behind me, and then hover by the window, watching Hunter’s light go on and then off in his bedroom upstairs.

  My lips are still puffy and swollen from Hunter’s mouth, and I’m too pumped with adrenaline to g
o to bed right away. After checking on my mom—who’s passed out in bed, and yes, still breathing—I take a quick hot shower to relax my muscles and then climb into bed with a sigh. My thoughts are still racing, and so is my heart.

  Why didn’t he kiss me good night? Are we back to pretending we hate each other? Or am I reading too much into this?

  The confusion doesn’t ease up, and I fall asleep with a stomach full of butterflies and a head full of questions.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Camilla

  Not shockingly, I end up oversleeping, meaning I have barely enough time to put on my uniform and brush my teeth before grabbing an apple, my hairbrush, and a face cleaning wipe (to make use of during my walk to the bus). As I head down the Becks’ driveway, I notice Hunter’s car is gone—if he already left then I’m really, really late.

  Disappointment slows me down. I was kind of hoping we’d bump into each other this morning and he’d offer me a ride. Which is stupid. He probably assumed I’d already left. After all, most mornings I’m gone before he’s even up for the day.

  I cross the academy’s front door right as the first bell rings and run to World History, sliding into my seat just before Mr. Robertson walks through the door. Emmett’s already there, and we exchange a quick greeting as I catch my breath.

  For the duration of class, I take notes on autopilot. All I can think about is whether Hunter is going to start acting differently now or if we’ll go back to the usual.

  After we’re out, Emmett and I are walking down the hall when he says, “Hey, wanna grab lunch off-campus today? Already texted Isabel, and she’s in.”

  I consider the invitation, which isn’t exactly a rarity, since the three of us usually grab lunch together on Fridays. But something today keeps me from saying yes.

  “Maybe?” I answer. “Not sure I wanna go off-campus today. I might just stick to the library to hit the books. I’m a little behind on homework this week.” Which, true.

  “Cool cool,” Emmett says, unperturbed. “Just don’t study too hard. And lemme know if you want us to bring you back some real food.”

  “You guys are the best,” I say.

  My homework isn’t the only reason for bailing on the invite. The real reason pops up farther down the hall, where I see Hunter hanging with his group of dudebro friends, leaning against a locker and staring right at me.

  A smile begins to tug at my lips, my heart beating faster, heat spreading from my cheeks to my toes. Memories of last night race through my mind. The leather scent of his car, the lighthouse gallery, the way he kissed me until I was weak and breathless.

  Should I wave? Should I ask him to go out for lunch?

  But as Emmett and I get closer, I realize that Hunter’s not moving. He’s not even really acknowledging me. His gaze sweeps over me, a blank expression on his face, and then he’s back to joking around with his friends. As if he didn’t see me.

  As if I don’t even exist.

  My mouth flattens into a hard line, and I loop my arm through Emmett’s as we pass Hunter and his cronies, just to prove that I’m totally unconcerned with them. Hunter wants to ignore me? Fine. Two can play that game.

  Emmett and I part at the door to my AP Bio class, and I mindlessly wander to my seat. I’ve never known someone who could make me feel so freaking good and so completely shitty, all in the space of twelve hours.

  What am I even doing? There’s no reason for me to plan my day around what Hunter might do. Why should I waste my time waiting around for something that will never happen?

  Under my desk, I tap out a quick group text to Emmett and Isabel, telling them I’ll meet them in the parking lot at noon. I feel dumb for not saying yes immediately in the first place. After that, I let myself get lost in the wonders of cell-to-cell communication within the human immune system.

  I’m on my way to Emmett’s car later when I get a reply from Isabel.

  Held up after AP Calc. FML. Go ahead without me. I’ll meet you there asap!

  I reply with a heart emoji and then return Emmett’s friendly high five before sliding into his car, a grey Mercedes he was handed down from his dad.

  “Where to?” I ask. “Isabel’s meeting us.”

  “Taco truck at the park?” he suggests. “We can eat under the trees.”

  “Love it,” I say, shooting Isabel one last text so she knows where we’re at.

  “Windows or AC?” he asks.

  “Windows, always. It’s gorgeous out.”

  Emmett drives us the few blocks to the park and lets me blast Halsey the whole way there, my arm hanging out the window to feel the breeze and the sunshine. I’m already feeling a little bit better. Hunter, schmunter.

  It’s a school day, obviously, so that means the playground area is mostly devoid of screaming children, except for a few toddlers in the sandbox. Nice. I plop into a swing and tell Emmett to leave his backpack with me while he stands in line at the taco truck.

  “Ha! Why don’t you go stand in line while I play on the jungle gym?” he says.

  “Okay,” I say, laughing. “I’ll go.”

  “I’m kidding, Milla! Just relax. Be right back.”

  My stomach rumbles as I swing, impatient for my tacos topped with the hottest salsa I can stand. Luckily Emmett is back lightning quick, and soon we’re sitting across from each other at a picnic table under the cool shade of a huge ficus, eating out of thin cardboard boxes. Isabel’s food rests between us on the table, covered with a napkin.

  I pop the lid off my iced tea, gulping it down to fight the fire in my mouth.

  “Did I fuck up?” Emmett asks. “You said to get the hottest salsa they had!”

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him, sniffling a bit. “I just need to blow my nose.”

  “Let me try that,” he says, pulling my box over and scooping up a blob of salsa, white sauce, and cabbage with a tortilla chip. I move over to his side of the picnic table so I’m sitting next to him.

  “Fine, but consider yourself warned,” I caution, watching him closely. “It’s not for amateurs.”

  “I can handle it,” he scoffs.

  A second later, he’s coughing and sputtering, sucking down his soda while blinking back tears.

  I shake my head. “Shoulda got an horchata.”

  “That isn’t salsa,” he pants, “it’s lava.”

  “Delicious, delicious lava,” I say, taking another huge bite of my taco.

  I’m midway through chewing when I see a flash of blonde in my periphery and then hear a high-pitched giggle to accompany it.

  “Hillary. Fantastic,” I say sarcastically.

  Glancing to my left, I confirm what I already knew and see that she’s here with a bunch of Hunter’s friends—but no Hunter. They’re all lining up at the taco truck, except for two who break off to play hacky sack in the lot. Of course, at that exact moment, Hillary looks over and sees me staring. The daggers she’s throwing me with her eyes might actually kill me if they were real.

  “Steve’s over there too,” Emmett says. “You better give Isabel a heads-up.”

  “Smart.”

  She answers with a puke emoji but says she just parked anyway and she’ll see us in a second.

  Taking a swig of my tea, my sight flits back over to the group.

  Hunter saunters over out of nowhere, and Hillary wastes no time wrapping an arm around his waist, tugging him to her. He doesn’t pull away.

  My stomach knots.

  I turn back to my food, but it doesn’t taste the same now.

  Emmett touches my shoulder. “Hey. Everything okay, Milla?”

  Funny, he’s been calling me by my nickname for weeks now, but it never once made my heart leap like it did when Hunter said it yesterday. God, it would be so much easier if I liked Emmett instead.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…school stuff.” I give him a smile. Tight but genuine.

  Brow furrowing, Emmett glances up and says, “Beck’s got his eye on you, and he looks pissed. Somet
hing going on with you guys?”

  “Eh, just the usual crap.”

  Without even thinking about it, I make the mistake of turning to look. Emmett wasn’t exaggerating—over by the taco truck, Hunter’s staring at me.

  His arms are crossed, and he’s blatantly ignoring Hillary, even though she’s trying to get his attention by yapping a mile a minute and doing the fingers-through-the-hair thing that my tangled waves would never allow. Murmuring something to his friends, Hunter breaks away from the line and starts walking toward Emmett and me, his gaze narrowing, stride measured and heavy with purpose.

  “What’s that D-bag want?” Emmett asks when we exchange a look between us.

  My chest tightens, and so does my throat. “No idea.”

  If he’s coming over here to cop an attitude, he’s in for one unpleasant surprise.

  “Ortega,” Hunter says by way of greeting when he reaches our table.

  “Beck,” Emmett replies coolly.

  “Camilla,” Hunter says next.

  “Beck,” I say as coolly as I can, mimicking Emmett.

  Hunter’s eyes shift between us, like he’s trying to figure out what exactly is going on. Which is idiotic at best because it’s no secret to anyone that Emmett and I are good friends—have been since my first day at Oak Academy. But clearly Hunter thinks there might be more to it than that.

  The things he said the night of Matt’s party come back to me. About Emmett pretending to be nice; about how Emmett let me get wasted so he could make a move. None of it’s true, but I’m happy to lean into Hunter’s suspicions.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I say, putting my head on Emmett’s shoulder.

  Jaw clenching, Hunter just says, “It was until now.”

  “You got a problem, man?” Emmett asks. His voice is light, but those are fighting words, and I can feel a slight hum of tension in the air.

  “I don’t know, man. Do you?” Hunter responds, moving closer.

  Are they seriously going to fight right now? Over me? When I’m dating neither of them? I might expect that kind of caveman behavior from Hunter, but not Emmett. Then again, he’s probably just trying to protect me from whatever this is.