This Boy

by Jenna Scott

  What would she even say if she knew about all the Hunter stuff? Would she be angry I’m messing around with her boss’s son? Or would she congratulate me on manipulating my position as the Becks’ nanny to get into Hunter’s pants? Maybe she’d just be disappointed that I put a stop to it today, instead of milking the relationship—or whatever it is/was—for all its worth.

  A grimace pinches my face when I remember the we’ll go day by day line. And worse, the “all I want to do is make out with you in a car” line. It was so dumb to think that him randomly opening up to me at the lighthouse actually changed anything.

  Isabel and I have exchanged countless texts about what happened at the park, and I’ve relayed a non-explicit version of what happened in the car. Meaning, I mentioned that we’ve made out a few times, but not exactly how far he’s gotten. It’s one thing to tell Isabel about kissing, but I’d rather not share that Hunter and I were basically dry humping in the school parking lot, especially when anyone could have walked over to that corner and seen us through the car windows. I feel trashy. Used.

  Isabel is nothing but supportive, of course, and I’m so adamant that this thing with Hunter is really no big deal that she immediately intuits that I like him a lot more than I care to admit. Which, busted.

  You sure you don’t want me to come over with a bucket of caramel corn and my Netflix password? she texts. We can binge something. Anything. It’ll take your mind off it. Ooh, or Wonder Woman?

  I text back and tell her I’d love to, but we’ll have to raincheck because I have a crapton of homework. I don’t tell her that I’m also worried my mom will be home soon, and I don’t want anyone witnessing her typical booze-fueled debauchery.

  But it’s Fri-yay! Isabel replies.

  Yup, and that means tomorrow is Satur-yay, followed by Sun-yay, I text.

  My phone buzzes. LOL okay but we are hanging out tomorrow deffff

  I smile. You got it.

  But the second I look back at my textbooks, my mind turns to mush, replaying the scene in the car earlier like it’s on a playlist set to repeat.

  This is ridiculous.

  Even though I’m not hungry, I make myself a grilled cheese and a can of tomato soup for dinner. Then I eat in between taking notes from my history text. I’m barely absorbing the info, though, and I know I’m going to have to put in double studying time before our test on the indigenous peoples of North America next week. Boys suck.

  My ear keeps straining for the sound of footsteps or a knock, even though I know there’s no way Hunter is going to come over here to apologize. Still, I can’t help wishing for it. It’s pathetic how I can’t shake the ache for him.

  I never want to become the kind of girl who lets a guy walk all over her, but Hunter has a way of infiltrating my every thought. All I have to do is close my eyes, and I’m back in that car, Hunter’s hands all over me. Why does everything feel so good with him?

  The heat rushes through my body again, and I feel that twist in my stomach, my thigh muscles going tense. This is so annoying.

  I need to do something. Need to cool down.

  Going to the window, I look out at the pool. The water is still and black in the dark without the pool lights turning it a glowing turquoise. Maybe I can do laps. Exhaust myself to the point that I can crash into bed afterward into a dreamless sleep. Besides that, I haven’t gone swimming once since we moved in here. Now that I have access to a freaking lagoon, I might as well use it.

  My bathing suit is old and a little small for me, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s a dark blue one-piece with a cut-out under the chest where two pieces of fabric tie into a center bow. It was cute when I was fourteen, but I’m practically popping out of the top now. Oh well. Not like anyone’s going to see me in it, thank God.

  While I’m changing, I look down at my chest for the first time since this afternoon and notice the red suck marks along the swell of my breasts. Hickeys. Evidence of Hunter’s mouth on my body. Dismay washes through me, but it’s short-lived as I remember how it felt to have Hunter bite me. How his tongue tasted my skin as he sucked on it.

  It’s too hot. Time to swim it off.

  I tuck a clean towel under my arm and slip outside, leaving the porch light off and guiding myself by moonlight. Once I set the towel on a lounge chair and then dip a toe in, I almost change my mind. It’s a heated pool, but it’s not exactly cozy and warm. Then again, cold water is exactly what I need, so without ceremony, I dive in.

  The cold burns through me, and I come up gasping, feeling goosebumps break out all over me in tiny prickles. I go under a few more times, and soon enough I’m acclimated to the temperature, ready for my laps.

  My technique is sloppy as I try to recall the few handfuls of swimming lessons I had years ago. I do a lap, then another. The weight of the water all around me feels good, soothing, and I like the fact that while I’m exercising, I’m existing completely in the moment. Thinking about the water and my breath and the sound of splashing, the motion of my arms and legs, the number of times I go back and forth.

  I count ten laps before I stop to catch my breath. Leaning on my forearms at the pool’s edge, I listen to the silence around me. I look up at the moon and stars and try to pick out constellations. They’re not as bright as they were at the lighthouse, but they’re beautiful still.

  I see a shadow move in the corner of my eye and look over. There’s a silhouette in one of the lounge chairs. A Hunter-shaped silhouette.

  “Jesus!” I shriek, my palm going over my chest. I can feel my heart pounding.

  “That’s what they call me,” he jokes, deadpan.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “A while.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to say anything?” I angrily splash water in his direction. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Hunter mumbles something else, too low for me to discern.

  “What’d you just say?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats, enunciating this time. It sounds sarcastic to me.

  I scoff. “I don’t think you are. I think you like to watch. And now you can watch me leave.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hunter

  I’m lounging in the dark, debating whether to go to the pool house to talk to Camilla, when I see her come out in a bathing suit, towel tucked under her arm. My body tenses at the sight of her, and though I want to say something, I can’t.

  Her dark suit hugs her curves like it was painted on, her tits almost spilling out the top, and after dipping a toe in the pool, I’m impressed to see her dive right in.

  I guess that’s a good metaphor for Camilla as a person. She’s the type who jumps into things full stop, regardless of consequences. Not because she’s impulsive, but because she’s determined and headstrong. When she knows what she wants, she goes after it. Whether it’s school or confronting me about…whatever we are.

  Watching her swim, I can’t help but take notice of her form. She’s a bit sloppy until she eventually settles in, maybe because of the temperature. Or maybe she just hasn’t been swimming in a long time—not like I’m judging, even if it sounds that way. Obviously, most people aren’t competitive swimmers like I am.

  But seeing her stroke through the water, lap after lap, I have to give her credit for how strong she is. She’s clearly tired, but she keeps on pushing, falling into a rhythm. I like that. I also like seeing her body move. I’ve caught some of the random comments she gets from her mom about the food she sees Camilla eating or how she needs more exercise—such bullshit. Camilla’s perfect the way she is.

  And I know for a fact that ass is made for grabbing.

  Every new lap she finishes, I tell myself now’s the time to say something. But I can’t make myself do it. It’s easier to just stay silent, breathing in and out, watching her splash her way back and forth across the pool. Finally, Milla comes to a halt, leaning over the ledge, breathing hard as she looks up at the sky. N
ow. Do it. Say hello. Say her name, say something.

  Suddenly, her head turns, and she jumps, hand over her heart. “Jesus.” She sinks to her neck and stabs me with her eyes. “How long have you been there?”

  I shrug. “A while.”

  She splashes water at me, but from this far away I only catch a few drops. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’d you just say?” she asks. I can’t tell if she just wants to hear me say the words again or if she actually didn’t hear me over the sound of the water.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, slower and louder this time.

  Her eyes narrow. “I don’t think you are. I think you like to watch. And now you can watch me leave.”

  Storming as fast as she can through the water toward the pool stairs, she manages to look both incredibly pissed off and also like she’s moving in slow motion. I’d probably laugh at the incongruity if she weren’t so mad at me right now.

  I go pick up Camilla’s towel from the chair where she left it and then head to the pool stairs, holding it open for her to step into, just like I do for my little brother. As she reaches the steps and starts climbing out, all I get for my efforts is a glare.

  Say something productive. “Just so you know,” I say, forcing myself to look away from her dripping wet body, “you shouldn’t be closing your hands when you swim. Contrary to popular belief, relaxed fingers have less drag.”

  She grabs the towel from me and wraps it around herself. “I don’t recall asking for your advice.”

  If I dove head first into the pool right now, the thermal shock would be less than the ice bucket she just dumped over me.

  “Can we talk?” I ask.

  She opens her mouth, but then closes it. I can see it in her eyes, that guarded look she gets, like she’s expecting someone to come out of nowhere and yank the world out from under her. Like she’s preparing for the worst. “Fine.”

  “I just…” Trailing off, I shake my head. Now I’m the one who’s tongue-tied.

  I know it’s my fault that we’re in this mess and that if I let her walk away, someone else will swoop in. Ortega’s already in the wings, waiting for his chance, and even though Milla denies it, his odds aren’t zero.

  “You know what? Don’t torture yourself. If you have nothing to say, I think we’re done here.” She lets her voice trail off, and soon her feet begin to follow.

  “Wait! Look, I was jealous. At the park,” I blurt out because it’s the easiest thing to admit. It gets me what I want, which is for Camilla to turn around. “You looked happy. You were smiling. You never smile like that when you’re with me, and it sucked. And I was pissed that I couldn’t just…brush it off. Like I normally would.”

  She straightens her shoulders. “That doesn’t excuse what you did. You don’t get to treat me like I’m your property.” I’m nodding, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m allowed to go places and have fun and be with my friends, and they’re allowed to make me smile. None of that has anything to do with you.”

  “I know. I never thought otherwise. I just acted like I did, and I know that’s not okay,” I say.

  Her lips purse. “Good.”

  “Milla, this is all new territory for me,” I push on. “Everything in my life has always been…superficial. Stuff with my dad. Friendships. Hookups. One-night stands, whatever. I do better when I compartmentalize. Everything stays in its own box. I deal with it when it’s right in front of me, and then afterward I walk away. You know what I mean? But with you, it’s like…I don’t want that. I want to be…close.”

  Stepping toward her, I catch her gaze, hoping she sees the sincerity in my eyes.

  “You keep plenty of girls close.” Her words are bitter. “I’ve seen it, right here in this pool. And again, at the pool house where I now live. The laundry room. Your car.”

  The memories come back, all too fresh. I feel ashamed now, but I don’t even remember half those girls’ names.

  “Please, stop,” I say, cutting her off. “None of that matters.”

  “Ha! Of course it doesn’t matter. None of it ever matters to you. You do realize that makes you look even worse, don’t you?” she says. “Why should I think I’m any different?”

  “I mean—that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “None of them were you!” I finally grind out, emotion almost cracking my voice. “None of it mattered until you.”

  That catches her off guard.

  “Why?” comes her quiet question. Like she’s afraid of what I might say but wants to know nonetheless. “Why am I different?”

  I’ve asked that question enough times myself, and I still don’t have a clear answer. But I have something that’s close, and I hope it’s enough.

  I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it. Then I lead her over to the grass so we can sit across from each other, our knees just barely touching.

  Leaning forward, I tuck a wet strand of hair behind her ear and say, “This is lame, but…out of all the babysitters we’ve had for Harrison, you are the first one who really cares. You could be doing the bare minimum, just going through the motions to collect your paycheck, but you don’t. You’re always going the extra mile to see him happy. You have a smile ready for him no matter what.”

  Her shoulders relax a little bit, and she places a hand on my knee. I can feel the heat of it through my shorts, but I try to stay focused.

  “The more I paid attention to you when you were over, the more I started to learn about you. The more of a puzzle you became, the more I had to figure you out. I know your life hasn’t been easy, and I know stuff has happened that hurt you.”

  She pulls her hand away, looking me in the eye. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Okay. We don’t have to.” My lips slam shut at her sudden defensiveness. I take in the warmth of her body, the freckles across the bridge of her nose, her deep brown eyes, and make myself speak. “All this is to say…I feel…things. For you. But I don’t know what this is. Or what I’m doing.”

  “This is all new to me too.” Camilla shivers, whether from the cold or something else, I’m not sure. I’m overcome with the urge to drag her into my lap and hold her, to still her the way she stills me. But I don’t. The last thing I want is to scare her off.

  “So what should we do?” I whisper.

  Camilla lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know if this can work. What I’m even ready for, if us together makes sense at all—”

  “Then let’s find out,” I say. “Do you want that?”

  “Yes.” She doesn’t even hesitate. The smile I’ve been waiting for lights up her face, and she reaches a hand up to touch the line of my jaw. “I want that. I want you.”

  Her breath is hot on my lips.

  “I want you,” I tell her. “Just you.”

  This time, it’s Camilla who kisses first. And I kiss her back.

  Chapter Thirty

  Camilla

  Monday morning, there’s a knock on the door while I’m brushing my teeth. Still half-asleep, I don’t think much of it, toothbrush in hand as I open up to find Hunter standing outside the pool house.

  “Uh. Hey,” I say around a mouth full of suds, embarrassed at my ratty sleep shorts and tank top.

  Aaand of course he looks perfect. The morning sun emphasizes the lines of his cheekbones and strong jaw, his hair tousled in that sexy, rebellious, just-out-of-bed way.

  “Hey. You still want that ride to school?” he asks.

  All I can do is nod, my pulse kicking at the thought of Hunter Beck driving me to school in his BMW, in full view of the entire student body. Half of me wants to scream from the rooftops (or his sunroof) that I’m in a “let’s-try-this”-ship with Hunter, that he said he wants just me and me alone, while the other half is completely anxious at the thought of people knowing we’re…entangled.

  “Cool.
I’ll be in the car.”

  His gaze shifts behind me, and I turn around to see a mostly drunk bottle of Evan Williams on the floor by the couch. Shit. Thanks, Mom. Classy.

  “See you in a few,” I say, practically slamming the door in his face.

  I have ten minutes to get dressed.

  Rushing to the bathroom, I spit, rinse, and then run a brush through my hair. After a detour to my bedroom to put on my uniform and zip up my school bag, I’m out the door.

  When I slide into Hunter’s passenger seat, I turn and realize he’s holding out a freshly toasted Pop-Tart wrapped in a paper towel.

  “For me? You shouldn’t have,” I say, grabbing it and batting my eyes.

  “Harry said they were your favorite. You don’t have to eat it—”

  But I’ve already taken a huge bite, my mouth full as I mumble, “Mmm. Breakfast of champions.”

  “Glad to be of service then.” He laughs, and we’re off.

  The radio is on, but I can’t keep my mind on the show hosts or whatever music they choose to play. Friday night’s conversation has changed things between us.

  And the weekend…the weekend was something. I still haven’t quite recovered from the stolen kisses and intense make-out sessions. Like on Saturday, when his parents were out and he invited me over to watch a movie with him and Harrison, then spent the entire two hours with his hand on my thigh. Just sitting there, leaving me to wonder if and when he was going to move it. I can’t even remember what we watched.

  Sunday I had my girls’ date with Isabel, but when I got back home, I saw I had a text from Hunter asking me to meet him by the huge oak tree that grows along the side of the house. When I got there, I realized he was in the branches—in his old treehouse.

  “Come up!” he said. “I haven’t been up here since I was ten years old, and it’s too dangerous for Harrison.”

  “But it’s safe enough for us?” I said skeptically.

  “We’re barely six feet off the ground,” he pointed out. “Unless you’re scared of heights?”