Or maybe they’re all hearing the soundtrack of my life right now—Another One Bites The Dust. I have to bite my lip to stop the laugh that wants to shoot out over that thought.
Hunter takes me up the stairs and down a long hallway until everyone from downstairs disappears and we get to what I assume is his bedroom door. He grabs the brushed-gold doorknob, pausing to look over his shoulder at me.
“Have you ever been in a guy’s room?”
I chew the inside of my cheek before I tease, “Yes. But the door had to stay open.”
He laughs, and I bite the tip of my tongue before I add, “Then again, I don’t plan on spending time in yours either. So you can shut it since I’m just here for the free shirt.”
Lies. Throw me on the bed and do me.
He nods, eyes dropping to my lips before he opens the door, leading me inside. It’s exactly what I expected. Trophy shelves line the wall, and posters of the Olympic crew team hang like collages. There’s even a Yale banner.
He really is a perfectly packaged St. Simeon heartbreaker.
Whole Pinterest boards could be made from this room, and they’d all be called “hot guy aesthetic.”
The thought makes me chuckle, causing Hunter to look over from where he’s standing, next to his bed. He jumps onto the mattress, lying back with his hands behind his head.
“Closet’s over there,” he offers, motioning with his chin.
Wait. What? Seriously?
“Cool. Thanks.”
I wrap my long copper hair around my hand, crossing my legs before I turn around and close the distance to his walk-in. Every few steps, I glance back over my shoulder, watching him watch me and wondering if I’m really only getting a shirt.
“Hey, Sutton.”
My eyes swing back to his.
“You can have anything you want. I hope you know that.”
And we’re back. I lick my lips and nod. Heat blooms on my cheeks as Hunter runs his hand over his stomach, so I walk inside the closet to hide. Oh my God, I’m such a nerd. That was the moment to say, “Great, I’d love the assistance of your dick. Thanks so much.” But instead, I’m hiding.
I’m like one of those yappy little dogs—all bark and no bite.
But this is so weird. What am I doing? Maybe I should just date him and see where it goes. Like, let it all unfold naturally like a normal person. Ordinary people don’t put their virginity on a to-do list.
I smile to myself, wallowing in the ridiculousness of this moment as my fingers brush over his perfectly arranged T-shirts, all hung by color. Okay, Hunter, a little anal but not a deal-breaker.
He laughs from inside the room, so I lean sideways, peeking out of the doorway. Hunter waves from the bed, remote in hand, and I pull back, kind of embarrassed.
He’s so cute. Like so fucking cute.
I’m out of my depth here. The last guy I did anything with quoted Star Trek when he fingered me. I can’t even hear anyone say “Beam me up” anymore. This is why girls should never read. I’ve been stuck in all the smart classes, limiting my damn dating pool. Supermodel tastes, MIT budget.
Focus, Sutton. I pull my phone from my back pocket, shooting off a text to the group chat.
Me: Spiral in effect. How do I do this? I’m failing. Thumbs up, I take off my clothes and walk out of his closet naked. Thumbs down, I pretend to have a seizure and sneak out when he goes for help. Vote now.
I don’t bother to read the responses because I know it’ll be two thumbs up—they’re assholes. Then, taking a deep breath, I exhale, feeling my chest grow cold.
Shoot. The cold, damp shirt sticking to my skin reminds me that I need to change. I work quickly, untucking it from my jeans and peeling it off as I give myself a mental pep talk. My nude strapless bra is relatively dry, but I use the least wet part of my top to pat my damp chest.
“So gross,” I say to myself, lifting my head to inspect Hunter’s shirts when I hear footsteps.
“Hey, I have some smaller T-shirts on the top shelf—”
Oh my God. Hunter’s voice is too close. I turn back and forth, panicking, reaching for anything just as he walks into the closet, making us both freeze.
His mouth opens, then closes as I cling to my bundled shirt in front of me, eyes popping out of their sockets.
“Oh my God. Turn around.”
He exhales as he spins around quickly, bringing his palms to the back of his head. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
I jerk a plaid flannel from a hanger, shrug it on, and work quickly to button it up. I’m swimming in it because Hunter is much bigger than I am, but it’s better than him seeing way more of me than he should until I’ve talked myself into it.
“Okay,” I breathe out, tucking the front into the top of my jeans. “You can turn around now.”
When he does, all he does is smile. I sweep my hair over my shoulder and wrap it around my hand, feeling awkward and nervous.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You look different, Sutton.”
My brows draw together, head diving to the front of me to inspect myself.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t look like the other girls.” He cracks a small laugh. “No. I don’t mean that…wait. I do, but not how it sounds. Damn.”
If what the hell was a face, it would be mine. He takes a step closer, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“You’ve always been pretty, Sutton.” I must call bullshit on my face because he adds, “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Our whole lives, actually. But there’s just something new—”
I’m smiling again.
“New?”
His fingers fall between strands of my hair before he cups my head.
“Something different. Something special, Freckles. You’re not like the other girls.”
I’m staring up at him, bated breath, eyes closing as he leans in torturously slow. It’s happening. Hunter Kelly is going to kiss the girl—me.
The sound of a door banging open paired with the music filtering in has my eyelids fluttering open and Hunter freezing centimeters from my lips.
“Shit,” he exhales, and he’s so close to me that his minty breath feathers my face.
I keep my eyes on him, willing us to happen. Just kiss me. Come on, you got this, champ. He licks his lips, saying, “Goddamn, that mouth is tempting,” before barely brushing them against mine.
“Hey, dick. I don’t care if you’re jerking off or fucking that chick you brought up here. Quit. Now. Basement.”
Fuck you, Tag—or Cockblock, as I will unaffectionately always remember him—I think as he bangs on the wall. Hunter touches his forehead to mine, groaning as he cradles both sides of my face.
“Favor?”
My head’s already nodding.
“Go find your friends and check in, then meet me in the last cabana before the dunes. You can’t miss it. It’s at the very end of the deck. Give me fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I want you all to myself tonight, and every night after that, Freckles.”
What?
He brings his lips to mine, giving me a chaste kiss, so I close my eyes, but he pulls back just as fast when Tag yells again, “Hunter. Now, you pussy. It’s business.”
All I hear is, “We’re happening, Sutton. Those lips are mine,” before he’s gone.