Page 43 of Bloom

“Yeah, Hunter stares at your ass way more than you stare at his.”

“Lux!” My cheeks flare as I scoff at my friend, looking to Luna for help, but finding none—in fact, she nods in agreement. “He does not.”

“I can think of, like, at least five times in the last week.”

I jerk an elbow into each of their sides. “Stop teasing.”

I can’t handle it. If he overheard—which he very well might, the girls are so freaking loud—I would die. I might die anyway, from embarrassment. Like I need to suffer anymore of that.

Blowing out a flustered breath, I get to my feet. “Refills?”

“Please.” Both girls hand me their empty glasses, not once taking their eyes off the guys as I head inside. To be fair, I’m notexactly any better—turns out, the kitchen window provides just as good a view as the porch.

God,his body. I'm like a broken record, but Hunter truly deserves to be admired. And there’s so much of him to admire, he’s so freakingbig. Not in the ripped, gym rat, more-abs-than-fingers, I-only-eat-protein kind of way. No, Hunter’s got beefy arms and powerful legs, but he’s all softness. I know that first hand; I felt it when I was freaking burrowing into that bulky, rounded chest.

I cringe at the memory. Talk about a low point.

Opening the refrigerator, I almost moan in relief as cool air caresses my heated cheeks, relishing in it for longer than I should. I only pull myself away when the screen door bangs open and a flurry of half-naked men file inside, working up my flush all over again. Snatching the pitcher of lemonade, I slam the fridge shut and quickly busy myself filling the girls’ glasses.

“Caroline,” Simon, one of Serenity’s three ranch hands, greets me in a sing-song voice. “Looking as beautiful as ever.”

I snort, dodging his attempt to rustle my hair. Simon is one of the few guys whose attention I can endure without being reduced to a flustered puddle. Probably because Simon flirts with everyone. Also probably because I’m used to it. Most of all because I know he has absolutely no intention of following through, considering his boss is my ex-boyfriend—bro code, he drunkenly told me once.

Charlie, another hand, is just as much of a shameless flirt. He shoots me a wink, yanking my braid on his way to the sink. “How ya doing, pretty girl?”

The man heading up the rear of the group does not offer the same kind of greeting. A nod and a slightly upturned mouth is all I get from Hunter, and I’m okay with that. The shirtless torso is enough for me.

Anything more and I might do something embarrassing like swoon.

I don’t bother asking before reaching for more glasses, barely finished filling up two before they're snatched away by Simon and Charlie. I’m halfway done with the third when someone comes up behind me, a sweaty chest briefly brushing the parts of my upper back left bare by my dress, fingers skimming my hip as who can only be Hunter reaches around me for the last glass. “Thanks, honey.”

I almost drop the pitcher.

Honey.

Honey?

Is the heat getting to me or something? Causing auditory hallucinations? Or is it getting to him? Maybe it’s getting to both of us.

It takes genuine physical effort not to lean back. To not gawk up at Hunter. To not squeak ‘excuse me?’ or ask him to repeat himself because I’ve never heard a nicer sound coming from his mouth—because I can’t believe he really just said that.

Honey. The word yanks at my memory. Reminds me of something I either forgot or didn’t fully pick up on in the moment, too miserable to hear it. He called me that before. In Bloom. While I cried and he comforted me, he called mehoney.

I got you, honey.

Jesus. It’s a miracle I didn’t combust.

More people entering the kitchen snap me out of my daze, my shoulders drawing up tight as Lux, Luna, and Jackson stroll inside. Disappointment unfurls in my gut when Hunter quickly backs away. When he heads for the door, I twist to watch him go, waving like a freaking weirdo when he lifts his glass in a silent salute before disappearing.

Setting down the pitcher, I exhale hard enough to displace the strands of hair escaping from my braid and framing my face.What the hell?

“Looking a little flushed there,honey.”

I cup my cheeks and throw Simon a look that’s part scowl, part plea. “It’s hot.”

“Honey?” Jackson frowns as he pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, flopping down onto it before pulling Luna onto his lap, all the while glancing curiously between me and his ranch hand—thewrongranch hand, evidently, as Simon tries to correct.

“Don’t look at—”

---