Page 76 of Bloom

“For how long?”

“A couple months.”

Hunter exhales, heavy and huffed. “Heknows?”

He. I gulp. No prizes for guessing who that is. “I didn’t tell him.”

I neglect to mention that Dad might know anyway. That the list of places I could be is remarkably small—that it wouldn't take a whole lot of brain power to guess my new residence. I don’t want Hunter to… I don’t know. Worry, I guess. More than he already is. Because that’s what he’s doing right? He’s worrying about me.

It’s very strange, and probably a little sick, that his worrying makes something in my chest flutter.

Propping himself against the counter—right next to my pretty apology bouquet—he glances at the bathroom door. “Will looking in there give me a heart attack?”

I picture the peeling laminate floor, the grimy shower head, the busted lightbulb I still haven’t gotten around to changing. “Maybe.”

Those broad shoulders rise with another extended breath, white cotton straining to keep his chest contained. “This isn’t right, Caroline.”

“It’s okay. Really,” I insist. “I like it.”

“I don’t.”

The smile I force hurts my cheeks. “Good thing no one’s asking you to live here.”

Hunter’s shaking head drops as he chuckles wearily, allowing the briefest of relief from that burning gaze before it hits me again, intense and contemplative. “You’re funny, you know. When you’re not trying to make yourself invisible.”

I flush, but don’t bother to deny it—the invisible part, that is. The funny part, I’m not so sure. I wasn’t trying to be. “It’s really not that bad, okay? And it’s not forever.”

Hunter does another sweeping glance of the room. “Needs a good clean. Some paint.” His mouth quirks. “A bulldozer.”

“Ha ha.” The decorative pillow I toss at him is easily caught by those big hands. “Don’t you have work?”

“You want me to leave?”

“You can if you want to.”

Hunter sighs—that’s not what I asked, the frustrated flat line of his mouth says, but hell if I’m giving him a real answer. I think I’ve overexposed myself enough as it is without begging him to stay in the cesspit he thinks my apartment is.

But I don’t want him to go either. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to voice that.

I don’t think I have to.

Letting loose another indecipherable noise, Hunter strides to the exit, but he doesn’t give me a chance to be disappointed. Not when he toes off his boots, not when white-socked feet pad towards me, not when a gruff command to move over has me doing just that with lurchy, timidly—embarrassingly—excited movements.

When the bed dips—and dips and dips and dips some more, and creaks as the frame struggles to hold the weight of a six-foot-six, three hundred pound man—I hold my breath. I wait for the other shoe to drop. I mimic the way he’s sitting, with my legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, my hands in my lap, and I jolt when he gestures to the laptop nestled near the foot of my bed.

“Movie?” he drawls, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “I’ll let you pick.”

“What happened?”

At first, I’m confused. Startled out of half-consciousness. Not expecting the husky whisper after so long of silence, except for the drone of movie after movie. Rolling onto my back, I stretch with a groan, eyes closed as I frown and try to decipher the simple question, to figure out where it came from,whoit came from.

It takes a long second to reorient myself. To realize I must’ve dozed off. To remember I’m in my bed, in borrowed sweats that are riding low and a borrowed t-shirt that’s riding high, next to the man I borrowed them from.

My head snaps to the side as my eyes fly open. The sharp breath stuck in my throat has nothing to do with the fast movement making my head hurt, and everything to do with the sight that greets me. The room is dark except for the light coming from my laptop screen, so it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.

And then, it takes a moment longer for my brain to decipher what I’m seeing; Hunter in my bed. Slumped against the wall—I really need to invest in a headboard—with one knee bent, an elbow resting on top of it, and a dog resting on top of him. Long fingers lazily scratch Herc’s curled-up body while the other hand is outstretched towards me,behindme, attached to the thick, padded arm I’m pretty sure I was just using as a pillow. And the—

I gulp.

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