Page 79 of Bloom

Oh my God.

I just kissed Hunter.

Oh my God.

“I'm so sorry,” I blurt, the words muffled by my hand clamping over my mouth. “I don’t—”

Hunter wipes his mouth—hewipes his freaking mouth, and I want to die. “It’s fine.”

I wince.

Fine.

Not exactly a glowing reassurement.

I will myself not to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Hunter rasps, the tone of his voice rife with something that truly makes me want to disappear, something that sounds an awful lot like regret. “I kissed you.”

And boy, does he sound unhappy about that.

“I shouldn't have.”

I wince again. Wrapping my arms around myself, I hug myself hard, nails digging into my biceps as I lower my gaze to the floor so I don’t have to see the regret surely lurking in his. “Okay.”

Hunter curses loudly, harsh and crude, and I instinctively flinch. A moment passes before he swears again, fainter this time. “Caroline…” he starts, but doesn’t finish, trailing off as he takes a single step towards me. His hand—the hand that was cupping my freaking ass cheek mere seconds ago—reaches out, but I recoil from his reach, pressing as close to the counter as I possibly can as I shake my head.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to look up, force a smile on my face, force my shoulders to lift in a lazy shrug that requires entirely too much effort. “It’s okay,” I croak. “I get it.”

It was a pity kiss. A comfort kiss. He felt bad for me, so he kissed me. It's as simple as that. And I’m a fool, a freaking dumbass, for believing for even a second that it was anything more.

Looking at him hurts, but I do. I keep looking at him, no matter how fiercely the sight of him punches me in the gut. Tucking my hair behind my ears just to give my shaking hands something to do, I shrug again—another unconvincing stab at nonchalance as well as an attempt to shuck off the icky feeling of patheticness weighing me down. “Just forget about it.”

He murmurs my name again, and I quickly shake my head once more, preemptively warding him off before he can reject me more thoroughly or apologize again or forget the polite context cues and flatout label it as one big, regrettable mistake. “Please, Hunter.”

Tight-fisted and lock-jawed, Hunter sighs deep enough for that whole huge body to tremble. He steps closer, and closer andcloser and closer again until I have to tip my chin up to maintain the eye contact I’m determined to persevere through.

He’s too close, way too close, but I can’t move away. Not only because the counter is already bruising my lower back, but because those intense, piercing eyes have frozen me in place. So different than they were just a few minutes ago—harder. Far away.

Like he’s shutting me out.

“I can't give you anythin’ other than friendship, Caroline.”

Not won't.

Can't.

I don’t press. I’m too tired and embarrassed to press. “Okay.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off harsher than I intend to as déjà vu suddenly bombards me. Suddenly, I’m eighteen again. Suddenly, I’m getting my heart broken again, and it’s Jackson in front of me apologizing for doing the breaking. Just like then, I pretend to be fine because what else can I do?

Jackson didn’t do anything wrong. Hunter hasn’t done anything wrong.

It’s not their fault they don’t want me.

So nauseatingly awkward, Hunter shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t wanna leave like this.”

---