Page 47 of Facing the Line

HADLEY

Hunter: Hey sis, how’s your summer going so far?

Hadley: Ugh, these classes are kicking my butt.

Hunter: That sucks, I’m sorry. Your roommates treating you okay?

Hadley: They are so sweet. It’s like I have a bunch of older brothers—that I actually like.

Hunter. Haha, you’re hilarious.

Hadley: I know!

I minimized how hard my classes are when I texted Hunter this morning. Theoretically, I knew it would be difficult to cram asemester’s worth of material into a summer class. But it’s one thing to know that. It’s another thing entirely to live it.

Sighing, I enter the apartment and drop my bag at the door. I need a couch to flop down on to properly convey my exhaustion, but instead, there’s a line of four fold-up camp chairs in the living room.

I sigh again. This is what I get, living with a bunch of dudes.

To be fair, I could go flop on my bed. But I’m lonely. I barely know anyone in my classes yet. I miss having Kendall, or Natalie, or Jasmine, or literally any other girl around. If I go hide out in my room, I won’t have anyone to talk to.

Is Jonas home? We’re not quite at the level where I let myself into his bedroom, although, god, I want to be. Because I’m pretty sure sex would solve my problems.

I scan the line of lawn furniture. Should I just go buy a couch? I try to flop in one of the camp chairs and almost knock it over, plus the arm rest stabs my thigh.

“Ow!”

At my outburst, Jonas pads down the hallway, his feet bare, and peers at me. At least he has a shirt on. I can barely hold it together when I see all that yummy skin. “You okay, Hads?”

Hads. I’ve never had a nickname before. I kind of love it.

I inhale, then exhale. “No. My classes are killing me, I miss my friends, I’m about to start my period, and this couch sucks.”

“It’s not a couch.” He gets bonus points for not batting an eye at the wordperiod.

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

He presses his lips together and nods, like he was having a silent conversation with himself. “I know what you need.”

“Is it ice cream?” I ask. Probably shouldn’t mention sex out loud when I don’t know who’s home. “Because I think that might help.”

“We could possibly incorporate it. But first, I have to know—do you have any allergies?”

I blink at his left-field question. “Um, no?”

“Good.” His slow, sexy smile spreads across his face and he holds out his hand to help me out of the chair. “Change into something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

I put my palm in his, a spark of awareness racing down my spine. I swallow. “What kind of dirty?”

“Not like that.” He blushes at the tone of my innuendo, dropping my fingers like I burned him. His shyness is adorable. Have I ever been with a guy who takes things slow? It’s sweet and novel. “Some mud, maybe. And tennis shoes.”

I’m intrigued. “Are we going running? Because normally I’d love that idea, but it’s really too hot outside right now. We should wait until later in the day.”

“Nope.” He gives me a smug look. “You’ll never guess, not in a million years. But it’s guaranteed to cheer you up.”

“Guaranteed, you say?” I raise a brow.

“And if not, I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

---