Page 37 of Because I Liked A Boy
It takes me a second to realise the knock has stopped and then there’s the unmistakable sound of the door creaking open.
My heart jolts, but before fear can sink its claws into me I hear his voice. “Princess?”
Hunter.
He steps into the room, running a hand through his dark hair as if he’s been panicking the whole drive over. His other hand holds a greasy cardboard box. The smell hits me before he sets it down on the coffee table.
“Didn’t know what you liked,” he says softly, crouching beside me. “So I went for the classic. Pepperoni. Can’t go wrong.”
My chest tightens. Nobody’s looked after me in a long time.
He brushes a strand of hair off my face, concern etched into his features. “Door was unlocked. You planning on giving me a heart attack or what?”
I blink up at him, too tired to answer, too raw to fake a smile.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it completely. His eyes never leave mine.
He sets the pizza box down, flips it open, and tears off a slice before I can argue. The smell fills the room, making my stomach ache with the hunger I’ve been ignoring all day.
“Come on, Princess,” he says, coaxing and softer than I’ve ever heard. He holds the slice out toward me like I’m a stubborn kid. “One bite. For me.”
I roll my eyes but it’s weak at best. “You’re bossy.”
He grins. “And you’re starving.”
The truth of it burns in my chest but I still hesitate. He nudges the slice closer, eyebrow raised, waiting me out. Finally I take it just to shut him up.
The first bite nearly makes me groan. It’s warm, greasy, perfect. Hunter looks so smug I want to smack him.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I mutter, wiping my fingers on the napkin.
“Oh, I will,” he says, grabbing another slice. “That’s the face of a girl who hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.”
I glare. “I eat.”
“Coffee doesn’t count,” he says through a mouthful. “Neither does whatever sad excuse for cereal you probably live on.”
I huff, reaching for another slice before he devours the whole thing. “And you’re not exactly practising moderation. That’s your third.”
“That’s called balance,” he says, unbothered. “I eat enough for both of us.”
Despite myself I laugh, short and sharp and real.
“Told you,” he says, settling down on the sofa beside me. His arm brushes mine as he leans back, casual like he belongs here. His phone buzzes again on the table. He glances at it, jaw ticking, then flips it over screen-down.
I notice. I don’t ask.
I curl my knees up tighter, chewing slowly. He doesn’t push. He lets the silence sit, heavy but not uncomfortable. When I finally set the crust down his arm slips around my shoulders, pulling me against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Better?” he murmurs, chin brushing the top of my head.
I nod, shaky. “I just…” My voice cracks. “Everything feels too heavy, Hunter. Like I can’t hold it anymore.”
His arm tightens. “Then don’t. You don’t have to hold it on your own.”
Those words hit something raw in me, sharp enough to ache. Nobody has ever said that and meant it.
I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, letting the warmth of him anchor me. “What if I break?” I whisper.
