Page 46 of Because I Liked A Boy
The weight of it lands heavy between us. I should shut up. I should shove the words back down where they belong. But they’re already out.
“My brother died in one.”
The air shifts. Hunter’s jaw ticks, grip tightening on the wheel before easing again, like he’s forcing himself steady. For once there’s no tease, no cocky grin just his voice, quiet and stripped bare.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I stare hard at the blur of trees rushing past, vision swimming. “I don’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.” He drums his fingers once against the console, slow, grounding. Then softer: “But you’re not alone in it. Not with me.”
The ache in my chest deepens, sharp and strange, because nobody says shit like that to me and not mean it.
I don’t reply. Can’t. I just let the hum of the car swallow the silence.
Hunter turns off the main road, guiding us down a narrow lane I’ve never noticed before. Gravel crunches under the tyres until he eases into a clearing and kills the engine. The sudden quiet is deafening.
Overhead, the trees split into open sky, stars scattered in a mess of silver. The air smells like pine and earth and something warmer.
Hunter’s already out of the car, hauling a blanket and cooler from the back like this was always the plan.
My jaw drops. “You… packed a picnic?”
He throws me a grin over his shoulder, boyish and smug all at once. “What? Thought I was gonna drag you to Olive Garden?”
Despite myself, I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
He spreads the blanket, movements easy, practised. When he straightens, his eyes catch mine across the clearing. His grin softens, something in it I don’t dare name.
“Come on, princess.” He holds out his hand. “I don’t bring just anyonehere.”
He turns back to the blanket, shaking it out like he’s setting up camp for the apocalypse. The corners flop, folding over on themselves. He curses under his breath and stomps one edge down with his boot.
A laugh bursts out of me. “Smooth.”
He shoots me a glare that doesn’t stick. “Shut up. This is harder than it looks.”
I arch a brow. “You look like you’re wrestling a bed sheet.”
Hunter flips me off without looking, which only makes me laugh harder. When the blanket finally lies flat, he straightens and smirks, smug as ever. “Told you. Professional.”
It shouldn’t, but it makes my chest ache a little. Because under the cocky grin and ridiculous swagger… he actually tried.
And maybe that’s the moment I realise just how dangerous tonight might be.
Hunter drops onto the blanket with a thud, stretching out his legs like he owns the clearing. He cracks open the cooler, pulls out a couple of bottles, and raises his brows.
“Wine or beer?”
I fold my arms. “You actually brought options?”
“Princess, please.” His grin is pure arrogance. “I’m not a savage.”
I smile despite myself, settling beside him. The fabric of my skirt is thin against the grass, the night air brushing my bare knees. Hunter notices, of course he notices and his smirk deepens as he hands me a cup of wine.
The cork pops, liquid glugging into plastic cups. His fingers brush mine as he passes it over, lingering just long enough to make my stomach flip.
He lifts his cup. “To friends hanging out.”
