Page 26 of Because I Liked A Boy
Then it happens.
A hand slides too low against my hip—fingers pressing where they don’t belong. My smile snaps off, stomach plunging. Anger floods fast and sharp. I don’t freeze. I twist, ready to shove him off—my body already braced to fight.
But Hunter’s faster.
His grip closes around the guy’s wrist, iron-strong, calm in a way that makes it worse. “Wrong girl,” he says, voice quiet but lethal. “Touch her again, and you won’t be lifting anything for a long fucking time.”
The guy stammers, pale, then bolts into the crowd.
Hunter doesn’t even watch him go. His palm is already at my waist, steady now, anchoring me. His chest is a solid line against my back, the bass rattling through us both. Relief crashes into me, tangled with humiliation that I even needed it. I could’ve handled him. I should’ve. But the truth is, the second Hunter’s hand replaces his, I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to breathe.
I should shove him off. Tell him I don’t need saving. That I can handle myself. But my pulse is too fast, my skin too hot, and the tequila in my veins is quick to offer excuses.
It’s just the alcohol, I tell myself. That’s why I don’t care about the weight of his hand or the way his body fits against mine like it belongs there.
His mouth dips close, voice rough against my ear. “Relax, Princess. Let me lead.”
My laugh wobbles, shaky and reckless. “It’s the tequila,” I mutter. “That’s all this is.”
But my hips move with his anyway.
The bass rattles my bones, tequila buzzing in my veins, words slipping slurred past my lips. Hunter steadies me again when I stumble, his hand firm at my waist.
“Alright,” he mutters, voice low but certain. “That’s it. I’m taking youhome.”
My head’s spinning, legs heavy, the crowd tilting too sharp every time I blink. The room hums with neon and tequila and Hunter’s body pressed to mine, steady where I’m anything but.
I blink up at him, the neon behind his head blurring. “I came with Ruby,” I protest, though it comes out softer, less sure than I mean.
His gaze flicks across the room, and mine follows. Ruby’s pressed against the wall, Theo’s mouth locked on hers, her hands fisted in his shirt like she’s trying to drag him closer.
Heat curls up my neck that has nothing to do with alcohol. “Well,” I mumble, swaying against Hunter’s side, “guess she’s busy.”
Hunter’s mouth curves, not quite a smile. “Guess she is.” His grip on me tightens, steady and uncompromising. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you out of here.”
A Walk With Trouble
Outside, Ember’s bass fades to a dull throb behind us, replaced by the hum of street lights and the scrape of my heels against cracked pavement. The air is sharp, almost too clean after hours of smoke and neon.
Hunter doesn’t bother with my waist this time. He just catches my hand, fingers wrapping firm around mine when I drift too close to the curb. “You’re not walking in a straight line, Princess.”
I try to yank back, but my balance betrays me, and I stumble right into him again. His laugh rumbles low, infuriatingly smug. “Told you.”
The grip should feel like babysitting. It doesn’t. My palm is burning against his, too aware of every brush of his skin against mine. The tequila makes me reckless, words slipping out before I can stop them.
“I haven’t had this much fun since Nathan.”
Hunter’s stride falters. His hand tightens around mine, steady rather than angry, his jaw ticking once before he asks quietly, “Nathan?”
The name cracks something open in me. My throat works. “My brother,” I whisper. “He’s gone.”
The fury I expect doesn’t come. Instead, the weight of his hand anchors meharder, like he knows if he lets go, I’ll fold right here on the pavement.
The cool air bites at my arms, and I shiver before I can hide it. Without a word, Hunter shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, his hand brushing the nape of my neck as he settles it into place. Heavy. Warm. Smelling like smoke and cedar and him.
“It’s too big,” I mumble, tugging at the sleeve that nearly swallows my hand.
“That’s the point,” he says, still holding my hand as though letting go isn’t an option. The weight of it shouldn’t feel safe, but it does. I should be worried, handing that kind of trust to someone like him. Instead, my body just sinks into the warmth, traitor that it is.
