Page 34 of Because I Liked A Boy
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching like it wants to smile.
He notices. Of course he does. His voice drops, low enough to curl through me. “Admit it, Princess. You hated Millie that day because you wanted to be the one standing where she was.”
“You said we are friends,” I snap.
“It is obvious I like you,” he says, infuriatingly sure. “And no, it is not just about fucking you to get it out of my system. We are friends until you decide you want more. Until then, I am good being friends who flirt.”
I step closer and tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “That will never happen.”
His hand lifts, rough fingers catching my chin and tipping it until I cannot look anywhere but him. His voice is low and certain. “We will see.”
He brushes his hand lightly against my elbow, steady but not a claim, and steers me past the rows of cars. We stop at the back of the garage where the noise dulls. Stacks of tires and shelves of motor oil line the walls and shield us from the stares. It is not private, but it is tucked away enough to breathe.
I sink onto an old workbench and pick at a thread on my shorts. “This whole friends thing sucks.”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah. But you will get used to it. Promise.”
I hesitate, staring down at my hands. My chest feels too tight, my throat raw from holding everything in. “Can I have a hug?”
Hunter goes very still. For a heartbeat, I think he is going to make a smart comment and ruin the moment. He does not. His smirk fades and something softer settles in his eyes.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
His arms come around me, warm and careful. Not crushing. Not demanding. Just there.
I let my forehead drop to his shoulder. Cedar and motor oil wrap around me. Safe. Warm. Dangerous. Without meaning to, I breathe him in deeper, like if I hold the scent it will not feel so terrifying to need him.
“Princess,” he murmurs into my hair, amusement curling under his voice. “Are you sniffing me?”
Mortification burns my cheeks. I pull back a fraction and glare. “I was not.”
“You were.” His grin is instant and wicked. “Not that I blame you. Most girls have to buy candles to get this experience.”
I groan and shove lightly at his chest, but his arms do not budge. He dips his head and presses the quickest kiss to my forehead. Soft and unfair. It knocks the air out of me. Then his arms loosen and he lets me go like nothing happened.
“Friends, Hunter. That is not friendly.”
“Guess I am bad at following rules.”
I am still reeling, trying to decide if my heart is racing from anger or something worse, when he drops the next bomb.
“Dinner. Saturday night.”
I blink. “What?”
“You. Me. Food. I will pick you up at seven.”
My stomach flips so hard I forget how to breathe. “Hunter, friends do not go on dates.”
“These friends do,” he says, eyes glinting.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out and tucks it back with a grin. “You know we have been doing this dance for months and I still do not have your number.”
“Maybe that is on purpose.”
“Maybe,” he says, opening his contacts. “But if we are friends, you cannot dodge me forever.”
He holds the phone out, patient and certain. Against my better judgment, I take it and type my name and number. I hand it back like it burns.
