Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“It seems I’m always chasing something.” I shake my head, thinking about home and school. “Other cars on the track. My parents with their busy schedules. School…” I meet his eyes. “I used to wake up as a kid and you’d be asleep next to me. You’d just show up at some point through the night. I never felt unwanted. You looked for me when you walked into a room.” I lower my voice. “Me.”
My parents love me, but they don’t count. I’ve been homesick for him since he left.
I stare at his face, seeing the slight way his right eye zones in on me more than the left, because he doesn’t want to stay mad, but he’s trying hard to.
His stern jaw that looks more angular than it did when we were twelve.
His eyebrows and how they got a little darker. His bottom lip and how it’s fuller than I remember. I gaze at it.
I used to know everything about him. Now, it’s like I’ve missed so much.
He’s kissed girls. I know he has.
They look at him at school. A lot.
I should know about girlfriends, right? Those are things he should be telling me because we’re close. Or we used to be.
I should know who and when and how far he’s gone. I should know everything about him.
I clench my jaw. Girls at that roller skating restaurant looked at him like I wasn’t standing right there. I mean, it’s not like they need my permission or anything, but I just…
I…
It’s like…
It’s just…
I…
I just don’t like it.
The words crawl up my throat, but I’m almost too scared to think them, let alone say them. He’s mine.
I grind my teeth together.
He has a tan left over from summer that still makes his neck and chest look golden, the veins in his hands and arms course just underneath the skin. His muscles are bigger now because he spent the summer getting ready to face Kade on the field this season.
His fingers are still the same, though—long, like an artist’s.
It makes them good at holding a football too, I guess.
“We’ve slept in the same bed a hundred times and taken baths together,” I laugh under my breath. “I’ve spent more of my waking hours with you than anyone. You’re in all of my history, Hunter.”
“History…” he murmurs. “Yes.”
He says it as if I meant something bad by it.
My heart starts to ache, but he rises, looking down at me. “Things have changed, Dylan. We can’t be friends anymore.”
“Why?” I leap to my feet. “Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed!” he snaps. “We’re not kids anymore. When are you going to grow up?”
I recoil like I’m being hammered into the dirt. I’m not grown up? He’s the one who ran away.
I drop my eyes, seeing his jeans, soaked again, and his bare feet on the tile. Why does anything have to change?
I stare at his waist as water spills off his belt that hangs open. The top button of his jeans is open too. I force down the lump in my throat.
I was sixteen the last time I had my arms around his waist. What changed in only a couple of years?
“You want everything to be how it used to be?” he asks. “You think we can still play? Like we used to? Really?”
“Can’t we?”
I still like to climb trees.
“Aren’t we too old?” he asks.
I shake my head. “We can still race bikes. It’s just motorcycles now. Right?”
A faint smile crosses his lips.
“Explore caves?” he presses. “Roller blade? Dive for swim rings? Hide and seek?”
“Build a fort?” I say, starting to smile. “Water balloons?”
See? He’s getting the hang of it again. I’ll remind him of how fun we were together.
But then he takes a step toward me and reaches out, placing one hand on the shower wall and the other on the shower rod, his chest splayed in front of me. My heart thuds hard in my chest.
“Take a bath?” he adds.
My chest caves. Take a bath…
Like we used to.
I hold Hunter’s eyes, his steady, hard gaze unblinking, and I barely notice the music pumping from the first floor of the house.
He’s testing me. Trying to get me to fold. Trying to make me angry. To make me cry or pout or run.
The pulse in my neck throbs, but I don’t get mad.
I don’t run.
The skin of my nipples tightens under my tank top.
And I watch as he pulls the curtain closed, shielding us both inside.
Hunter
Her lips tremble. “People are here. Downstairs.”
“Yeah.” I release the curtain, not taking my eyes off her. “They’re partying. And in the street.” I lower my voice. “No one will come in here, though.”
A lump moves down her throat, and I drop my eyes to the pink bra strap laying over her arm, having fallen off her shoulder.
“I just…” She flexes her jaw. “I want things to go back to how they were.”