The boy next door, p.10
The Boy Next Door, page 10
"Why did you leave your drums behind?" I ask while standing in the middle of the room, unsure where to go.
He shrugs as he shuts the door. "Only the important stuff came back with me."
Since I can't think about a closed door in Hunter's bedroom, I hold up an item from his nightstand. "Like this?"
"Actually, uh." He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "I'm glad I packed that."
The small balloon animal figurine is a metallic magenta color, meant to resemble a dog that clowns twist into shape with a single balloon. It's cute, silly, and totally out of place in his otherwise simple and slightly punk/grunge room.
"This matters to you?"
"Yeah..." he reaches toward me to grab the figurine.
I twist away. "It reminds you of your first dream to be a circus clown?"
"No, clowns scare the hell out of me." His mouth tightens, but I'm not about to drop the subject, so he's forced to continue. "I never even got a balloon animal or one of those balloon swords, which always seemed pretty cool. That's what Mom said when she bought this for me, that it's about time I got a balloon animal." He nods to the object in my hands. "This is my first."
"Oh." I look down at the dumb thing. It has no eyes to look back. "Uh, what?"
"Housewarming gift, I guess. She figured five teenage guys weren't going to think about decoration, and we couldn't keep a plant alive."
"Wow." It hits me I'm holding something of sentimental value to Hunter in my hands. Without his drums, it's maybe the only item he cares about in his room... unless I count?
"Don't make a big deal," he groans.
"You love your mommy!" I ignore his request, making a huge deal.
"Hey!" he steps toward me.
I dart around him. "You still have her little pink present because it warms your little pink heart."
"Shut up."
Turning the tables and flustering him feels so rewarding, even if he's sorta chasing me around his room to get me to stop, and it's all fun and games at first. I laugh and he scowls, but I've seen him grouchy enough times to know he's not really angry. He corners me and I try to escape.
"Gotcha," he says, two arms wrapping around my waist from behind.
I struggle, he holds on, and somehow I'm free for a second before he catches me again. This time, we tumble onto his bed.
We're together on his bed.
Our eyes lock and his body over mine isn't the only reason I'm suddenly a few thousand degrees hotter. Time seems to freeze as we realize where we are and our position. All the breath evaporates from my lungs, the tension in the air entirely sexual.
There's not much space between our lips. When the distance closes, the stillness shatters, and we're kissing. His hand cups the side of my face as his mouth works, changing the angle of our faces, and everything slots together, just right and hot as hell.
I groan, his tongue and hands are everywhere, oh god. I'm going to die, the sizzling sensation in all the million places our bodies are touching is going to fry me alive.
Instead of pushing him away, my hands clutch at his back, drawing him closer.
His fingers are under my shirt, brushing the bare skin above my jeans, and my body jolts into his. And then our lower halves grind together, which feels amazingly awesome... and a tad terrifying. But the terrific feeling chases away the fear.
Hunter pulls back, placing his palm against the center of my chest.
"Maybe we should stop," he whispers. "Or…"
Or, or what? I don't know whether he means to stop there on purpose and drive me wild or cuts off there to avoid continuing in case I'm not on board.
"Or?" I ask.
"It's okay if you need to take a moment or slow down."
This is a great time to take a breath and evaluate the situation. To slow down or stop entirely and let sanity prevail. But he's on top of me, everything smells like him, and either the blue in his eyes is indistinguishable or it's gone, and his eyes are all pupil.
What happens next isn't even really a choice. It's natural. Why did nobody mention this before? Boldness is easier when there's so much lust in the room and you're ready to explode with desire.
"I want you," I breathe.
"What?" His body goes still.
"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? It's true. I want you. Hunter, I want yo—"
Time moves into hyperdrive, and it's still not fast enough, because I need, I don't even know, but more of him. There isn't enough Hunter, and he makes the best noise when I accidentally bite the skin under his left ear, so I do it again. His groan shakes through me, making me dizzy as he crushes his lips to mine. We barely even stop kissing to breathe. Everything is hot, molten lava hot, and no other thoughts exist, nothing exists outside of this room.
Not quite as innocent and pearl-clutching as my friends think, there were a few reasons I had virtually no experience with boys before. One, my huge crush on the neighbor who was always just out of reach. Then there was how to get my act together and not be a tongue-tied loser who over thought every little interaction. I feared getting close to someone else would be a minefield of anxieties.
But Hunter makes it easy to stop thinking and just feel. Feel his hair against my fingers, feel the muscles of his stomach, and feel everything he does to me, how I moan into his mouth and wordlessly beg for more.
Our shirts are off, his jeans are unbuttoned, and we aren’t planning on stopping anytime soon when—when Dylan and Clay burst into the room.
23.
Duh. (Moment of Truth)
The seconds pass in a glacial crawl, extending the agony of being caught undressing in Hunter Cruse's bed. He moves off me, meaning nothing protects me from their stares, so I stare up at the ceiling—really, Hunter? Some posters are up there, Queen and the Sex Pistols.
Instead of leaving as polite party crashers should, Dylan and Clay stay. Clay elbows Dylan. Dylan elbows him back. They both start talking.
"Working on a history project together—"
"My strong suits aren't in writing or public speaking—"
"We're creating a visual —"
"If we use Hunter's drumsticks—"
"Cool," Hunter interrupts. "Now get out?"
Presumably, they leave. I can't quite look, staring up at Freddie Mercury instead. The door shuts.
"So…"
The door opens.
"Um, I'll wait outside, Sam." Clay shuts the door again.
The mood between Hunter and me is effectively ruined, but I'm not exactly thrilled about chatting with Clay. There's nothing else I can do though, besides putting my shirt back on, hopefully getting myself together, and saying goodbye to Hunter.
Clay and I make it to the Cruse kitchen and the closest door to my house. However, he doesn't venture out yet, possibly waiting for me to speak. I'm not sure what to say.
The impressive Cruse kitchen is immaculate as always, though there's a copper pot on the nearest counter. I'm tempted to check if there's anything inside. The kitchen is full of modern, high-tech appliances, but I've never seen anybody use anything, not even the sink.
"You and Hunter," Clay finally says. "When did this happen?"
"You know when."
"No, when did you start liking him?"
The words jolt me. "What?!? I-I don't, are you crazy?"
"Are you? Because whenever I wanna jump in bed with people I barely know, you give me judge-y eyes."
"Clay."
"Granted it doesn't actually happen as often as I'd like, but still, it never happens with you."
"Y-you did this." I point a shaky finger in his direction. "It's your fault!"
He blinks. "Okay, not expecting that."
"I came over here to escape my mom, then I was in his room and couldn't stop thinking about your sexy Hunter fantasies."
"One fantasy, and I could have been way more graphic."
"Well, it was enough." Do not think about Hunter and more graphic. "I got confused and caught in the moment."
He nods, considering but not rejecting my defense immediately. "That's all?"
"Yeah. That's all."
Denying everything seems like the best plan as I'm still reeling from being caught this afternoon. The words come naturally because they were true once but hearing them makes me realize just how much has changed.
When Clay leaves my house after hanging out for a bit, I rest against the door and exhale a breath I've been holding since he caught me with Hunter.
Visions of Cruse brothers swim in my head. Dylan is lovely, sweet, always kind... With Hunter, you never know. It's terrifying and occasionally awful, the lows are seriously low, but when it goes right, nothing in the world matters more.
Dylan is—was?—the boy I’ve desired for so long. I shouldn't compare, but when I do, he seems... safe.
For the first time, safe doesn't seem so appealing.
Maybe I'm starting to understand Rebecca French. Sometimes you're gonna fall flat on your ass, but there's no point aiming for anything else in art and maybe in life too. You shoot for abysmal or amazing, the stars above or the hard ground below. No in between. No playing it safe.
Safe passed me by ages ago. I'm in uncharted territory, lost and totally confused, yet I still want more. I want him.
I like Hunter Cruse.
Duh. This feeling has been building for a while, but I never stopped and said or even thought the words before. I’ve been on a whirlwind ever since Hunter found my note and pulled me on this adventure I never saw coming.
I used to think of him as Dylan’s annoying older brother and never really noticed him. But now that I see him, it’s impossible to look away. When he’s around, he’s all I see. When he’s gone, I think about him.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to admit it to Clay yet but there’s no denying it to myself anymore. There’s no going back.
I like Hunter Cruse.
24.
Dating Hunter Cruse
Because of our odd situation, my feelings for Hunter sneak up on me. I grew closer to him without getting in my own way. The only difficulty? I'm aware of my feelings now. So on our second official date, I'm kinda freaking out. The butterflies in my stomach might lift me into the air without my seatbelt locking me in place.
Once we arrive, he opens my door for me. What? Chivalry?
"Um, thanks." Except he stays right where he is after so I can't move. "Aren't you supposed to back up now?"
He stares intently at my face. "You're being weird."
"What? I-I-I-what?" I feel his body heat. I smell him, oh god. Don't panic!
"Should I teach you how to lie?"
"Uh, no?"
"Then you should probably just tell me the truth."
What can I say? I wasn't all in before. Liking a guy. Him liking me back. It's new.
He's wearing a brown leather jacket that looks warm and dark jeans, one of the few pairs without any holes. The longer I look at him, the harder it is to form words.
"Before you were just... Hunter. Now you're Hunter."
"Always have been." He shakes his head with a laugh, finally backing up. "But I understand... I'm actually kinda nervous too."
"What? You aren't."
"Are you aware that on our first date we broke into an art museum and pretended to be tour guides?"
"We didn't break in."
"Yeah, why did I make it sound even cooler? Not really sure how to top that." He rocks on his feet, almost nervous. Those blond locks of his aren't so much messy as carefully disheveled. "This time, I figured we could see a movie and grab the cheapest fast food possible because I'm running out of money, so it's not—"
"Perfect."
"I was gonna say 'interesting,' but yeah, definitely not perfect."
"No, it sounds perfect." Low-key and with minimal chances to embarrass myself. Perfect.
"Oh... I knew that."
Hunter grabs my hand, pulling me along as if nothing happened. I smile the whole walk to our destination.
His strong grip and the prospect of sitting together in a darkened theater doesn't help calm my nerves. I guess I should feel anxious, just like Hunter. Because I like him. Because this matters. It's worth some nerves.
This is my year. Maybe I can handle going on dates with a sexy older guy who's somehow into me. Oh god, it sounds terrifying... but I'm excited to try.
~
The days pass by in a happy haze, and it’s hard to pay attention to anything that isn’t Hunter. However, I do make some time for the next project due in French's class.
This piece isn't worth as much as the VIP, but it's vital I do well since I bombed one grade already. I’m trying not to stress since the teacher thinks 'letting the creative juices flow' will serve me better than meticulous planning, so I'm packing up to leave when Dylan walks in.
"Hey, where's the fire?" he asks.
"Nowhere hopefully or safely put out by the time I get there."
"Aren't we giving pottery a second attempt today?"
"Oh, can we reschedule?" Hadn't I texted him... I meant to text him. It slipped my mind.
"Sure, unless my teacher so graciously decides to change her mind…" he glances to the corner.
"Yes, you still need to successfully use the wheel," French calls over. "All artists are held to higher standards in my classes!"
“Who knew picking up a camera would get me into such trouble?” Dylan sighs but gives me a smile. "See you later."
Grabbing my bag, I see Mrs. French and Clay exchanging a loaded look after he leaves.
"Hmmm," the older woman comments.
I freeze, glancing at my artwork. Polymer clay isn't my normal medium! Though I guess that's the point.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's not about the project," she insists, waving her hands to shoo me away. "Not even necessarily a 'hmm.' Just a 'huh' or an 'oh.'" Because that helps so much.
"No, I agree," Clay says. "Definite hmmm."
"Will you just tell me?" They hesitate. "Come on, why do you have a shared hmm?"
Neither seem especially eager to volunteer the information, but Maybe-Millicent French swings her black fringed shawl around her shoulders and clears her throat. "I believe we were both wondering whether Hunter knows you're tutoring Dylan." What the… "Given he's the jealous type when you and his brother are concerned."
After picking my jaw up off the floor, I stammer, "Wha-how-how…"
"Good thing you don't really like Hunter. Otherwise, this might cause some friction." She winks. "And not the fun kind."
Turning to Clay, I wave my hands in her direction and then his, hopefully communicating a question about whether he blabbed details about my love life to my art teacher.
"Maggie and him were discussing this earlier," she explains.
They watch me with twin smirks. I do the smart thing and walk away.
"Are you going to tell us whether he knows?"
"Bye!"
One thing I do know about dating? Good boyfriends don't expect you to give up your friends. Dylan is my friend. Nothing is wrong with tutoring him. It's perfectly innocent. Except now that they mention it, why do I feel kinda guilty?
~
Now that I'm aware of my feelings, my heart may burst into flames if another encounter in Hunter's bedroom happens so soon. There's also a painting on the easel in my room, and I'm not totally ready for him to see my art, so we can’t go there.
Being in my living room on the couch is supposed to be safer. Except we're alone and... how did I end up on Hunter's lap... what was I doing?
Lips gliding against lips leaves me temporarily mute, but when pulling away to breathe, I remember my objective. "Did I tell you I'm working for Agustina French?"
He follows me, kissing my jaw. "Yeah."
"Helping people—"
"Cool." He bites a point between my jaw and ear, and I barely hold back a whimper. "You can tell me more later."
With Hunter under me, the struggle is real. His hands on my back draw me closer, and the incredible things he does with his tongue on a relatively safe area make me wonder what he could do elsewhere and inspire all sorts of dirty thoughts I'd never say out loud.
Focusing, I make one more attempt to explain.
"The tutoring, it's—"
"Not important." He falls back against the couch, pulling me with him.
"Yeah, but the who—"
"Is this a challenge? I accept."
"Dylan—"
Hunter goes completely still, then tries to get up, but I'm on him. He nudges me off. "Nope. I'm Hunter." Huh-oh.
"No, no! Oh my god, no!"
"My thoughts exactly," he says dryly.
If we were at a hospital, medical professionals would swarm around him, calling code blue and searching for the source of the bleeding because he's so pale that he can't lose any more blood.
"No, the tutoring! I'm tutoring Dylan in his ceramics class. That's what I was trying to tell you!"
He blinks, shoulders unclenching somewhat. "Wait, what?"
"I didn't mention it at first because it wasn't a big deal. But after what happened when you saw us talking, I don't want it to become some secret." Biting my lip to wait for his reaction, a second passes. Time's up. "Dylan and I are just friends! Please don't be mad... yeah." I forcibly hold the words back since Hunter raises a hand so he can think.
His face is blank, messy blond hair looking soft, but the rest of him is guarded. "You're teaching him to make a pot, doing the whole Ghost foreplay deal?"
"No! Not at all... Are you mad?"
Since we're having a serious conversation, there's a pillow over my lap while I wait for my libido to calm down. When Hunter stares, I realize my fingers are digging into the brown fabric tightly, and he seems to snap out of it.
He exhales a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's my issue, I should get over it."
"Hunter."
"Dylan is your friend. I wanna say you've been friends with him longer than me, but we were never really friends."
"Yeah." What else can I say? It's the truth. He’d been a pest, teasing Dylan and me.
"Which is my fault. I'm not the easiest fill-in-the-blank. But I'm not such a dick that I think I have any right to tell you who you can hang out with. I'll deal. I'm not mad, especially not at you."
