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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.”
“And I told you they can’t.” I step closer. “If you didn’t think so, too, you’d be naked and washing already.”
We’ve grown up. Everything is different. I’ve always loved her, but now…
Her gaze flits to me and then down, and I can see her chest rising with big breaths. I should just let her off the hook. I knew she would fold. I didn’t actually want to trick her into a shower together, but…
She crosses her arms at her waist, grabs the hem of her tank top, and lifts it over her head. Raising her eyes to me, she tilts up her defiant little chin and drops the shirt to the floor. A gleam brightens her eyes.
It takes everything not to smile back because my heart is swimming and my body is stirring at everything I see, even as I keep my eyes pinned to her face. The pink of the lace—like bubblegum. The golden skin of her stomach and her chest, and her breasts held in cups with flowery trim. Nothing like I thought Dylan would wear.
A lock of hair snakes over her collarbone, down her pretty skin, and I finally lower my eyes, watching it curl over her breast, the flesh underneath looking soft and full.
“You next,” she says.
I meet her eyes again. “My shirt’s already off.”
I let a small smile out now, and to her credit, she doesn’t fight me. As she unfastens her jeans, I feel my groin ache with heat, watching her push her pants down her thighs, and then shimmy a little until they drop to the shower floor.
I almost groan, but I close my mouth and force my breathing to slow as she steps out of them, shoving them to the side with her foot. Her black underwear looks like the bottom half of a string bikini, connected just below her hips on both sides with a thin strap. In my head, I hear it rip in my hand.
It takes a moment, but when she just stands there, I remember it’s finally my turn. I pull open my fly and drop my pants, almost wishing I weren’t wearing briefs. I feel more vulnerable than if I’d just gone for broke and shocked the hell out of her by wearing absolutely nothing underneath. I don’t look down to see what she sees. I know I’m hard. I can feel it trying to grow through the fabric.
“Have you ever seen a naked girl before?” she asks me. “I mean, other than the ones who play against the cars with Farrow and the other guys?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes falter. “Who?”
I tip my head back, wetting my hair. “The first one or the last one?”
Her big eyes narrow, and she frowns. I keep my smile contained.
She’s the only one I’ve ever seen naked, other than Weston’s public displays.
She reaches behind her back, unclasping her bra.
I tilt my head back up, my arms weak as I smooth my hair back over the top of my head and watch her.
