Page 25 of Nothing to Lose

The small twitch of the corner of his mouth hides his smirk. I want to lick it.

“You’re tipsy.”

“I feel good,” I argue, swaying slightly on my feet.

“Because you’re feeling reckless.”

“I’m having fun. Isn’t that what you told me to do? Live a little?”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said that. Plus, you look like fun died.”

I scoff. “I appreciate the concern.”

“Liar. No, you don’t.”

“No. I don’t,” I lie.

The corner of his mouth lifts, that stupid half-smile that drives me nuts. He’s right. I’m feeling reckless, and with him standing right here with that smirk on his face, it’s tempting my willpower harder than ever. So instead of reaching out and wiping that look off his face with my tongue, I reach for the alcohol again.

Hunter beats me to it, pulling the red plastic cup from my hand. “I think you’re done.”

“Uhm, no, I’m not. I’m just getting started, actually.”

This time, it’s Hunter who scoffs. “You can barely focus on me.”

“Yeah, well, a skill I’ve perfected,” I quip. This earns me an actual laugh that I feel down to the marrow of my bones. Hunter tosses the cup away before I can grab it back. “Seriously? What are you, my babysitter?”

“I will be if that’s what you need. And right now, it seems fitting. But maybe we just call it a concerned older brother?”

My face falls at the reminder. Another point in the column against the things I want. Who I want. Hunter notices the change right away. Because of course he does.

“Hey . . .”

I shrug him off. “I’m fine. I can handle my alcohol. I’m fine.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore. The alcohol vibrates through my bloodstream, slow and steady, the effects really starting to hit me now. I sway again, and Hunter is right there, gripping my bicep, holding me in place. He arches one perfectly stupid brow as if he’s saying “really?” without actually saying it. Asshole. God, I hate him. Hate his stupid, beautiful face. Hate the way he makes me feel seen and cared for. Hate the way he kisses me and touches me, and why it felt so goddamn perfect to fall asleep in his arms. Fuck, I . . . I stop the thought before it even enters my mind. I can’t go there. I can’t. I rub both hands over my face, mumbling again. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are.”

“No.” I laugh, a dark, sardonic, self-deprecating sound. “You really don’t.”

“I know you’re pretending.” His words are whispered, low so only I can hear them. They land harder than they should, carving me open nice and wide. I laugh, slow and bitter.

“Yeah? You’ve got me figured out, Hunt?”

“Yeah, baby boy, I do. I know you.”

“Fuck off. You know the version I let everyone have.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I know the version of you that everyone else is too blinded by their own bullshit to see.”

“You wish that was true, don’t you?” I argue.

Hunter takes a small step in my direction. “I know the version of you that stays late every night after practice because he’s never done putting in the work. I know the version that is constantly brainstorming ideas to make our team work smarter, the version that stops to help someone when they drop their books or gets injured on the field.” He steps closer, not enough to crowd me, just enough that it erases most of the space between us. “I know the version of you that makes everyone feel like the center of your attention when they’re talking because you want them to feel seen, and I know the version of you that works so hard to treat others the way he wishes he was treated. Don’t you dare say I don’t know what’s beneath this layer everyone else gets.”

Well, fuck.

Chapter 16

Hunter